Last night I had two dreams.
In the first one I was at a banquet, surrounded by friends. I excused myself to go to the loo. But then I started bleeding. It wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t get the cubicle clean and I couldn’t go back out.
In the second dream I was in an old-style ranch. Our cat was nestled in my lap. I knew what was ahead: armed men, coming to kill her. I waited behind the closed door. And for a moment, the world hung, beautiful and still.
I woke up.
And that’s been the shape of the weekend. I keep thinking, everything is ok – this is all a dream. I start humming and washing up and then, I freeze. I remember. It’s real: and I can’t think my way through or make it go away.
I’m scared that I can’t do this. I’m scared I’ll fall apart. Maybe in the frozen food aisle. A great big technicolour implosion that splatters the fishfingers.
By God’s grace, we have a child. She’s desperately sick. I don’t want that child to die in a laboratory: but in my womb or in my arms. I’m scared of this. But if we don’t protect her, then who will?
I believe we’ll meet in heaven. But for now, it’s hard. I’m not an example or a cautionary tale. I’m me: weak and wobbly and scared of giving my heart to have it ripped out. But, maybe, this is what it means to be a parent. Giving out of love, even when it hurts.
And God, our Father, understands. He has done this for us: and He is with us, every step.
Please pray: we can’t do it alone.