Grit

Whitney Copeland (6:30 PST, Monday, 1/17/22)

I sit in a yellow scratchy isolation gown next to your bed, Krew. Just me and you. I can hear the soft whistling sounds of a breathing tube. The whoosh of the air that is keeping you alive. I watch the rise and fall of your chest. You’re sleeping, resting my dear little one. Out of pain, no real sense of time or place. I pray that the angels round about you lift you up in the sweetest of dreams. That you can have memories of better times. I also pray that the only three years of your life are memorable, they hold value. Remember your mom and dad, remember your siblings. When you do wake you speak often of your trucks, trains and our beloved home, the bus. My hope is that you remember those things and smile. I pray the nightmares stop, and that I’m always here to silence your fears and re-assure you. Take hope that one day our lives will be different  from where we are now. The beeping monitors, sterile surroundings and these hellish procedures. That even though we are changed from that accident, we will live again. We will breath again. 

I stare at both my children, and my husband in awe of their strength, determination and grit. If Kyle and I gave these kids anything it’s stubbornness and grit. They will pull through this. They will have their stories to tell. I’m grateful they are so resilient and persevering. We shared some difficult news with our girl the other day regarding her body and she took it in. She accepted it. We are so proud of her! 

I’ve stared at these little mangled bodies for 3 weeks now. Where there was once perfect soft smooth skin there is now red, raw, bumpy flesh. Beautiful plump pink lips now sore, dry, aching and covered in white. Blue blue eyes, still there. Once filled with excitement and zeal, now show worry, and pain. Little hands and fingers so eager to hold and explore now wrapped in bandages so tight they hurt and can’t be moved. Tummy’s once eager to eat now being forced to consume extra calories through an NG tube. I yearn to see them thrive. I want so desperately to trade places with them. I’d do it, over and over I’d choose to do it. But I can’t. God knows them better than I do. He knows this is their experience and I’m leaving it in His hands. If I’m to trust anyone with my children over myself it would be Him. 

People keep asking, what more can we do? We want to help! Here is my request. Stop. Stop doing whatever it is your doing right now, immediately. Go to a loved one, your child, grandchild or spouse whomever it is you hold nearest to your heart. Hold their face in your hands, kiss them, hug them, look deep into their soul and tell them how much they are loved. Do it now. Everything can change in one moment, in a blink of an eye. Don’t miss your moment.