"A soldier doesn't fight because he hates what is in front of him. A soldier fights because he loves what he left behind." - unknown

"God is our refuge and strength. He will protect us and make us strong" (ps 46:1). For those who will fly today, for those who are there now, and for those who will soon join the fight, Lord, shield them from all evil, strengthen their hearts, and bring them home safely.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

One in Ninety

 I am richly blessed in my family and in my friendships. Richly blessed.

Yesterday was a difficult day for C and I. I cried my makeup off not once, not twice, but three times. I was a splotchy, puffy mess. I just couldn't get through saying it without the tears coming. Not once. I cried every single time.

For much of the day I really was in complete shock. 

Total shock. I just ... I understood the reasoning. I did. I agreed with what she said. I just. couldn't. grasp. it.

It truly, truly, never entered my mind. Maybe somewhere in the back of it when the head-banging started but not really - more so just that I knew that that happens sometimes in these children. I still don't know exactly what I think about it. I don't think I will until we know more.

There are just moments when you don't understand why things come to be. That is where I was for much of yesterday. I just didn't understand why this was happening.

One blessing came so great and unexpected I cannot explain it. It just isn't mine to tell. But it never ceases to knock me to my knees how quickly goodness can come during a difficult time. Some things fall into place in a way you never could have known. Things make sense. The world makes sense - for at least a moment. 

It brought a comfort and a hope and a relief I cannot explain. It was just what I needed, just when I needed it. 

1 in 90 military children receive the diagnosis. 1 in 90. 

That really is such a big ... small ... that's so many kiddos.

Eli is being evaluated for autism. 

I don't ... 

We don't know anything yet. I don't think I ever reached anger. I hate having another thing that we don't know but it never reached anger. I don't think I ever made it past shock. 

I just kept thinking about the Cystic Fibrosis testing Eli went through. About how we never saw that coming. How we never expected that first result that called for weeks and weeks and weeks of further testing. I felt like I was punched in the gut when Dr. T called us after that first round ... I can still remember that exact moment. 

And it was when I was explaining that feeling to my sister that she reminded me what exactly it is that we are facing. That if this is our new reality, it will be a life-change, quite possible a major life-change, but that I won't be worrying about whether or not my baby boy will need a lung transplant some day or if I would outlive him (the nightmare I had again and again during that testing). That if it was between the two, this we can handle. This will not take my child's life. This is something that there are resources upon resources to help my son work through this, to help us work through this. This will force me to learn patience (which I greatly lack). This makes me cherish the time Eli spent cuddling on my chest this morning all the more. This makes me value every single word that comes out of his mouth - even though they are hard to understand and most often single words and not sentences, but, goodness, I will take them.

I have seen the mothers of these kiddos and I have been awed by their strength and their patience and their determination. I have wondered how they do it. I knew when reading a very special message sent from someone that has molded so much of who I am, that that strength comes from fierce, unconditional love. That determination comes from the promise every momma makes that child the first time they hold them in their arms - that we will protect them against every harm.

Whatever comes ... and we were told this process will most likely take some time because he is so young ... he is our baby. He's my lil' Eli. He walked early. He climbed early. He has always been our little "challenge". He has challenged our patience. He's smart and mischievous and has forced me to be more vigilant and attentive. I have questioned myself as a mother. And I hate saying that but I have questioned repeatedly what I am doing wrong. Why I can't always communicate. Why I just can't calm him down.

This may not be this. It could be me. It could be something else. We'll see what they say.

There is no place He takes us that we cannot thrive. No challenge we face that cannot be overcome. No change in our life that doesn't allow for a positive change in us. 


  1. Oh Megan, I know the heartache all to well. Every "diagnosis" was a different heartache. But even that said, entering into a world of "special" kids entered me into a world of "special" people. Oh the people I would have never met if Short Stuff wasn't deaf or a dwarf. The things I would have never learned if Little Man hadn't been "labeled". And I'm still learning patience with Tinker, who is always in her own "special" world. I was always against labels, but the labels opened another world to us. A world where help could be found and a place where they could embrace their differences and learn to use them to glorify God. Well, before I write a blog post of my own, I will end. You are a great mom and God trusted you to care for some awesome boys. He will provide everything (and more!) you need! Love ya.

    1. Thank you so much, Felicia. I find you to be one inspiring woman and I am so happy to know you and blessed to call you a friend.

      I am sure I will be leaning on you in the future! Hug Turkey for me!

  2. We have/are in the same place with our youngest. It gets easier. Than harder again. Than you realize slowly and more than once because it's easy to forget, that it doesn't change who he is, just how you learn to parent him :).

    1. Thank you, Kim! That is what Eli's doctor (who I love and will miss!) said. Almost exactly!


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