"Is this Taylor's mom?" My heart sank. "This is the sedation team, and we need to go over instructions for Taylor's upcoming scans?" My heart began to pound. It's too soon, that's not right...we have one more month... we have one more month. And so we do. It was an error, and they will call me again in a few weeks. I hung up the phone and cried. Fear took over. For the last few days fear has taken over......again. It takes my thoughts on a wild goose chase, I drive aimlessly and forget where I am going. It wakes me at night, and makes me over analyze everything. I'm looking for signs, anything that may indicate a red flag. Her legs have a few bruises on them, and I find myself sending Chris pictures at work and asking him if that's "ok". I watch her prance and play, and find tears creeping into the corners of my eyes.... that familiar lump in my throat. My prayers are like mantras that I recite over and over a thousand times a day. Forget work accomplishments, moving to a new house, and all the fun things going on, I'm lost in this torture of "what ifs".
The next day, I walked through the mall and saw a beautiful little girl with a bald head and dark shadows under her eyes. She was so thin, but her eyes were sparkling. Her resemblance to the way Taylor looked 6 months ago was crazy. Her dad walked a few feet behind her, holding her mask in his hand, and I wanted to go hug him. I know that feeling. He just wanted to let her be a kid. He chose her mental health that day, and let her be "mask free". I smiled at him, and saw relief in his eyes. I would not give him a pity stare, those were the worst. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces for those suffering, fighting, and lost to this horrible disease. It humbled me. It reminded me to be thankful for this day. To live in this moment. Didn't I learn this lesson last time? Gosh. There isn't a handbook for all this, I sure wish there was.
