Realizing my son is sick

One would think that having a son in the NICU would clue me into the fact that he's sick. However, like every other truly difficult thing in my life, it has taken a while to sink in. In fact, it just really hit me earlier this evening.

I went alone to visit Squish around 4:30 today. It's been a trying day, and I just wanted to see my son. For the entire nearly 3 hours I was there he slept mostly or rested his eyes, breathing tubes and a saline tube in his nose, feeding tube in his mouth. He has what I assume is an oximeter around his right foot. His tiny left foot, while free, is scarred with tiny red dots because his blood is tested at least two times per day. His heel is pricked each time.

Today he didn't look as peaceful to me as he had been. Ever so often he would cough and try to bring up mucus, which frustrated him (as per his usual). Occasionally while doing this he would cry and turn beet red for a moment. After observing for a few hours, I realized: my son is SICK. He's not fake sick or in the nursery for an extended amount of time. No. He lives not with his family, but in the hospital. The 'crib' he's in is a hospital bed, despite the multicolor specked paint. I must SCRUB in to see him. The people who care for him only touch him with gloves. He has do many tubes and other equipment hanging from him that I, his own mother, am intimidated to hold him.

Perhaps worst of all today I was gripped with the fact that maybe he would never come home. Nothing outside of my family means anything to me anymore. Life is too short, and time with my loved ones is too precious.

I can't look back anymore. Mediocrity is no longer an option for my life. It is time to accept my trial and take a seat at my heavenly Father's feet to find out what He would have me do. Who would he have me to serve, to be.

He says to seek His kingdom first, but I have allowed the pressures of this world to make me a slave to my current livelihood, with my family taking back seat and Jesus riding in the trunk like a spare tire.

During my pregnancy it all peaked, as the demands of my pregnancy increased, so did those at my job. I ran myself ragged mentally, physically and emotionally so much that there was nothing left for my husband or for myself. I squeezed out the last drops of whatever I had for my daughter, but I was zombie mommy at best. Now she has a hollow, shell shocked woman for a mother. I believe she knows. She recognizes my crying and tries to pet me up. I feel like I am shortchanging her as I try to navigate my state of being and her brother's illness.