96-Hour-Old-Hope

I read this post When It's Hard to Still Keep On Hoping just a moment ago. It struck a nerve. You should read it too.

You see, I've been wrestling with hope too. How to keep holding on.

I realized that I can't hope for a medical miracle for Oliver without the possibility of pain.

To hope is to risk being hurt, deeply hurt.

Hope is a complicated thing. Even more complicated to live.

Hope isn't just a slogan for Christmas cards.

I hope

that this time, Oliver is seizure free.

I've typed that hope, that prayer on this blog hundreds of times and I've said to Him thousands of times.

It has been 96 hours (4 days) since I have seen him have a seizure.

Even at hour 96 my heart is clinched tightly. My heart is a wounded thing from all this suffering, all this uncertainty.

It is fragile, this 96-hour-old hope.

I wonder if I will ever be the mama, holding the hand of another mama, looking her in her tear filled eyes saying...

“It is possible and I know because I have lived it.”