Battles against terminal illness, anxiety, and life!

Rock Solid

“I just want to apologize in advance if my phone rings. I have a medically fragile child. I hope you understand,” I tell each fitness instructor, doctor, etc. who surely would think I am phone obsessed otherwise. Each times the words spoken, a small cost is paid. Yet that cost remains invisible to the world. It is deeply hidden in the depths of my heart. I am my son’s voice when his can’t be heard or understood, his legs when they fail, his rock that is ever steady, constant, permanent.

Last night I went to a kickboxing class, and as I huffed and puffed my way through kicking and punching, I was nearly moved to tears. So much of my energy has been put into talking about Braden and his medical condition in the past few months. Now we run into the time of the year where we meet with all of our specialists. Each appointment like a new heavy weight to carry. There just comes a time when you just have to wave the white flag and say, “I just need a moment.” There is always so much to process, to learn, to understand, to accept. I am tired, and that means it is time to allow those deeply hidden emotions to be acknowledged, to allow the release valve to be put to use.

There is no magic way to handle the heaviness of raising a child with a terminal illness. Today I will take some moments to breathe, sharpen my sword, and to practice my battle cry. We owe it to our child to be by his side ready to fight his fight during this war. Our enemy is very clear, and I will be steadfast for my son on the battlefield. Today that means taking a moment to lay down my own armor to tend to some wounds. Until next time, I leave you with this.

 

 

 

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