Sometimes it seems like my life is falling down around me. That I’m trying to tread water, desperately gasping for breaths between waves.
Like the fact that Ryan has a cold. Normally, not that bad. But when it robs him completely of his energy and makes him sleep even worse than usual, it then means I sleep horribly. Every cough jars me awake. Every movement makes me jolt, eyes wide open and my breath held, hoping to hear the pieces of my family on either side of me continuing to breathe. Because of course Avi has the snot nose too. Sniffles and coughs and snores as congestion moves around in her sinuses.
Will I ever not have my heart stop because of a cough? Will I ever not wonder if this cough will cause a stroke in my little two year old? See her little body lay still and unresponsive as her big strong daddy’s did nearly 6 months ago?
Then I finally fall back asleep, to dream dreams of random things. Like my parent’s buying a duplex and we moved in next to them and had a pony in the back yard. The morning comes again. I awaken before my alarm goes off. Usually around 5 or 6. Even when my alarm isn’t set to go off, I’m awake by then. Or, you know, 2am. Who knows what today will be like.
But the worries about the future disappear when I hear about a natural disaster. The tornado that rocked Joplin, MO. This hit home so much stronger than even Hurricane Katrina or the flooding in TN. I went to school for two years in Nevada (say it Neh-VAY-duh), MO, which is about an hour north of Joplin. Joplin was the “big city” where we could go dancing or get tattoos (I just traveled along…) or needed to go somewhere other than Wal*Mart. I remember one trip where there were 6 of us in a Mustang. 4 of the us were big burly men. It was the most uncomfortable, most hilarious drive ever.
The death toll keeps rising every time I see an article. The destruction is devastating. It gives me pause and I’m able to thank the Lord for the small things that seem to keep me going. Because even though my family is sick and breaking inside, I know where they are. That unknown isn’t with me.
And for those few moments, I am at peace.