When Adelaide had her first seizure, I almost fell apart. There is this ugly truth about seizures: sometimes, people start seizing and nothing can stop them. And they die. Little kids die from seizures.
Some moms fear that their kids will be molested. Some fear car crashes. Cancer. Abduction by non-custodial parents. My fear became seizures. Not the episodes themselves, but the reality that as I was counting one-Mississippi-two-Mississippi, we might not stop. And it terrified me.
I know that being fearful accomplishes nothing. We do all we can do. Seizure medications. Monitoring. Tracking triggers. Praying. So much praying.
But when you know people whose children started seizures and their little bodies just couldn’t stop, it stays with you. It nags at you every time your child stares too long. Or a limb jerks. Or you hear an abnormal laugh.
“How do you function knowing she could die?”
The question came from a stranger who overheard me telling someone about Adelaide’s seizure disorder.
I didn’t even know what to say, but I opened my mouth and this came out.
“Everyone’s child could die. I just think about Moses’ mom. She knew her son could be killed at any moment. But she kept on living. We don’t know that much about her, but we know she wasn’t paralyzed with fear.”
The woman hugged me and walked away. I have no idea what she was thinking. I have no idea if she had lost a child. She said nothing and walked away.
I keep saying it until I believe it. “I can’t protect my kids.” I can have safeguards. Make wise choices. Educate them. Give necessary medication. Pray. But I can’t keep my children from all harm or hurt or death by seizures. And it’s a daily struggle I take to the Lord. I just give it over to Him everyday. Every single day. It’s all I know to do.
And just like Moses’ mom, I keep doing what needs to be done. I care for my other kids. I clean and work and eat. I delegate what I can’t do…because I can’t do everything.
And I pray for a miracle. And God’s will.