Another Perspective

I've been doing alot of thinking over whether I even wanted to respond to this, but I keep thinking about it, so maybe that's my sign.

Everyone I know has been posting a link to this blog post lately. 

And everyone that posts the link talks about how relieved they are that someone actually said it: that someone articulated how they feel.

And quite frankly, this just makes me sad.

This woman has never lost a child. 

And most likely, you never have either.

Momastery (Glennon--who to be clear, I generally really enjoy and tend to agree with, as she has the life experience to back it up) talks in this post about how the thought of having to carpe diem her every day makes her panicky. 

I know not many are going to understand, but when you sit, hour by hour, second by second, in a hospital room, for days, waiting for your child to either get better or DIE, and while you know you selfishly want to take your child home, but that dying takes away their suffering, then you JUST. WON'T. GET IT. 

Now THAT is feeling panicky. 

I understand no one can really know what it's like unless you've been through it.  I understand that the thought of having a regular old day is quite mind numbing to you, but to me, NOW, I can't begin to explain to you how much I cherish those days. 

And we are even in the terrible twos. 

When I close my eyes at night, when I wake up, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I think about it.  It replays in my mind over and over again like a horror film, but one that I just HAVE to watch, because otherwise I become paralyzed in fear that I will forget her. 

And in the meantime, I am forced to continue living my life.  To continue breathing, and to go on daily, functioning, and acting like it's all just part of the process. 

This entire experience, though, did teach me one thing, and that, my friends, is to carpe diem. 

You see, now, every single second I have with my child is sacred.  The tantrums, the screams, the crayon marks on the upholstered chair, the messy faces and the dirty home.  My God took away my daughter, but through it He is teaching me, each and every day, about the SANCTITY of it all with my husband and son. 

The reverence due to the mundane. 

So you'll forgive me, sweet friends, if I choose to carpe. every. single. diem.


And I hope you do too.