When that little 8 month old baby boy lay on that air mattress with all of those cords and machines, and we sat and watched and prayed-we also pleaded with God for a miracle. I prayed, then John and our Bishop (and dear friend), Dave, gave Parker a blessing of healing for the sick. I knew that he would be ok. I had a very real feeling that all would be as it should be. I was not at all panicked. I had a quiet reassurance that things would unroll as they were meant to. And in that, I knew that John could and would bless Parker to health and wholeness, and entirety. IT WAS AT THAT VERY POINT THAT I KNEW THAT HE WOULD BE HEALED.
And during the blessing, I saw something extraordinary:
I saw pillars of light coming from the center of the earth, that went heavenward. Many, huge, beautiful pillars of light, that transcended the earth, the old Necker building, the four floors of the building until they reached our room--the pristine ICU room in the Reanimation Unit that Parker's lifeless body lay. These pillars of light continued through our room and towards the sky. I felt nothing but peace. Then, when the prayer was over, I kept my eyes closed, and for a moment, I felt like I was floating towards heaven. And I felt warmth in my heart and chest. But I had an inner urge to look to my right. So with my eyes still closed, I turned my head to the right. And I felt that there was something I was supposed to see far in a dark corner. But I remember it being strange that the rest of the room was filled with light and warmth, and alot of it...but there was a corner that beckoned to me. That I knew we had to traverse, but it seemed far from where we were, and as I tried to look into that dark corner, to see what was hiding there, someone spoke. The Bishop, I think, and I was taken back to the physical reality of the room.
And these questions came to my mind repeatedly from time to time throughout the past few years,
"What was that dark corner?"
" What did it represent?"
"What did it mean?"
"Was I supposed to go there?"
"Was I supposed to look there?"
"Did I make a mistake by opening my eyes, and not straining more to see what was there, hiding in that dark corner?"
....in that dark corner in the middle of that very warm, and very light room....?
What did it represent?
And tonight as I unexpectedly wept on my strong husband's shoulder, the Spirit whispered to me that the past two years (plus) were that dark corner. That we came out of that dark corner, and have always been surrounded by warmth and light, even if we have been living (partly or sometimes completely--sometimes for long periods of time, and sometimes shorter) in that dark corner.
And that the darkness in that corner is being replaced by light. And complete light, and warmth. And safety.
And the dark chapter is closing in this story.
It's been very difficult to come out of that "darkness" into some sort of normalcy. I imagine this is what other people feel like all of the time, and what I never thought I would feel again.
It's so very refreshing to think of Penelope and her potty training, or how to hold her more, or teach her more, or make up for some lost time, better, more completely, in some small sense.... To sculpt her art project with Abby..or talk about Bieber Fever..... To read with Hannah, and see the sparkle in her eyes again when I kiss her goodnight..... And stop to listen to Axelle sing in whichever corner of the house she is in. She simply goes through her daily tasks in song.
And, it's good here.
__________________ ____________________ ____________________
The other day we were at the pool. John was actually in the water with the 5 children. I was standing outside the pool, with my suit on, not yet in the water. And we were watching the kids play in the fountains, and twirl around a lazy river, when suddenly we heard a thud and gasp from the crowd behind us. John and I turned to see the thud was actually Penelope who had somehow fallen 4 feet over the ledge of the pool, onto hard cement, flat on her back, and head. It didn't register at first that it was our child. There was another parent running to her side. I took a mere 5 steps, and quickly enveloped her into my arms and chest. And the woman after about 30 seconds said to me, "But where is her mother?".....Shocked, I said, "I am her mother."
But I couldn't help but wonder WHY on earth she was doubting that I was her mother? Because I was not horrified, scared, screaming, crying? Or did I not look the part? Or was she expecting her mother to be in the water with her (her 7 year old sister, arm floaties and ring-- and me and her daddy less than 10 feet away-- were not enough supervision for her?)....I analyzed that one for awhile.
And I came to the conclusion that it must have been the calm manner in which I took her into my arms, wondering if her head was bleeding, looking into her eyes for a concussion. I had a significant realization at that point:
I realized I am not really scared anymore. Of course I am terrified in my heart of things I've never dreamed of having to endure before, but on a very daily basis, I am hardly stunned by shocking events. I just continue onward as obliged. AND I think it is because I was so stunned, so hurt, so traumatized with meningitis and PJ, and I realized I was SO NOT RUNNING THE SHOW, that I decided some time ago that worrying is actually completely counterproductive.
And I thought of this scripture in Joshua 8:1 "Fear not, neither be thou dismayed."
And can't help but think that there is something still dark lurking in a corner somewhere. That my peace and joy are not the only feelings left in this heart of mine. I have many more days to live. But I am always optimistic that we have only good things to come, greatness to follow this boy, and this story.
So for now, I walk by faith, I accept this intuition, this vision of mine, and thank my Lord for His infinite wisdom, and pray for more wisdom, more patience, more knowledge, more energy to do all of the things that are required of me as a mother, and a wife, and a friend. And assume that the darkness is gone, the corners are all filled with light. And I accept what comes at me with open arms and an open heart. Come what may. I am no longer afraid. And I have no time to worry, anyway, right?
There is too much to do, too much life to live.
Come what may.
