Every drop

I missed a phone call today from our son’s ENT clinic. I figured it was a voice mail reminding us of an upcoming appointment, but realized it was something different when I saw the length of the message. I listened to the message and felt a sudden urge to cry.

There aren’t many days when I forget that our life is glaringly different than I thought it would be. I have accepted that our life will present us with quite a few obstacles and challenges. There are difficult lows and tremendous highs. I don’t always know how to deal with what we are handed. I don’t always know the right path to choose, but I feel as though no matter what, one thing remains the same: I do what I can to stay positive. I have always been the person searching for the sunlight in a dark cave. I can, and will, find a shimmer of hope in any situation. My glass is always half full, but as I listened to the voicemail I felt my glass tip.

The message was from the nurse coordinator letting me know that I would soon be receiving a call from another coordinator at the clinic. She didn’t want the phone call to surprise or alarm me. She stated that his ENT has been in contact with the genetics team and would like more testing done to see if he has another genetic condition that is responsible for his hearing loss and ear issues. The feeling of sadness crept over my body. Just the thought of something more was too much for me to think about. We already have *more,* we have enough.

He has enough.

My glass was about to tip as I clung to it. I could feel the drops getting closer to the edge, nearly splashing out as the tears crept to the edges of my eyes. I was about to go where I don’t go. For a brief second I was about to sit in the dark cave and stop searching for the light. I was about to let my glass spill all over the place and pick it back up empty. I don’t know what made me more upset. The phone call or my glass nearly spilling?

The tears came. I let myself grieve. I let myself be angry that we’re already established with a genetics team. I allowed myself to cry that this phone call was “normal.” Normal in a life that’s anything but. I let myself cry at the thought of more. I know testing won’t change who he is and I am aware that knowledge is power but I needed to feel. I sat there juggling my glass trying to balance it, afraid it was spilling, and then I pictured Christopher’s face. I closed my eyes and saw his smile. I envisioned my imperfectly perfect boy and my trembling hands holding my glass started to steady. My hands tight around my glass didn’t allow it to spill.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let my glass change from half full to nearly empty. I am insanely aware that I need every ounce in that glass. I am going to always search for the sparkle and I will continue to celebrate every small moment.

My glass will stay half full. We need every drop.

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