This post is kinda raw. It’s where I’m at.
After two weeks halfway around the world trying to keep my new son out of the hospital, one week on at home in the hospital away from my family and then a week at home trying to figure out how to feed Daniel through a tube, I am struggling. The energy has crashed, the stress made its mark, and my other children haven’t miraculously become angels who are always kind, hard-working, and obedient.
I’m having trouble putting thoughts together. I’m fighting under a blanket of depression that tells me I’ve already failed. (Doesn’t seem to matter that I argue with that) I’m discouraged. I’m hurting. I’m angry. I’m grieving. I’m tired.
Daniel is obsessed with his cords and has little use for me in his heart. He tantrums if I put him in a chair, so he has not joined us for dinner (or any other meal), won’t try his wheelchair and flips out in a stroller. He doesn’t have language of any kind and that he will probably learn is only cold comfort to my grief as I see his tiny four year old body and know what should have been. I’m keeping track of his foods on a chart that I made… it’d look good in a doctor’s office. I don’t feel joy in having to chart his foods. And I’m constantly worried about him becoming dehydrated or constipated again. His tube leaks at the port where I put food in, so he smelled like vomit all day yesterday until I taped one port shut and rubber banded the rest to clinch it. It looks horrible.
Jordan is bored. I try to teach Anna lessons in school and she cries that I’m chastising her and runs crying to her room. I try to help Maggie through her chores and she cries because she’s hungry because it’s taking her hours to do a 20 minute chore list. Carolyn doesn’t hear anything I say and is constantly asking me questions about what I just said. I’m tired. I’m just so tired and I don’t have the peppy, positive solution to all this. It feels like everybody becomes unhappy whenever I touch their lives.
I’m fighting through this. I am believing that it’s going to get better. I know that thoughts coming from a depressed place are not thoughts to listen to. This is just a difficult season and I’m having a hard time finding a way through it. But I will. We will. I am not sharing this for a response. I’m sharing it for me. Because I need to put it down. And maybe my daughters will read it sometime years from now and understand that everybody struggles, but not to give up.