Difficult conversations

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the floor, tying my shoes, getting ready for the day.  Ben walked in, drooping shoulders and a pouty face and curled up on my lap.  “What’s wrong buddy?”  I asked.  “Mom, I don’t want to have my bump anymore....I don’t want to get shots anymore” he exclaimed with frustration. (He calls his port his “bump”, and rightly so).

I embraced him tightly against my chest, a huge lump welling in my throat.  “I know buddy, I know.”  That was all I could say.  I wasn’t ready for this, even though I knew these frustrations would be surfacing in a matter of time.  It caught me off guard.  I proceeded to explain very simply that for now, that’s what the doctor has ordered, that he needs to have his infusions to keep him healthy and try to keep the bruises and pain away.  The explanation was sufficient for the time being and I distracted his attention and we went on about our day.  But our conversation has stuck with me for weeks.  My heart has been heavy.  It was a small reality check that as the years go by, the questions will get harder, as will the answers.  There will be days and seasons of the boys’ lives that they will question why they are different, why they have hemophilia and can’t do certain things others will be able to.  One day they’ll see pictures of their daddy on the football field, and just like they do now, they’ll want to follow in his footsteps.  And we’ll have to steer them in other directions.  The conversation reminded me of this time, when little Ben was just 9 months old and we were first starting out on his profylaxis (weekly treatments).  That first year was so difficult, it was a rough time, but we got through it and things got easier.  But I will always worry about the future...their future.  While the past few years have been physically challenging, I have an itch that as the boys grow and mature, the challenges will be emotional, which flat out scares me. I know I won’t always have the right answers or be able to communicate them in the way they need to hear them.  I want them to be proud and confident of who they are and how God made them.  I want them to feel comfortable in their own skin and view their hemophilia as a tool for God to use them in big ways.

While I know I seem to have it all together on the outside, inside I’m a mess.  I often feel incompetent and unsure of myself and my parenting decisions.  I’m constantly doubting if I’m making the best decisions for my children, answering their questions wisely and nurturing their little spirits in a Godly way.  But God has been faithful.  He’s given me the strength and ability to handle one day at a time, one child at a time, and I’m thankful and ever so grateful for His patience with me, His love and faithfulness.  I pray that He will continue to give me the tools I need as they grow and the discussions become harder and heavier. When it comes down to it, these children He’s entrusted me with are His, I’m just a vessel He’s chosen to help them along their way for a certain number of years.  And when I screw up as a parent, He's still got them. What a comfort, what an honor.