A jumble of stuff revisited

I said goodbye to my son tonight. Not for good, but it felt like it in the moment. Its too painful to explain exactly what I'm feeling, but if you can imagine someone squeezing your heart just enough to cause you to panic, and your lungs to tighten just enough to cause you to have to lean forward, your muscle fibers to tingle slightly from the energy and "toughness" slowly draining from your body, then you might begin to understand how I'm feeling. Putting my trust COMPLETEY in the Lord to care for my son is not something that is easy, although it sounds like it should be, right? Its the control that I feel slipping out of my hands that makes it nearly unbearable right now. I soon expect to feel the peace come back that I felt when I made this decision, but I suppose its required of me to feel this pain and emptiness so I can recognize even more clearly the influence of the Spirit and the peace of my Savior's love.

I feel old. Ages older than I should, and a little numb. I could compare myself to an old dish rag. You know, the big, square, white dish rags that your mom always has (well, maybe you do too, but whatever) that are used for many more things than just drying wet dishes. Some are made into bibs, aprons, turbans in the nativity scene reinactment, bandages for cuts, napkins, oven mits, etc. They eventually yellow a bit, perhaps dotted with brighter colored stains from wiping the jello off a baby's face and not being washed soon enough, and sometimes are frayed around the edges, but they seem to never get thrown out.

I seem to feel like pain and trials in my life are revisted more often in the past few years. Normally the Lord would throw a good, solid trial my way every couple of years. Apparently he feels I'm up for more of a challenge because this de ja vu of "mountain climbing" as I call it, seems to happen several times a year now. Perhaps I shouldn't look at it on a timeline.

I'm beginning to feel a bit nomadic, not settling in one area for more than a year, sometimes even a bit hunter-gatherer-like, too. Who knows what's going to happen with this med-board for my husband. We've been told 90 days or less but then what? I'm left with a husband that could possibly have brain trauma that was never even thought about until years after it probably happened (a big thank you to the Army doctors), a knee joint that will need fully replaced within a few years (no soldier, not now...wait until you're in excrutiating pain and can't stand it anymore...then replace it...again, thank you), and feelings of not succeeding at a career that he always dreamed of (although, if you ask me, he's definitely reached success). My children are spread across the country, I'm overweight from stress and pregnancy, my hubby is starting all over again in the not so stellar job market, and I hate my dogs....most days (the dog whisperer never answered my email).

We all have our own "plates". Some are small appetizer plates and, I admit, I envy those people. They don't have much to deal with. Mine, on the other hand, must be a flipping oversized serving platter which means I have a lot more room than I thought. However...I try to focus on the fact that our plates are only as big as we can carry and serve from, so I guess that means its true...the Lord won't give you anything you can't handle (or that is too big for your platter). I just wish it wasn't considered overstepping my boundaries to tell him I couldn't possibly take another bite...I feel stuffed!

I'm 9 weeks prego now and unless I've got two rascals in there, I've got one strong little sucker because I can already feel movement. Man...I was hoping for a laid back child this time. The kind that just likes to float around until its d-day. Not so much....