She sits in a tiny chair by the back door watching the rain come down. The sky is dark and the water thick but she has found something in the creek that she wants more of. She leans in, hands pressed upon the glass, until she can see it. It’s ducks. Baby ducks.
With excitement she jumps from her chair and runs full steam ahead towards her room. She comes back, shoes on, umbrella in hand. “I’m going out there,” she says, not asking.
Her steps are cautious on the slick wood of the deck and the soggy grass of our yard. They are full of care but they are full of intention. They are deliberate and precise.
When she finally arrives at the edge of the creek she stands ever so still and watches. It is pouring harder now and the ducks flutter down the creek on their way. From where I stand I cannot tell how many there are. Their bodies have no definition to me but fit together forming just a single unit. A train of innocence follows the mother wherever she leads. She guides them. Protects them. She cannot see what is beyond the next bend but she continues regardless. She must. Because that is what mothers do.
In only an hour Izzy and I will head to Cincinnati to begin the unholy process of ‘quarterly scans.’ She is beyond excited about having ‘sleep medicine’ two days in a row which I find more comforting than crazy. She used to fight going to sleep and fight waking up. She would cling desperately to me as her eyes began to close, screaming for me not to leave, then wake up hours later screaming again, not knowing who I was. After doing it a hundred or so times, we have landed upon the perfect cocktail of drugs to get her out quickly and wake her up slowly. We have made the unholiness manageable.
I would like to start this next paragraph out with a scripture I’ve been reading this week or something the Lord showed me in a dream but I’ve got neither. What I have instead is a paralyzing fear that makes it difficult to breath when I’m not trying. Shaking hands and a heavy pulse I can feel most everywhere.
The further away from treatment we get the harder it gets to go back. I never want to go back to what life was like Before. To see her in that suffering or to live in that unknowing. The thought of sitting in that radiology waiting room for hours on end, two days in a row…it makes me want to throw up. I would rather do most anything than sit in silence while someone else is looking into my daughter’s body. But I will. I will because I have to.
There is nothing in me that wants to pretend to be something I am not. Some days I walk forward with confidence and some days I drag my feet with every step. Some days I think that I can do anything, now that I have done this. Other days I remember that ‘this’ thing we’ve done has been redemptive. We’ve gotten the ‘happily ever after’ so far. How dare I think I could do anything when I have never done the thing that would be the hardest. To have to live without her.
There is a truth that the enemy has ensured is saturated in my blood stream, flowing to every place of my existence. That truth is that I do not personally know a family or a child that has made it this far with No Evidence of Disease. And I cannot help remembering it today as I prepare to walk in to that radiology department. In a culture of people longing for truth, real palatable truth that leads us towards freedom and wholeness, it is hard to not be governed by every truth we know. It is hard to remember, and even believe sometimes, that multiple truths can exist at the same time and on the same journey. But I am trying.
I am trying to remember that God is still God. Truth. I am trying to remember that Izzy’s destiny is not determined by radiology equipment. Truth. But mostly today I’m just trying to remember that the enemy does not dictate which truths I will embrace. Truth again.
With that said I will move forward with hope today, declaring blessings on you today and LIFE for my little girl.
11 Replies to “Truth On The Journey”
Praying that no weapon formed against you will stand. Sometimes at night the Lord puts you all upon my heart. One night I felt like He was having me pray for every organ in her body and as they came to mind, I prayed that each one would be whole and would stand strong against the enemy. Trust that when you are weak, the Lord raises the rest of us up to battle for you and your family. I have awakened many times in the middle of the night with you on my heart.
Love & prayers,
Becky Curtis (Aaron’s mom)
Prayers for all of you, Molly. Thank you for keeping us posted so that we can be the lifter of your arms.
Declaring with you, sweet Molly. LIFE abundant for Izzy, for Carter and their forward-swimming parents!
Molly – you do know someone, you just don’t know you know! My youngest sister had ‘glioblastoma” (brain tumor) when she was 4 (42 years ago!). She started kindergarten bald after having lived thru chemo and radiation therapy. She has outlived both of my parents and is still alive and kicking and the mother of three. Her life has not been a bed of roses, and she has just recently found the Lord and trying her best to live as best she can. God is still in the miracle making business. You are a blessing and Izzy is a walking miracle. You are living your life a day at a time….what more can any of us do? Continued prayers for you and Life for Izzy!
Joining you in the darkness. Joining you in your prayers. Life for Izzy. Please please please. Wishing you safe travels. Wishing you feel the love and hope surrounding your family.
Always praying for you and your family Molly! I just read each of the comments above, and ditto all of them!!! There is POWER IN PRAYER and there are an infinite number of people praying for Izzy.
Tomorrow my dear friends little boy will be in that exact same MIBG unit getting scanned to see if his relapsed disease has responded again to chemo. I pray for him and your daughter.
I hope they got good news. I saw a family there with a little boy and I wondered…I had not read this yet and there are many tests he could have been there for but something made me wonder if it was nb. The parents just looked so scared. Prayers to them.
It may have been them. His name is Aiden and he has curly blonde hair in Mohawk style. He is adorable. His scans were stable. His facebook page is Aidens Army if you would like to join it is an open group. I know his mom is always looking for other NB moms to talk to.
we often walk through trials feeling alone.. feeling ashamed at how we feel.. when others rejoice around us for our healing.. but we have been in the trenches.. a trench no one wants to be in.. but are thrust into.. ready or not.. to fight… thank you for making me feel less alone on our journey..