At the end of part 3, Asher came home from the hospital after nearly 3 weeks in Intensive Care.
One would think I would be overjoyed, but really I was just weary. Ready for him to be home. By that point adrenaline had kicked in and I was moving on autopilot. I had two other boys to care for–and I had to jump right in to life with a newborn again. No period of recovery from the trauma of his birth and subsequent hospitalization.
I thought I was doing fine. Really, I did. I was impressing myself with how well I was holding it all together. Until…I didn’t. I normally try to keep at least 20 balls in the air (plates spinning…whatever your metaphor), and during the early summer I watched them drop all at once like a carnival game.
I slowly started to buy into strange lies my brain was telling me. Anxiety covered me like a dense fog. I would simultaneously be having a conversation with someone and also playing a ridiculous tape of fears in my head. On the outside, at least for awhile, I looked to be holding up well–but my thoughts betrayed me. As the anxiety wore on and got worse, I started to feel incredibly exhausted and weak…disinterested in things I used to love. Holding my head up or turning the pages in a book took all of my energy. It was becoming clear that life was not moving along as normal for me.
Because my Husband is a kind and amazing man, he noticed the change in my affect immediately. We got swift help for me–and within about two weeks I felt the fog lift. Sure, there were still times of intense fear, racing thoughts, or irrational thinking…but they became episodes rather than my norm.
About three weeks after I saw a doctor and began counseling, we left for our annual family lake vacation. It was there, in the rolling hills and warm lakes of Tennessee, that I began to see light. I saw Asher with new eyes, rather than through the lens of fear of loss. I was active during the days, soaking up sun and laughs with my family. I rested well at night. I felt like I was on the mend.
It took the rest of the summer for me to really start to process everything that happened with Asher. For some reason, instead of being even more trusting of the Lord for bringing Asher through his illness…I began to clutch my family more tightly. I clung to them with a ferocity that I had not known, but it was fear guiding me…not love. I was afraid something would happen to me, or something would happen to them, or just that something would happen that would rock me to the core again.
I am still retraining my brain and heart to know that the Lord is good.
But, I do know that every time I glance down at Asher I am reminded that He brought us through that trial–even if He allowed it. Overwhelming gratitude for Asher’s health washes over me daily.
I am a different mother–even woman–than I was before Asher was born, I know that for certain.