Today was a day of all the things.
It actually started last night. As I sat on the bleachers watching my oldest swim for the last night before the bubble goes up over the pool for the winter, I got a notification on my phone. The Auvi-Q, our epinephrine auto-injector that could potentially save the life of my child with food allergies, was recalled. At first only certain lot numbers, and then the word came down–ALL.
For a few moments, I could not breathe. The leftovers from her meal that she’d barely touched at the restaurant before swim practice were waiting for her after practice. Everything there was supposedly safe, but now–without our safety net–I was suddenly ill at the thought of letting her eat it.
I called the pharmacy and found out they were not even aware yet. But the pharmacist was compassionate and took time to look it up on-line and even offered to call our allergist for a prescription for the Epi-pen first thing this morning.
It was the best we could do.
And so it had to be.
Last night was filled with anxiety, fearing all the what ifs, without that safety net. All of the food in my house–and I am a very careful shopper–suddenly seemed risky.
But we finally got everyone settled and in the bed, and this morning was a new day. I called the allergist myself and was assured they were on it. I started to breathe a little easier.
Then our Princess said she didn’t feel very good. Sure enough, she has run a low-grade fever most of the day. She just had some sort of weird allergy-related weekend virus two weeks ago. And here it is, it would seem, back for another visit.
By midday, Cooter was also down for the count with a bad headache that caused stomach problems or vice versa. In the middle of it, it hardly mattered. I can get debilitating headaches from time to time, and it broke my heart to see my baby hurting like that. He spent most of the hours between 3 and 8 sleeping it off, bless him.
In the midst of all of this, our Princess’ best bud, a sweet girl who moved into the neighborhood over the summer, came over with her big blue ball (they all love throwing it around in the cul-de-sac) to see if her friend could play. When I told her they were both sick, sympathy and compassion was evident in her eyes. When Miss Sophie heard her voice, she came running to the front door. Our Princess’ friend J is the pet whisperer. She promptly sat down on the front porch and started loving on Sophie, who ate it up. I guess she and her needs had taken a backseat to my sick babies today, bless her. As J told me about her day and about her favorite dogs of years past, I took a moment and sat down on the floor just inside my front door and listened. As I sat there looking at her sweet face, this child whom I prayed for–a good friend for our Princess, I felt as though it was a sacred moment. This young girl was sharing her heart with me. The joy of having a pet who understood her and the pain of losing her in recent years. Sweet and funny stories.
I wanted to sit there forever. That she found me worthy to hear her stories–that put a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. She is such a love. She is a beautiful soul, and I’m thankful for her in our lives.
Not long after she left, Cooter’s buddy came by with the oyster crackers his sweet Mama had offered to pick up at the store for us. They are the one thing Cooter will eat after having a stomach bug, and we were all out. As I took the bag from him, telling him thank you, I felt something cold. I looked up, puzzled. “Oh, there’s chicken salad from Shane’s in there,” he said. He shrugged and smiled that precious smile of his. BLESS. Being thought of and cared for like that–well, it took my breath away, and when it returned, I breathed out much of the weight of the day. Chicken salad. Being thought of. Thank you.
Later this evening, I was closing up the house. I had opened up the windows, hoping that the fresh air would help get rid of whatever this “mess” is that keeps getting ahold of my young’uns. Enough is enough. It was a lovely day to have the windows open too. As I went to close the window in my bedroom, I looked out. The sky was the most delicate blend of pink and yellow and the trees in the back were just gorgeous. I stopped and actually breathed in and out and gave thanks for the painting before my eyes. Living art–our Creator is good at that.
Tonight I am thankful for replacement epi-pens and the ability to get them quickly. Not all of the allergy Mamas are so fortunate, and I hold them in my heart and in the Light tonight as I am able to rest a little easier than I did last night. I give thanks for the most wonderful neighbors that anyone could ask for–surprise visits on the front porch in the quiet of the afternoon and surprise gifts of chicken salad, never mind the text messages checking on us and grocery store acquisitions that make our life easier–so lucky to be doing life with these good folks. Most of all I give thanks for living art–the trees at the beginning of fall, a sunset through the woods, the look of compassion in a young girl’s eyes, and the shrug and grin of a gift offering young fella. All beautiful, all life-giving. I am thankful. And humbled. So much more than I deserve.
Grace. I’m thankful for grace.
Love and grace to all.
1 thought on “Living Art and the Day We Had”
Beautiful, Tara! It really is all the little things put together that make a life. Thank you for the so-well-written reminder, and for sharing part of your life.