It is. To live every day. I am trying. I am trying so hard to look at the good and not the horrific. To be grateful that my son is still here and although it will take time he will comeback. He will be my son again. No matter how much time has to pass, one day it will happen.
That's the same line I was told as a child. Growing up Jehovah's Witness and being told the "last days" are coming and "the last seconds". There is but so long you can live with baited breath before the disappointment becomes the norm. Yesterday was Mother's Day. And the first baby to ever call me mom was sick in a hospital. Heavily sedated for his own good.
Life goes on while he slowly realigns reality. His brother and sister are getting older. Time is lost and broken and you blink and it's near 7 months now. 7 months of sickness. 7 months of insurance and bills and being dragged by life because it keeps moving without you.
At my weakest points I have asked. What did I do to deserve this? Why my Jason? I don't want to hear the shit about the strongest warriors and "the test" and all of that. I want an answer. An explanation. A "why" and "where for" that I can swallow and makes sense.
But it will never come. That is the ramblings of the weak. Life is not so neat and simple. It's vague. And it's tainted and in the end we all get our serving and whether you like it or not you take it and you move along.
God owes none of us an explanation. And I am no one to demand one. When I am weak and I ask why my Jason. I know the answer already. I am just being stubborn. My child is no different from yours or anyone else's.
He is a child who is loved and wanted and cherished.
When I selfishly give in and ask why the answer is piercing and jagged.
Why not?
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