I just pulled the last of the glue and scab from the top of her head. Gently eased it from each clinging hair…

This is one of those moments. An unexpected breakdown. An intruder in my chest, pressing down on each lung, whipping my heart.

It has been six weeks since her surgery. Since the reconstruction of her skull. Since my once fearless spirit shook with terror. Six weeks since I surrendered my own abilities and begged God to make good on His word. I am not disappointed.

I am glad. I am renewed in my spirit, my understanding, my strength, and my joy – but all at a very high price. The journey my children and I are on is not one I would have chosen. I would rather have had the “easy” route, the expected, the mundane, even – but alas, here we are. Strength lies in my belief that we can make it. Not without hurdles, sorrow, and scarring – but through it nonetheless.

I recently attended my first birth as a doula since Poppy’s birth. In the same (amazing) birth center. With the same (devoted) midwives. I prayed the whole way there that I would be bringing the right heart and best positive energy to the room.

It was beautiful. Perfect in every way. And I can honestly say that the feelings that washed over me as I watched a new family born were ONLY those of absolute love, joy, and gratitude.

I am okay.
Poppy is okay.
Kieran is okay.

While the rest of the world (so rudely) kept spinning for the last 6 months, I was in shock. Now it is crashing into my lap as I realize the growth, some good, some not, around me. Though I cannot say I will thoroughly enjoy fitting tiny, frayed, soggy pieces back into the semi-uniform puzzle of my adult existence – I will thoroughly enjoy those around me while I meander through the mess.

I am certain that I have made lifelong friends through my recent heartache. I have also lost a few.  I love them all the same. I do not expect everyone who was once a part of my life to have evolved along with me. I have learned to see more more than “let downs.” I’m working (continually) on forgiveness.

In a few weeks we talk with the plastic surgeon about Poppy’s upcoming hand surgeries. I have been going back and forth about whether or not I should even have her fingers separated. In the end I think giving her as many advantages early on in life is ultimately beneficial to her self-esteem and mental well being later on. It’s just terribly hard to face the truth.

We are living life. One hundred blissful moments for every unbearable five.