I walked past a bundle of said flowers in the grocery store the other day, and I think I figured it out. Those little white flowers look exactly like the tiny curdled milk pieces Ave outputs whenever he spits up.
Not sure I find the flowers quite as pretty as I used to.
To be completely honest I have good days and bad days. The good days I am at peace. The good days I can laugh and play all day with Avram. The good days I am a normal, functional human being. The good days I know the Lord is good, I know He is working this all out for good, I know the future will be good.
And then...then there are the bad days.
The bad days, I get mad. I get mad that there are teenage girls, wanting anything but a baby, getting pregnant every day and having perfectly healthy babies. I get mad at the women I see on the train feeding their kids Flaming Hots and Pepsi for breakfast and then telling them to "shut the hell up" every time they try to talk. I get mad at Avram for not walking and talking and solving math problems and playing the harpsichord already, because, come on, give your mother a little assurance already. I get mad at God for giving my baby so many challenges before he even stepped out of my belly and into a world that's scary even with all your ducks in a row. I get mad at Him for not giving us any answers or any way to prepare for the future or even a solid diagnosis, because that's the least He could do if He's going to drop such a bomb in our laps like this. I get mad that I had such a scary and scarring pregnancy and labor that I'm practically terrified to go through it all again. Then I get sad because who knows what kinds of things other kids will same to him in elementary school, and don't even get me started on the dark, evil abyss that is middle school. I get sad because this shunt is something he's going to have the rest of his life, and every time he gets a headache or feels nauseous he's going to worry that it's malfunctioning.
But these are the days that I have to put Ave in the basket and float him down the river. I have to swallow my pride and let go of my death-grip on the controls, and resolve myself to the fact that I cannot save him, or heal him, or always protect him. I have to trust that the Lord is the one guiding the currents of the stream, that He will be the one to see Avram through all the way to the end, that He is the one who has placed the right people along the banks, people who will help and encourage and support and pray for Avram. I have to put him in the basket and let go.
And when I do, the bad days become good days again. And day by day, inch by inch, the good days are outnumbering the bad days. The good days are winning.