I am sitting in a hard backed kitchen chair. I have been sitting here for over an hour.
I am numb. I am scared. I am sad. Tears well in my eyes. I push them away. My breath catches in my throat and snot runs down my chin.
It's all unknown. It's to unknown and the only thing to do is sit in this hardback chair and wait. My sister and nieice are in trouble. In pain. Their lives have been turned upside down as they ride to Denver in an airplane. Their afternoon activities cut short by five short words. "Amaya, you have a brain tumor". You have a brain tumor and you are being life fighted to Denver Childrens. They have specialists there that can help you.
That heaviness catches in my chest again when I say those words. Think of my niece laying in that airplane headed to a children's hospital in a big city far from Wyoming. The heaviness creates fear. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Resolve.
I'm a fixer. I need to fix this.
All I can really do is sit in this hardback chair with this heaviness. You know, I can't even pray. I don't have the words. Prayer usually comes so easily to me. I pray all the time.
Not now. There are no words. The tears will fall. The prayers won't. I am OK with this. I have been depending on my dearest friends to pray for me. My friend Gwen prayed for me on the phone a little while ago as I let my tears flow and my heart sink. She prayed. For Amaya. For Megan. For Ron. For Addie. My friends say the words when I can't. They say them and I feel their strength. This is God's blessing.
I keep looking at the pantry. Inside my pantry is that huge bag of choclate chips. There is also some marshmellows in the back corner. I could get a bowl and pile it high with marshmellows, pour choclate chips all over them and heat them in the microwave for a few seconds. This would make me feel bettter.
Only for a few seconds. Then, all the pain would rush back in. The reality would hit even harder. I can't escape it no matter how much chocolate I eat. It will not be avoided. I keep telling myself, "having a migraine won't help". So, I haven't walked in the pantry. I won't walk in there tonight.
So, in the rawness and pain. I wait. Wait for my phone to beep. Wait for news that they have arrived to Denver safety. Wait for the next step.
I am numb. I am scared. I am sad. Tears well in my eyes. I push them away. My breath catches in my throat and snot runs down my chin.
It's all unknown. It's to unknown and the only thing to do is sit in this hardback chair and wait. My sister and nieice are in trouble. In pain. Their lives have been turned upside down as they ride to Denver in an airplane. Their afternoon activities cut short by five short words. "Amaya, you have a brain tumor". You have a brain tumor and you are being life fighted to Denver Childrens. They have specialists there that can help you.
That heaviness catches in my chest again when I say those words. Think of my niece laying in that airplane headed to a children's hospital in a big city far from Wyoming. The heaviness creates fear. Confusion. Anger. Sadness. Resolve.
I'm a fixer. I need to fix this.
All I can really do is sit in this hardback chair with this heaviness. You know, I can't even pray. I don't have the words. Prayer usually comes so easily to me. I pray all the time.
Not now. There are no words. The tears will fall. The prayers won't. I am OK with this. I have been depending on my dearest friends to pray for me. My friend Gwen prayed for me on the phone a little while ago as I let my tears flow and my heart sink. She prayed. For Amaya. For Megan. For Ron. For Addie. My friends say the words when I can't. They say them and I feel their strength. This is God's blessing.
I keep looking at the pantry. Inside my pantry is that huge bag of choclate chips. There is also some marshmellows in the back corner. I could get a bowl and pile it high with marshmellows, pour choclate chips all over them and heat them in the microwave for a few seconds. This would make me feel bettter.
Only for a few seconds. Then, all the pain would rush back in. The reality would hit even harder. I can't escape it no matter how much chocolate I eat. It will not be avoided. I keep telling myself, "having a migraine won't help". So, I haven't walked in the pantry. I won't walk in there tonight.
So, in the rawness and pain. I wait. Wait for my phone to beep. Wait for news that they have arrived to Denver safety. Wait for the next step.
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