I can't do it.
I have so many fears, so many joys, so much hope and so much draining my hope and I continue to bottle all of these emotions inside until I'm sure my heart and mind will burst. But I can't let them go.
It was warm and summery last night, Maisie had been crying for hours from pain and anguish, she seized uncontrollably and my heart broke to watch her in so much distress. At four o'clock in the morning I packed her into the car and drove and drove and drove until she calmed a little. She loves the motion of the car, and after an hour her wails had decreased to low mumbles of discomfort.
We sat on a hill in a beautiful little park and waited for the sun to come up over the distant trees. She shook and cried in my arms. But as the first rays of sunlight came peeked over the horizon, it happened again.
Her body stilled, her clouded eyes cleared, and her pain and terror subsided as she stretched her weak arms to Heaven and praised God.
I knew, in that moment, that she saw the fading stars, the backlit trees, the sharp orange tendrils of His wisdom and power in all its glory, that she fully appreciated His creation.
I knew also that God spoke to my baby, and though I don't know what He said I know that she fell asleep on the way home, and slept deeper and longer than she has in weeks or months.
I don't talk about it very much, but Maisie's eyes and ears are the scariest part of this journey for me. We have never known for sure how much she can and cannot see, but there have been moments when her face changes and I believe she is seeing me, or her grandma, or her pappy, clearly all at once, for the first time that day or week or month or who knows. Her eyes don't always track together and she doesn't always follow movement the way she should.
That is the scariest thing anyone could tell me, that my daughter cannot see my face.
We sat on a hill in a beautiful little park and waited for the sun to come up over the distant trees. She shook and cried in my arms. But as the first rays of sunlight came peeked over the horizon, it happened again.
Her body stilled, her clouded eyes cleared, and her pain and terror subsided as she stretched her weak arms to Heaven and praised God.
I knew, in that moment, that she saw the fading stars, the backlit trees, the sharp orange tendrils of His wisdom and power in all its glory, that she fully appreciated His creation.
I knew also that God spoke to my baby, and though I don't know what He said I know that she fell asleep on the way home, and slept deeper and longer than she has in weeks or months.
I don't talk about it very much, but Maisie's eyes and ears are the scariest part of this journey for me. We have never known for sure how much she can and cannot see, but there have been moments when her face changes and I believe she is seeing me, or her grandma, or her pappy, clearly all at once, for the first time that day or week or month or who knows. Her eyes don't always track together and she doesn't always follow movement the way she should.
That is the scariest thing anyone could tell me, that my daughter cannot see my face.
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