Mud

Sometimes there's just not much to say. He's still in ICU. He's still battling the pneumonia. He's still weak, withdrawn, and very fragile. He still has a few sweet things to say...his first three words to me were "Fans. Happy? Bears." (Which in mouth-ese translates to, "Hey, is Fans super excited that the Bears won yesterday or what?") He still makes me laugh...

But seeing his body still so weak, showing more regression than progress at this point...makes it hard to still be strong...to still be positive. Sometimes it seems like we've been at the same place for so long, like we're wading through mud that's three feet deep and we're not really going anywhere. For some reason, his whole body is swollen and the doctors don't know why. After working so hard to get off the respirator, he's completely dependent on it again. He can't do physical therapy in the ICU so the muscle he has worked so hard to gain is quickly fading. It's like it's starting all over again. Like we've trudged through the mud for six weeks only to have someone pick us up and set us back at the beginning of our giant mud-pile sidewalk thing and we've got to start again and why am I talking about mud....I don't know....

Some days just suck. Sorry if it's not a pretty word, sorry if I'm talking like a truck driver (as my mom would say), and now sorry to all you truck drivers out there for the blatant stereotyping, but you know what, today sucks. It just feels good to say that. In fact, sometimes it feels even better to yell it. TODAY SUCKS.

My dad has worked his butt off for the last 36 years of his life in a job that he doesn't really have passion for in order to give us everything we want and need...toys, cars, college, weddings, honeymoons, everything...he's worked his whole life to provide for his family. And now that he's almost done working so hard, he's almost ready to start to enjoy some time with his wife...and he can't do anything. Literally, he can't do anything. He. Can't. Do. Anything.

But why does today suck so bad? It's because I am thinking of mom and dad's future, of mom in tears because all she wants is a hug from her husband and she may never feel his arms around her again. Because the retirement I think they deserve will never happen as planned. Because dad may never again sail the Miss Paige, his favorite little sailboat. Because dad may never hold his infant grandson when he arrives any day now. There are so many "because he'll nevers". So many. That's why today sucks.

But, of course, I can't end there. Because God tells me not to worry about tomorrow...mainly because I don't know what tomorrow will bring. We can't focus on the "he'll nevers" because the truth is we just plain don't know. Today can suck. I will give myself that. But where's my faith if I sit and wallow in my pity for my dad and our family. God doesn't want that. I don't want that.

And I don't want days that suck. Tomorrow is a new day, and God's already there waiting for us. Dad may progress. Dad may slide backwards. We might be stuck in the mud in the same exact spot for the next six weeks. But what's the point in projecting? Why let the things we can't control take over our emotions until we're pissed about things that aren't even reality yet and we write long blogs that spew our anger and use the word 'suck' too many times when I know my cute nieces and nephews read this and I don't want them to use words like 'suck' or 'pissed'? It makes no sense.

So forgive me Lord for my doubt. I don't want to doubt Your plan for my dad's life. I know You've got it under control. Sometimes I just wish I could do some controling of my own. But I can't. So I won't. That's Your job.

And that just makes me feel better.