Yesterday I cried. Not constantly, just several times throughout the whole day. The kind of cry where the tears come and I can’t stop them but I do. I didn’t reach the ugly cry. My eyes weren’t puffy and purple and burning. I wiped just enough tears off my cheeks to smooth out my makeup instead of streaking it. I cycled through this whiney, frustrated, panicky cry pattern all dang day.

*I cried because of an unpleasant phone conversation that sent me to bed unsettled.
*I cried because I still miss the terrorist dog that I hated, but loved so much.
*I cried because I’m dieting and I wanted a cheeseburger.
*I cried because my husband called to say he has COVID.
*I cried because he’s out of town, alone.
*I cried because I don’t trust him to stay RIGHT BY HIS PHONE in case he needs an ambulance.
*I cried because, of course, my son and I got sent home from school for a two week quarantine.
*I cried when I thought of others I had been around and the friend that I want to protect, not harm. (That cry was a little harder to control and those tears are making their way back right now.)
*I cried because the lines to be tested for COVID were so long that I accepted defeat and made an appointment to be tested the next day.
*I cried because I’m dieting and I ate the dang cheeseburger. With fries.
*I cried when I called my mom to cancel our plans because I REALLY wasn’t ready to talk about the “Scarlet Pandemic” treatment I’m about to have to deal with for the next two weeks. (not from her, she was truly concerned and sympathetic).
*I cried when I got my calendar out and started cancelling appointments and job assignments (substitute teacher).
*I cried when I pulled out the old “home school supply basket” and plopped it on the table in front of a very resistant 10th grader who just got two football games, friends, and his birthday taken away. He didn’t deserve it.
*I bawled when I had to call Children’s Hospital about our appointment to resume immunotherapy for my son’s peanut allergy… which came with news I was hoping I wouldn’t hear, “We’ll probably have to build back up to maintenance dose.”

And that’s when I’d like to say I stopped crying. Because THIS torture was familiar. In the almost two years of a clinical trial to fight the danger of his peanut allergy, we have had countless setbacks. Every one of them had a period of time leading up to them, either knowing he would be placed on pause or being blindsided by a pause. Every setback also had a time leading away from it… regroup, reset, and oh yeah… “You see that boulder that you were just protected from? The one I prepared you for? That’s why,” Love God.

*I’m not crying over a burned bridge; it was just an uncomfortable exchange in the heat of the moment.
*I’m not crying over where my next meal is coming from; it was a stupid cheeseburger! A dadgum DOUBLE CHEESEBURGER! With fries.
*I’m not crying over a broken marriage or suddenly becoming a widow; my husband is sick with what has become, although dangerous, a common illness.
*I haven’t lost a friend to an unimaginable circumstance; I’m surrounded by love and support.
*I’m not crying over a costly secret; I just selfishly don’t want to talk about something.
*I’m not crying over my foundation being broken; I still have a job and my son still has free education in the most prosperous country in the world.
*There will be other football games and school days and the friends will still be there.
*We may or may not still have birthdays and as a believer, I have no reason to cry over that.
*I’m not crying over hopelessness; we will resume treatment that we never knew we could even hope for.

And, despite my meltdown, I HAVE learned and I DO know that there’s a boulder we are being prepared for and protected from.

“That’s why. Thank you, God.”, Love your humble servant and most resistant child.

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