My hand covers her abdomen almost entirely from right to left, and my heart breaks yet again seeing new scars…As so many times before as soon as she comes from theatre and out of the recovery room my first instinct is to see the wounds, knowing that they will ultimately morph into new scars. As if by seeing them it confirms that it is done. I gave permission for her to be cut open and I wonder if she can truly understand. Understand that as always the only motivation is that of pure love. Love for her driving the need to ensure better quality of life. And then the hope that this would have been the right decision…The momentum of faith pushing us forwards, always, to keep on fighting. Not giving up.
It is done…Surgery went well, scars the proof of the most difficult of decisions we as parents have to make. To put your child under the knife. To trust a fellow human with your whole heart. My daughter so vulnerable and I cannot even be there to tell them about her. To make sure that they understand that this is not just a patient, a case. But my everything…
Almost three hours sitting alone in front of the recovery room. A thick electrical door keeping me out and isolated from the answers I so crave. How is she? And then finally I hear that familiar angry cry of her coming out of anesthetic. Spontaneous tears of deep relieve find their way from my eyes to my cheeks. Dripping on my clothes. They are giving me away, exposing my mask of so called control and calm. Tears reminding me of my humanness.
My thoughts find their way to another Father who gave permission for His Son to be given over to humans. He however knew that these humans didn’t know His Son. Didn’t care for Him or understood His calling. Yet this Father was also pushed by Love. Love forcing him to permit deep wounds and ultimately evidential scars on His only Son. His son was hanged on a cross and He couldn’t interfere. His only Hope that His son truly understood that all of this was driven by Love. A Hope for a new tomorrow. For true quality of life for all His children and ultimately the Faith that these scars will be the proof. The proof that It is Done.
I do believe that one day Juneldè’s broken body will be fully restored and that on this earth these scars will continue to remind me of Love. Love enabling me to keep on making the difficult decisions on her behalf. Believing that she knows that I will always have her best interest at heart and the invisible thread of intuitive knowledge binding us my barometer to trust my gut even when it means more wounds and scars.
I am a fallible sinful human and therefore a fallible sinful mom. Yet in my deepest soul my spirit reminds me that agape Love is the gift that propels all difficult decisions. If I as a mother yearn for her to know that Love is the only motivation how much more does our heavenly Father crave that surrender. The surrender of not seeking answers but rather stepping into complete trust. The scars on His son the reminder that It is done.