The moment

We are not a society that likes to live in the moment. We are planners, doers, worriers, go-getters. We are controllers. I know, because I am one. I never realized how fast I walk and how purposefully until I had a c-section. I never realized how “busy” I was until I had to stop and slow down and live in the moment.

We don’t know what’s going to happen for James. I can torture myself for hours thinking about cardiac surgery, heart failure, flu and cold season, anything and everything. I can start thinking about bringing him home and break out into a cold sweat.

It’s hard for me to relinquish control. Well, hard isn’t even the right word. It’s nearly impossible for me to relinquish control. I want to control EVERYTHING. My first concession to the universe was the c-section. There is no more out of control feeling than letting someone numb you from the chest down, inject you with tons of medications (medications that you don’t even know are being given), and cut you open.

My second concession was leaving James in the hands of the NICU nurses overnight. Yes, his daddy is there with him, but still, trusting others to care for him completely while I sleep is a monumental task for me. And yet, I do it. Because I love him, and  know that to take care of him, I have to take care of myself.

The last concession is letting go of all the things that I “have” to do. I have the urge to read, to blog, to respond to emails and Facebook messages and texts, to write thank you cards, to get something “done” while I sit in the recliner with James. And what I realized is that I have to just be. I have to live in this moment with him and let the rest go.

It’s true for all of this. I have to let go of the fear and anxiety of the future. I have to let go of the need to be “accomplishing” something, to be controlling something. I need to be here with him now and focus on each moment with him. I can’t think about cardiac surgery, bringing him home, and all of the other challenges we face. I am just going to love him and take care of him as best I can (and let others care for him too).

Today, we had another music hour together. He laid on my chest with his eyes open, and we listened to soothing music – Bon Iver, Neko Case, Dustin Tebbutt. For some reason, the song “Calling Cards” by Neko Case has become “our” song. Maybe because I can sing it in a not terrible key. Maybe cause of the line, “…we’ll all be together, even when we’re not together, with our arms around each other, with our faith still in each other…” I can’t sing it to him without crying.

Live in the moment. Let go of control. Let tomorrow worry about itself. Love freely and remember the things that really matter.


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