Learning to let go

Ever since I had Benjamin I have been gripped by the fear that someday I may lose one of my children.  Children get sick or injured all the time.  And there is rarely a comforting explanation for why and when they do.  Better women and men than me have lost their precious sons and daughters.  I am scared to death of going through a similar trial and my active imagination plagues me with all the ways I could lose them.  It scares me to love them so much because I can only imagine the pain of seeing them in pain or the intense ache of living without them.

My constant fears were starting to really affect my sense of peace and happiness with my family.  I was trying to steel myself each day against the pain of future hurt.  And it was affecting my enjoyment of my family now.

And then this past Sunday I learned some terrible news.  One of my nephews had just lost his battle with HLH, a life threatening immunodeficiency disorder which had required two bone marrow transplants.  He was thirteen.  It was a battle that his mother had fought with him as well.  She stayed with him almost  every day of his illness.  Her facebook profile picture was a poster which read "some people never meet their hero-- I gave birth to mine."

My sister in law was living my nightmare-- of saying goodbye to the precious child she had birthed and taught and raised and loved and scolded and tucked into bed.  I ached for her.  While her son's pain is over, there is no short path when it comes to a mother's healing.

It should have made me more paranoid-- seeing in reality what usually only exists in my imagination.  But in a strange way, as I contemplated this sad moment for my family, I began to let go.

I realized that there are very few things I can control in my life.  I can't prevent every ill from happening.  I can't perfectly protect my children.  I can't ensure they will make it to adulthood with their self-esteem and limbs intact.  I can't prevent myself from feeling the hurt that occurs when you suffer with another's suffering.  Even Jesus wept when his close friends felt sorrow and loss.  It is natural to love deeply.  It is natural to feel pain.  But it is entirely unnecessary to so anticipate pain that you live with it constantly.

Here are the things I can control:

I can kiss Benjamin hundreds of times a day if I want to.  I can tell Anna that I love her often.  I can hug my kids tighter and express my admiration and appreciation more.  I can choose to sit and hold my son when I could be cleaning.  I can choose to tickle Anna when there are dishes in the sink waiting to be loaded.  I can choose to play with my kids instead of surfing the internet on my phone.  I can choose to be happy and in the moment as I spend these beautiful days with them.  And if the future leads me down a path I do not choose or want to go, then I will pray for the strength to bear it then, and I will remember that during the time I had my children close, I loved them...with everything.