Accepting the Unacceptable
I thought we were finished with this rollercoaster. It had been many months, over 5, to be exact, since she last had a seizure. And prior to that, it had been quite a few months from her previous episodes. Over the last year they have been fewer and fewer with further time in between and this last stretch of time, I felt would be permanent, uninterrupted. Recently the baby monitor wore out and I was reveling in the fact that it was no longer needed. Or so I thought. Tonight proved me wrong.
She had a strong seizure. It broke the normal pattern for her of occurring sometime in the early morning hours, usually between 5 and 7 am; it arrived before she was fully asleep, at around 9:30 pm. and she couldn’t stop it this time. By the time we realized it was happening, she was already graying in the face, eyes wide open, glazed and unseeing, simultaneously choking on her own saliva and wallowing in it, gulping huge swallows of air, body rigid and racked with spasms. It took a long time to come out of it. Speech is one of the last things to be restored to her and as she finally was able to comprehend our presence, during moments of wailing, and obvious anguish, she was trying to tell me something and I could understand nothing but indistinct formless vowel sounds. It wasn’t until she was able to lose her supper that she found relief from the abdominal pain, the seizure was completely broken and she was finally able to speak coherently.
For the record, I hate seizures, really hate them. How can I not, by watching a child writhe in agony, contorted by a strength that is not controllable? I regret every impatient word I have ever spoken, every unjust verdict I have ever pronounced and every irritation that has harbored rejection. Fear courses through my veins, wondering if this time might be too serious for us to handle at home.? There is nothing to DO and I want to ‘do’ something to bring relief. I want to smooth away the tears, assuage the fear and erase the memory of such a-natural behavior. I want the hands of a healer. I want to see light, hope, and rest, peace, joy and confidence. I cry.
I feel a nudge in my heart, knowing that for those tears, he died. He doesn’t find this very acceptable either. If I in my selfish and imperfect passion can feel such depth of feeling, know such grief, and helplessly long to intervene; I turn in my heart and see the anguish of a Father. We are caught in our own form of a seizure… “and God shall wipe away all tears”.
“Even so, come quickly Lord Jesus.”
For now, I am brought one step closer to knowing the heart of God.