Letting go - Part 4

This is another post in my series on parenting/letting go.  It is in two sections.  Section I, I wrote after spending some quality time with my family in the beginning of September.  It was not complete/finished.  And after some recent developments, I wrote Section II today.

Section I

As I write this post, I'm covered in spit up, bubbles, tears, and some unidentifiable food item from lunch.  Pretty much like any other day.  But it's not really any other day.

In my heart, it's a very different day.

Earlier today, Grandma and Papa (my parents) left to go back home after spending a week together.  5 days in Lynchburg with my whole family, and two days back here in DC with my parents. I was so grateful to have the time with my family, and the extra hands this whole past week.  What a gift.

As Grandma and Papa were leaving, Hazel started to get fussy and became difficult to manage.  I wasn't sure what was wrong, but wondered if she just didn't want them to go.  She got used to them being around, and to having the extra attention.  This shift into sharing her parents with her new sibling has been hard on her.  Hazel cried when they left, and said to Grandma several times, "I want to go with you."  It fills my heart that she has such a connection to them.  But it hurt at the same time.  She was so sad to see them go.  And frankly, so was I.

When I put Hazel down for her quiet time today, she didn't want me to leave the room.  And Charlie didn't want to be put down either.  So I rocked a crying baby in one arm, and a crying toddler in the other.  My arm muscles burned and my heart ached, as I knew I'd eventually have to put one of them down.  To let one of them go, so I could tend to the other.

How wonderfully amazing and how wonderfully terrifying, to be needed so desperately.

Children need their parents.  And I was sad to see my parents go today.  For many reasons.

Section II

My father has a brain tumor.  A benign meningioma, which he was first diagnosed with in 2008.  He had invasive brain surgery in May of 2008, and most of the tumor was removed.  I wrote some about it here. We got word this past December after a routine MRI that the remaining part of the tumor is growing again.  And it's too large to do anything but another invasive surgery.  My parents decided to wait until this month to do another MRI to check the status of the tumor and plan for when the surgery should take place.  Yesterday was the MRI and since December, the tumor has grown upward and sideways, dangerously close to the brain stem.  My mom told me that she has been praying for a definitive answer... that after this MRI, things would be clear about what direction we needed to go in.  About whether another surgery would be a risk we absolutely needed to take.

Clarity was found.  Thank God for that.

Surgery is scheduled for October 10th at UVA.

My Dad is 73 years old.  I know that the tumor and impending surgery is on everyone's mind in my family.  But we don't talk about it much.

Since December, I've been slipping back into my normal coping strategies to deal with this whole tumor regrowth.  I've been avoiding.  I've been pushing it aside.  I've also been (conveniently) distracted by my pregnancy and having another baby.  Now that surgery is imminent, I am really trying to be more present with my feelings about it all.  It's not easy.  And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared.

After his first surgery in 2008, the road was hard, but eventually he recovered incredibly well.  He recovered probably 95% of his functioning.  So there is no reason to believe that he won't also do just as well this time.  The seeds of doubt threaten to creep into my thoughts... but the fact that we've been through this before and he has done so well, comforts me.  Also - my father is an angel, and his positive attitude and peaceful resolve about this surgery gives me hope.  It calms my heart.  He is a peaceful warrior, displaying major courage in the midst of having to go through this all again.

Each time we are together, it's there, in the back of my mind.  And each time he leaves, it feels harder and harder to let him go.

I can't help but think about the similarities, generation after generation... how children, of all ages, need their parents.  My children need me, and I need my mom and dad.  And it's always been that way.  We go through these phases in life of separating and coming back together.  I don't need them the same way I did when I was a child, but I still need them.  And there have been many moments in the past several months that remind me how hard it is sometimes, to do the separating.  It's hard to let go.

Hard for my children to let go of me.  Hard for me to let go of them.  Hard for me to let go of my parents.  Hard for my children to let go of their grandparents.  And I can reasonably assume, that it's hard for my parents to let go of their children and grandchildren, too.

Our human hearts can be so fragile, so vulnerable.  Oh, how we need each other.

It's times like these that bring all things back into perspective.  It's times like these that I remember to cherish every moment with those I love.  It's times like these that bring me closer to God in a big way.

This time, I am coming face to face with my vulnerabilities.  This time, I am choosing not to run from that which I am afraid.  And thus, in the presence of my honest, scared, shaking heart, I find my strength. 

I find it in my faith.  I find it in my family.  I find it in myself.  

In clarity, we will proceed.  Together, because we need each other.  And no matter what, all will be well.