Thursday, April 9, 2015

Little Warriors

We all want to protect our children, and I am no exception.  I give my all to shelter them from things that are just more than a child should have to handle, and throughout their lives I have suffered from seizures without explaining to them in full detail as to why I have post traumatic stress.  It wasn't a burden I wanted them to bear.  I would sometimes feel the aura of a seizure upcoming and excuse myself to my room where I had from long experience taught myself to exert such forceful self control as to stifle my own screams while the episode transpired, that they might not see or hear me.  Black Friday of last year proved an exceptionally dark day as it marked the close of their innocent childhood in a way.  The truth stumbled out in front of them in spite of my efforts and they had to come to grips with all the foul reality of why their mother was ill.  The road has been wild and bumpy but these two little ones have shown their metal in powerful ways.

One night since that time I once again found myself exceptionally ill and again was trying to hide the fact from my children but the severity had landed me on my bed, trembling from seizure and, as is very unusual and caused only by extreme violence in the episode, I had precious little strength even to breathe.  I continued without breathing in the darkness of my bedroom, except for the occasional involuntary gasp that kept my body and spirit together.  My son entered and found me in this state.  I tried to tell him to leave so he wouldn't have to see it, but his response was to come to my bed and take over as doctor.  He knew why I was ill, what had triggered it, and held me, telling me that it would be okay in a moment and that the reason for my trauma being triggered was subsiding.  My body gave an involuntary shudder - the warning sign of a full blown convulsive attack.  I have been in this state only a few times before and then around a grown man who fell weeping and nearly hysterical with fear.  Not so with my little seven year old.  He said he would hold me and hug me so that I wouldn't go into seizures and helpless as I found myself to stop him, he laid himself on top of me and hugged me with all the protective, passionate love in his innocent little being.  You may imagine my pleading heavenward prayers at that time because I knew that if God didn't intervene it would be very possible that my son would find himself alone in the house holding desperately to his mother's finally lifeless body.  At long last my breathing returned to normal and though shaky I was able to resume my maternal duties. 

Throughout the last week I have found myself bordering physically ill as my body has become weakened through stress.  I have found myself exhausted in spirit, mind, heart and body and I have found it a struggle to take care of my children.  Though fast recovering now, there was a point in which evening had come and I hadn't the strength to tuck in my daughter.  She had taken her bath and was ready for bed but I was too unwell to stand.  At long last she came and read me a My Little Pony bedtime story, tucking me in since I could not do so for her.  She expressed the desire to sleep in my bed, which I know she often wants in order to have her own comfort and her mother's attention.  Tonight I was too feeble to give any kind of attention and I told her as best I could through strained and breathless voice that she needed to go to her own bed because I was too sick to take care of her.  I reminded her that she often kicks me in her sleep and tonight if she did so I might vomit on her, and she needed to sleep alone so she could be protected from being vomited on.  To my amazement she buried her face in the blanket and tears poured down her face.  I asked her what was wrong and her answer was that she didn't want me getting sick and wanted to stay in my bed so she could take care of me.  She promised she wouldn't kick around in her sleep.  I consented and true to her word, she hardly moved an inch, even in deep sleep, all night.  

I wouldn't have chosen it for them.  I wouldn't have given them those trials if I could have helped it.  But God clearly knew better and allowed my kids the opportunity to stretch their arms and spirit, show and strengthen their metal and convince me that though their Mom would give anything to protect them, they were also ready and willing to protect Mom.

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