A Glimpse At Brave

We've done this walk a million times, but it never seems to get any easier.

The tired, early morning walk into the hospital with a scared boy on our backs.

The poking and prodding and changing routine.

The television is on as a form of distraction.

The snuggles. Oh, the snuggles.

And then the hardest part. The part where he has to walk away. He had a death grip using both his hands clinging to mine and I took him as far as I was allowed, and then it took a brilliant nurse and a cell phone game to get him the rest of the way without me. That walk is short in distance but LONG in heart. And I try to keep it in perspective: He's okay. He is able to walk into that room. There is no emergency. There is no life or death situation on the line here. We are blessed. So so so blessed.

But damn, watching your scared six year old boy pull up his way too big hospital pants and take those steps away from you is a hard sight to see. 

We have our routine down pat now. As soon as he's behind those doors, Todd runs down to the Starbucks and gets me my favorite coffee, venti style. It's my special treat for being brave. ;) He's taking care of us both and he does a good job of it. He's the first to go back when Owen starts waking up, but it never lasts long before they come get me too, because Owen always wants his mom. (And we've figured out this trick is the best way to get us both back there quickly.) Whoever made the rule that only one parent is allowed in recovery has never had a kid in recovery. I'm 99.9% sure of that.

Once Owen is fully awake and taking liquids, they take the IV out and send us on our way. They took tissue samples from his esophagus and stomach and now we wait for results and pray for answers. 

Last Wednesday was a long day.

And long after the house was finally quiet, I kept thinking about my boy and how he's brave over and over and over again.

He has no choice. He shows up for life one day at a time and he rocks it. Some days he rocks it with screaming and tears and pain and some days he rocks it with smiles, despite all that is going on. Doesn't matter to us - he's rocking it either way.

And yesterday when I went and bombed a statistics exam, I wanted to quit. This school stuff in the midst of life stuff is really hard y'all. And having a panic attack during an exam does not bode well for your grade on said exam. And I definitely kissed my A goodbye. It was mortifying. My final product looked like it had been through a tornado. I'm pretty sure there was a hole in one spot from too much erasing and crossing out and rewriting and.....oh the horror.

And I really thought, I should just quit. This stress isn't worth it. I'm too old for this.

But then I went to work last night and I loved on my patients and I thought about my boy and I decided I'm going to keep showing up. One day at a time.
(Until they kick me out or I graduate.)  

My six year old has taught me that.

Toughest dude I know.
And if he can keep showing up and rocking it every day, surely that's the least I can do as well.

So life lesson for this week?
Be brave.
Show up.
Rock it out.
Maybe cut your eraser off your pencil during exams.
And drink wine as needed.