My heart ached in a way I was not prepared for today.
I knew her little self was going to the doctor. I knew she was going to have “surgery”. I knew we were told it is minor. I knew I would never trust another human being who was going to stick needles in her, use scalpels on her, or do something she wasn’t capable of understanding.
I knew that no matter what they said to us there was absolutely nothing minor about it.
There’s nothing minor about the unknown, the funny dressed people, needles and tubes and everything medical.
There’s nothing okay about not being able to hold her and comfort her before, during and after.
There’s no comfort now, in knowing it will make her feel better, later.
There’s no gladness in knowing I can’t protect her from everything that will hurt her. And there’s no acceptance of wisdom that tells me I shouldn’t protect her from everything.
There was no way my heart was prepared to see the look on this little child’s face. Knowing the anguish her little self was going through.
For all of the parents, grandparents, guardians and protectors of children everywhere – I salute you.
Knowing you would take every moment of pain to give them security, comfort and ease. I salute you for the power of your love. The continued beating of your heart when it is pummeling your chest trying to get out.
We are lucky to have such love. And with such love comes great risk. Risk of pain, risk of fear, risk of not being able to take the pains for them.
And that is the worst pain of all.
When ever I know someone going in for surgery I ask that God watch over the patient, surround them with angels, but guide the surgeons hands.
She is fine.