I've started several posts in the past few days. But I'm just too emotional to finish writing them.
I've been very weepy lately. To remember how good things used to be.
The other day, I went through the pictures on my phone to try and delete some to make room for more. I started in July 2012 and went forward. I saw pictures and videos of Ben as a goofy little boy, dancing around, jumping off the couch, making silly faces, and doing magic tricks. It was so emotional I had to stop.
Today, my mom showed me a photo book she made of my family that included pictures from the past few years. I got through two pages and had to close it. Too much.
I hate seeing my little boy like this. He's not in pain. But he is not himself.
He's slow. Anxious. Sluggish. Tired. Doesn't have energy to do very much at all. His face is so full that he doesn't even look like he has an identical twin. His belly is so round, so big that you can see a big gap where his shirt goes over his belly. Half of his hair is missing and now the area around his incision is sticky because we've been putting on an ointment to keep it from itching. So it's awkward to touch. He can still climb the steps by himself, but he looks so pitiful climbing on all fours, literally pushing himself to bring another limb up that we always offer to carry him. And he always says yes. He's always preferred to do everything by himself. And before now, he was always able to.
He talks about going to kindergarten. Turning five next month. And how old he will be when Megan is ____ years old. "I am almost a man," he keeps telling me. "See how strong I am?" he asks, lifting his arm for me to squeeze his muscles. He went into preschool two days ago for his special day, but he only lasted about fifteen minutes before he got too tired and asked to go home. We were expecting it, though, and Andy brought him in long enough to share his new bubble gun for show-and-tell. I think the other kids enjoyed being able to see their friend again. Jack was thrilled to be able to show his brother off for a few minutes. Except now, it's as if Jack treats him like a baby rather than an equal. That alone makes me want to sob.
I suppose we're grieving the Old Ben. The way things used to be. And it makes me feel guilty because I still have my son on this side of heaven. It just doesn't feel close to how it used to be. My healthy son, who never had an allergy, food aversion or scrape that would have landed us in the hospital. Has brain cancer. How is that even possible?
I don't feel prepared to do with the possibilities that we may come across in the next few days. The next few weeks. I am just not strong enough.
I am not strong enough.
But... God is.
Tonight, as every night, I rest in His strength. Because only in my weakness am I made strong.
"But he said to me,
"My grace is sufficient for you,
for my power is made perfect in weakness."
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses,
so that Christ's power may rest on me."
2 Corinthians 12:9
So I guess it's alright for me to brag about how weak I am. How scared I am of the future. How little prepared I am to handle how things might progress. Because only then will God give me the strength I need - His strength - to keep on going.
It is by God's grace, I stand.
But God, if it is your will, please heal my son. What a testimony it would be to watch that amazing boy grow up and tell other people of how You saved him.