Sometimes its just so damn draining acting like a detective trying to decipher why my son just doesnt seem right.
Not himself.
His furrow deeper, his eyes down, with dark crescents beneath his baby blues.
My baby, still, on life support, unable to breathe, except now he is ten sitting at the table doing multiplication, his head bent close to his paper, his pencil held midair, me watching, wondering, forgetting to breathe.
"Do you feel ok?" I ask daily, for the past week, as he seems like a shadow of usually energetic self.
I'm not sure why I ask, since he has never once complained of sickness or injury, it is only bruises, blood, vomit, or a fever that lets us know he doesn't feel good.
"Yeah," he replies rubbing his eyes.
"I just don't want to go to school," he tells me every morning now. And nor do I, but I tell him I do. I want to stay home with him and search for his smile. Find the missing pieces to his heart.
Or take him to a hospital for a blood test, an x-ray, a full body scan to quiet the worrier in me that thinks this is it.
This is the final doom that's been lurking ever since: "He's alive but I can't tell you he's going to survive."
He may just have the cruds or his brain could be bleeding again...
And I don't want to think this way, and I can hear people saying, Christy it's all in your head, but my relationship with Elias is wrapped in what ifs. I can't fully untangle the fear of loss from this complex web of love and devotion I hold for my son.
My miracle child, or my science project, depending on who you consult, a boy born four months too soon, who despite dire predictions did survive.
And now he is ten, understanding something as complex as multiplication, but unable to point to the source of his clouds.
And here I am, still, as if my hand is through the hole on the isolette gently resting on his tiny head, hoping, praying, that everything will be OK.
Like much of your writing I know and I don't know what you're going through. I share these moments of inescapable worry about our kids and that part of them that we can never truly know. The only thing that has helped me manage those feelings is working on staying present. And it is work otherwise I find myself six miles down a dark road of what ifs. Hugs. Keep us posted. Hope it's just a developmental touch point where he's on the verge of a new phase and its just exhausting him.
Kate
Posted by: Kate | 04/17/2014 at 04:20 AM
Thanks Kate. I like the idea of this being the quiet before a new leap.
As is often the case, once I write about my fears they dissipate and Elias seems better the last few days, more energetic, less grumpy. Here's hoping...
Posted by: Christy | 04/17/2014 at 10:30 PM
So glad to read that Elias is better. Let's FaceTime soon.
Love,
Mom
Posted by: Mom and Dad | 04/18/2014 at 07:58 AM