Dean's Storm

I should be sleeping.

At close to 3am, I sit here, wide awake with my thoughts.

my dangerous thoughts.

it's harder to control them these days, really.

Dark clouds trail me like the tropical storms I grew so familiar with,

as a child native of Miami, Florida.

We'd look out over our flat, flat earth for signs of a gathering darkness,

flashes of lightening in the distance...

and we'd count until we heard the rumbling thunder

one

two

three

four 

five

telling us when to run and take cover for the approaching storm.

I'm counting these days for different reasons.

One day without a crisis.

Two days without a call.

Three days without a meeting.

I haven't gotten past 7 days in months.

Reminds me of those workplace signs:

"Accident Free for _____ Days".

Dean's health continues to decline.

Last week we finally got a med change

that he started taking on Saturday.

We had a special day planned for Sunday

as our newly-returned missionary daughter was speaking in church

about her mission.

Our eldest, Danielle and her family flew in from Houston to share the day

and we had plans to have Dean come too.

But it didn't work out that we could see him until after church.

When we did see him

it wasn't good.

It was akin to flashes of lightening for me.

He was hunched over in the car, arms drawn upward,

eyes rolling around, unable to clearly focus or talk,

he needed assistance to get into our car--

and then he puked all over himself and the car and the street.

I wondered if we should take him to the ER--

he wasn't himself.

His HHPs attributed it all to the new med...

it looked like an overdose to me.

We cleaned him up and took him home.

That's the one thing he said clearly:

"I want to go with you, Mom."

Lightening.

We took him home

where he lay on the sofa for four hours

while we fed him small bites of food

and coaxed him to drink lots of water,

as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Danielle came to sit by him

while I excused myself, going upstairs to my room

and dropped to my knees in prayers and tears.

Crying because today was the likely the last time

Dean could've gone to church with the rest of the family.

The next time we're all gathered together at church

will probably be his funeral.

That thought made me sad.

What am I doing?

This is so hard.

Too hard.

What is this supposed to be like?

I've been reading "Joy Cometh in the Morning" by Fran Hafen.

And other articles on losing a child to disease, 

hoping for something I can relate to, follow, whatever.

Gathering my self,

I sucked up my fears, dried my tears

and got busy making the turkey dinner we'd planned.

The rest of the family moved Dean to the family room,

where he could see me in the kitchen and they all sat with him,

and to their credit

chatted as though nothing was wrong.

I made dinner and tried to hide the random tears that made their way

to the corners of my eyeballs.

I had conversations in my head about this whole situation.

I feel guilty for wanting his pain to be over.

I feel guilty for begging God to not take my son just yet because of my own selfishness.

I'm not ready, I tell Him.

Not yet.

How selfish.

Later that night,

after we've delivered Dean back to his HHP--

in better shape than when we got him,

we talk with the family about the lighter things of Dean's situation.

I asked Danielle with as much composure as I can muster

if she'll plan on doing the eulogy for the funeral.

We talk about which primary songs we'll put in the program.

And then we change the subject

because it's all too sad to continue with the topic.

I'm counting for thunder these days.

The storm is no longer just on the horizon...

it's in view,

I see the lightening afar off

and I'm counting

One

Two

Three

Four

Five....

the thunder's coming...
I can almost feel the earth shake--
 or maybe it's just the trembling of my own heart.

I'm trying to find joy in each day
to keep the dark clouds from squelching the goodness
that is Life.
We put on music and dance in the kitchen...
me and Mr. Wonderful
me and the kids
the kids and the dogs on hind legs...
we stay up late and play board games
and laugh until our sides ache...
we leave love notes for each other in random places.
There's alot more hugging and "I love yous" happening in these walls.

We understand, I guess,
that anyday, a phone call is going to change our lives...
that the storm will hit us front and center...
and heaven help us,
it's going to be really hard.

So we'd better prepare for it...
and the only thing that's strong enough to withstand a storm on a family
is
Love.