Middle of the night, her eyes are closed. Beautiful fringe of long eyelashes... so familiar, I'd know them anywhere. It's been years since I've watched her sleep. Hard to believe that she'll be twenty-seven in October.
Maternal pangs run so deep, it'll never ever go away. When they're happy, I'm happy. When they hurt, I hurt.
Feeling so powerless this time because I can't fix the boo-boo. I can't make it go away and I can't take her place. I can only sit beside her hospital bed as she sleeps. Silent prayers from a concerned Mommy in a dark, quiet room. Her surgery is scheduled for later this morning.
She's married to wonderful man. So blessed that He brought them together. Watching how they care for one another is an amazing gift. When it's time, he'll follow her up to those surgical doors. Her deep brown eyes dart about, trying to process all that's going on. Daddy and I fight to hold back tears, as our frightened daughter is wheeled down the hall. It's hard to let her go, even for a moment.
The emotions are so overwhelming. I wonder how the parents of a very, very ill child can even breathe, especially when such moments happen over and over in their lives. Rattled nerves nearly overtake me. I try to distract myself with buying some silly balloons and arranging cheerful flowers for her room. I want them in place, to greet her when she returns.
Skillful surgeons work quickly, then stop by the waiting room to give us an update. Our prayers are answered! I think this is the first time I've exhaled since that midnight cell phone call. She'll need to take it easy for a few weeks, but all will be well. Can hardly wait to see her.
Back in room 532, she's awake and feeling surprisingly good. Sweet relief for us all. I just want to squeeze her and hug her, but it's not a good idea considering those four incisions. With a thankful heart, I lean to give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.
A sweet smile crosses her face and I simply melt. Through these eyes, she'll always be my little girl.