Flood

I can go days - weeks - without breaking down at the memory of Eden's burns. I can massage her scars two, three times a day. I can squeeze her chubby little hands into her pressure garments. I can comment on how much progress she has made (and she really has) and I can give updates to all of those in our lives who love us and ask.

And then, waiting for the bus, an ambulance drives by, lights flashing. And I stand there at the bus stop, two short blocks from where an ambulance much like that one stopped to pick up my baby, and I lose it. All of a sudden, it is September 10 again. And then I have to ride the bus and the T, and as we approach Park Street I am barely holding back the flood. I'm holding my breath and gripping my phone, just waiting for it to vibrate, half expecting Bryan to call all over again.

I know it is silly, and honestly it is much better, much easier now. Most of the time I am fine - most of the time when I think about that day, that whole experience, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to our community - here in Boston, back in Oklahoma, and all over the world - who wrapped us up in their arms and hearts. Time and prayer are healing all three of us. But days like this still happen, and remind me that healing is a process. We are not there yet.

The good news is, Eden is doing so great. And she has no memory of it as far as we can tell. She is growing up so fast; I know it is important to stay in the present, to forget what happened before and focus on the precious little person she is right now. And oh she is precious!