I sat in the rocker, holding Carter, a familiar scene from the past many days. My sick little boy, sat straddling me as I rocked and sang to him. He is still, breathing slowly and deeply, every muscle relaxed, hands and feet dangling, his blankie cuddled under his head. In this moment, I sat singing and humming and rocking. I traced his protruding backbone with my index finger and outlined his shoulder blades. He had lost weight!
I am helpless. The worst feeling a mother can have.
I sat there, singing and humming and rocking. I am praying that whatever is ailing him, be quickly lifted from him. That the sooner he bounces back to my vibrant, joyful, funny little boy the better.
I sat there, singing and humming and rocking. I begin to weep. Not so much for my own little boy, but for those moms who were at that moment singing, humming, rocking with the feeling of helplessness.
I feel guilty for being so worried about my own son. You see, my son was suffering from a virus. A virus that most likely will be gone in a few hours or at the most a few more days. My son will bounce back.
I realize in this moment that mothers around the world are wishing that their children be sick with only a common virus, not from the cancer that is eating away or from an another life-threatening disease.
In this moment of praying for my sick child, I begin to praise God for allowing my children to be healthy. I then begin to pray for all the children I know, by name. Those that are sick, those that are well.
I begin praying a generic prayer for those parents and children that I can’t name by name but for those who I know must be out there at that given moment, grieving. It doesn’t feel like enough. I feel helpless again.
I sat humbled by the presence of God. I sat blessed, knowing of the responsibility that God has given me, and the blessing of healthy children. I sat a little more empathetic for moms who struggle more than I do.
I sat in the rocker, holding Carter, in the stillness and quietness of that moment.