It begins with a sharp cry. I instantly know the sound. My heart drops and I am moving out of bed in a panic before I am even fully aware. I run up the stairs with a rock in my gut and the speed of every mother running to her child in need. Because I know exactly what's happening. My son is having a seizure.
It's the same sound, every time. The same instinctual need to run. Every time. It only happens in the night. I am awakened out of a dead sleep with an anxiety I recognize and think about every night just before sleep overtakes me. I pray. Before bed I usually try to mentally prepare in case tonight is the night that another one will awake us.
He cries. He sits up in bed and is seized by something that overtakes him. It causes him pain. He can talk and he begs me to help him. He is scared and panicked. It's 3:46 a.m. I watch the clock behind his head. I try to hold him and comfort him. He sits up and clutches his arms to his chest as he shivers and shakes. I beg God for help. I want to scream to the whole world to help. I am helpless. There is nothing I can do. I watch my son desperate for help and there is nothing I can offer. There are no words that can describe the angst in my mommy heart. It breaks. It gets terrified. My son....my son. Oh how I wish I could take it. How I wish I knew why.
My touch seems to hurt him. He cries loudly and shrieks. He say's "oww." I don't know what is hurting him and I can't touch him. He is not able to communicate much with me but he is more verbal during these seizures than he used to be. I try to ask him what exactly hurts. He tells me his neck. His head. I try to gain any clues I can to give to his doctor so that we can stop these seizures. I am desperate for answers.
As the seizure goes on and on I watch the clock. Two minutes go by. At what point do I call an ambulance? I am not seasoned at this. I am not the mom that has a son with seizures. When did this happen? God, please make it stop. Please. I plead. With every second that passes, even without verbalizing, my heart is pleading with the Lord.
Four minutes. It seems like he is starting to come out of it. He stands up, shaky. He is confused. He tries to walk downstairs to get water and seems to not realize that he has been awake for a while, seizing. His mind is just now finding consciousness and every fiber of my being is on high alert. I rush to his side to steady him as he sleepily walks down the stairs like nothing just happened. I hold him as he goes to the kitchen to get water. He is so tired. I ask him if he remembers having a seizure. He says no. Barely. Then he walks back up to bed and lays his head down, mumbling that it hurts. My heart hurts. I cover him up. I kiss his head. It's over. I stumble down the stairs back to my bed...and lay there. I process everything that just happened. I try not to be terrified. I try to pray and set it aside because the terror feels like it will engulf me if I don't. I lay there awake, unable to go back to sleep.
Nights like tonight as I pray over my son before I go to bed...I can't go to sleep. I start to pray, asking the God of heaven and earth, the Maker who formed my son, to take away his seizures. And tears stream down my face. Not because I am angry at God. And not because I don't think He cares. But because for now, even though I have prayed He would take it away, He has asked us to carry this load.
I think of so many mothers and fathers....asked to carry a heavy load. The load of grief...the load of sorrow. The heavy weight of pain. There is nothing like watching your child suffer to bring out the searing scald of a torn heart.
These nights, I cling to the Lord. I don't know what lays ahead. There is no known reason for the seizures. An MRI yielded no diagnosis. Treatment for Lyme did not cure it. I had held onto the hope that it would. He is my funny boy- with a tender soul and eyes that sparkle when he's mischievous or when he tells a joke. As a baby he was fussy but he loved his pacifier. We would smile and pop it out of his mouth because he always had it in. He would give a grin, grab the pacifier and pop it back in his mouth. On and on this game would go...it's one of the "funnies" that we tell Wyatt often about his baby days. He has never loved to snuggle as much as he does now. And I treasure it. I hold him a little tighter, too afraid to give in to fear. But the edge of fear is there, staring me down.
But in those times when my fear feels like it will swallow me whole, I have to consciously CHOOSE to do the only thing I know how to do. I tip-toe back, into the shelter of the Most High. The One who hears me, and knows me. Back to my Father who knows my needs before I even ask. The One who loves my son with a love even greater than I could ever possess...a perfect love. One without sin. A love that desires all the wholeness and fullness of what Christ died to give his children. This is the One who holds my son. Even in the dark of night when my heart erupts in terror as his cries rise up.
I have been delaying posting this. I have put a whole pause on this blog as a whole for months. Because I thought that our season of "hard" was over. I thought that we would turn the page, say good-bye to Lyme and welcome happier days ahead. I have wanted to write about happy and funny things, and not be a blog writer that focuses on the "hard" of life. Time and again, I feel the Lord telling me to be honest...to write about where He has us right now, without putting on the pretty fake sugar coating that I would like to. He has told me to write about suffering. Not suffering as some have walked through, as there are levels to suffering. But suffering, all the same for my family.
For those of you walking through Lyme, I want to let you know that I will do a post following this one, that will talk about test results and treatment information. I said I would at the beginning of this blog journey, and I will! It has just taken me a while to mentally be able to unpack everything following such a grueling treatment. It takes mental energy to think about Lyme because more than anything I would like to ignore it. At least for a while.
I will end with this verse...the verse I have prayed to the Lord when sleep doesn't suffice and fear seems to overcome. I know with all my heart, more than ever, that my God is alive.
FROM THE END OF THE EARTH
WILL I CRY TO YOU. WHEN MY
HEART IS
OVERWHELMED,
LEAD ME TO THE ROCK THAT IS
HIGHER THAN I.
Psalms 61:2
WILL I CRY TO YOU. WHEN MY
HEART IS
OVERWHELMED,
LEAD ME TO THE ROCK THAT IS
HIGHER THAN I.
Psalms 61:2
