I know this is a blog about life and all the funny little things that can happen when living it. I hope you generally enjoy it. Yet, that’s the thing about life, its not always happy. 

We learned this summer about a little boy in our community who was gravely injured in a backyard accident doing nothing more than the exact same thing countless people do everyday without incident.  His injury is probably extremely rare. One in a million even.

 I can only imagine what his mother is going through. Reality and statistics must mean nothing when it’s your child. Your child is that one and suddenly that one is a very big and important number. 

When that door opens and your child – or his health - is standing on the other side and you are powerless to help it must be the most difficult thing in the world. How impossible to accept that you, who were born to be this child’s mother, cannot make it all better. 

I always imagine that parents of an ill or injured child were in my shoes not too long ago. Unless they were born ill, everyone who has a sick or injured child once had a healthy child which means they’re not very different from me or you at all. Their child was a “normal” happy and healthy kid who left shoes by the door and milk on the counter and lost toys between the sofa cushions. And then, just like that, in the blink of an eye, the unthinkable – unspeakable - happens. Thus, they were all me at one point. Going about their daily life, enjoying themselves but maybe taken it all for granted too (at least I know I do). Then they – we - are struck with the powerful realization that life is so fragile and that the delicate balance of our health, happiness, and very existence is held together by a very fine thread which can snap so easily and without warning. That is when you realize that nothing in this life is so sacred that it cannot be taken away.  

Matters. I’ve heard so many tragic stories like this one lately that my heart hurts. I don’t mean to be melodramatic but it’s true. Life seems so unbearably fragile lately.  I am a pessimist. I tend to see the glass half-empty. I believe that carrying an umbrella will prevent the rain. I have to predict the worst in order that I might be pleasantly surprised if it does not come to pass. Maybe that’s the key…always expect it.  

I hope we can all take the time to appreciate the simple moments that really aren’t so simple at all. To remember that what matters is health and family and friends, and safe harbor.  

Not housing rates, the global market, the race for the presidency or the price of gasoline.

Tonight I’m thinking about all the children – and their parents – for whom fate turned on a dime. Or a lump, a bump, a bad break, or bad brakes. All the lives impacted in the moment when time – and reality –were forever altered. For all those whose lives are sharply divided by a distinct “before” and “after.” 

Today I want to hug my children a little harder, be kinder to my friends, and say an extra special prayer for all of us whose destinies and realities are waiting right around the corner. It says so much about what we have and what we think is important that what we think we cannot bear to lose and what we can survive are two different things. That what we think is untouchable and important really isn’t. That in the end the only thing that cannot be destroyed is our faith. It is the power to help us and carry us through. 

In truth, it is shameful how often I pray that I am not tested, even as I pray for those that are.

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Get lost, Sun, and take your rays that sear my bloodshot eyes.

Come back in two hours, when I’m ready for your rise.

Shut up, birds. Be quiet! Stop that perky song.

Don’t you know that I have babies who woke me all night long?

Alarm clock, if you have the will to live, do not bother me.

For if your beeping dares pierce my ear drums, broken you will be.

Husband dear, I love you, but keep your distance, friend.

Your persistence in nudging me awake, may surely mean your end.

Sounds of energetic feet echo loudly in the hallway.

But I’m not prepared to leave these sheets and start another day.

My night shift was a double and seemed to have no end.

Crying, bad dreams, teething, all endless needs to tend.

Sleep, you have eluded me, for the fifth night in a row.

Rest, you have betrayed me. Your face I no longer know.

The only one who accompanies me through long and taxing nights,

Is my dreaded foe, Exhaustion, who afflicts, taunts and smites.

Isn’t there some other mom, who has the luxury of sleep?

Can’t you pick on her for now, so I can count some sheep?

Two hours is not a lot to ask to mend my mental state.

If you do me this small favor, I’ll let you stay up late.

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