Remembering...

**Pictures in this post are from one year ago.

A fluky coincident, last year on this day we were in the hospital. Our family went through a most frightening time. You might remember it. Many of you covered us in prayer then too.

Cayman's shunt failed. She went into cardiac arrest. Her life almost ended.

The fluid in her head backed up so quickly an intense pressure caused her brain to malfunction and it moved the switch to her heart to the off position, stopping it completely.

Cayman went unconscious. Her beautiful rosy skin turned blue.

I watched skillful hands perform CPR.

My own hands helplessly cupped over my wide open mouth in disbelief.

Was this 'real life' happening? Am I in a dream?

My heart skipped beats as we waited on the arrival of Life Flight. Silent prayers poured from hundreds of feet above the earth. I signed a consent form for surgery knowing the possibility of survival was slim, but without it, it was definite.


I know how close I was to almost losing my little girl that day.

There's a familiarity related to her life of that kind of grief from the beginning. There was a doctor's opinion backed by statistics sunk in a poor prognosis suggesting survival post-natally was not likely for her. Our hearts once throbbed from an agony that comes from being told we might lose her. When we passed through that time there was a scar left on our hearts that read "we almost lost our baby."

The experience one year ago was more intense than that. The cold, dark hand of death was truly knocking at the door. It was no opinion. It was not a dwelling, worrying thought like before. It was truth. And I felt that truth in my daughter's limp body when I passed her to Mike.

The sound of my own voice shook my senses in an electrifying way. "Just wake up, baby girl. Wake up!! Come on, please wake up!".

Then I went numb.


A parent's heart doesn't forget that feeling.

Today I write about it because it happened on this day, one year ago. But the memory of it follows me everyday. I think about it every time I float through the house picking up traces of Cayman's toys here and there. I think about it when I sort the dirty laundry and see her small clothes mixed with ours. I think about it when I listen to the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing over the baby monitor in the quietness of the night.

All precious blessings that I know well the gift that they are every day as they continue in our home and are not the last we see of her here. We continue to make new memories with her. She continues to string her toys about our house. She continues to create dirty bottles and food stained clothes. She continues to make messes, fill our home with laughter, and deliver irreplaceable door greetings for Daddy. That's the soothing blessing in coming through such a horrible day on the good end of it. My heart is full of gladness and a life lived each day in appreciation for what I've got.

I feel it. I know it. I live it.

But there is a struggle that comes from such a day. A repercussion from an edge of life experience. A band around my heart formed and it squeezes each time I think about the change our life almost went through. Fears run deeper. Anxiety inducing. Haunting dreams creep in the dark to rob restful nights.


Over and over I have a dream, occurring slightly different each time...

~Running through a glass maze in the hospital with the unconscious Cayman in my arms.
~Another time, stuck in a glass elevator unable to get out.
~The walls of the emergency room made of glass with no door entrance to get in.
~A glass grave site. (That one shook me to the core)

So much glass.

"Why the glass?" I've asked myself.

When Kobe was a week old I took him to that same local hospital for a bili check. Passing through the revolving doors with him in my arms, a spark of memory flashed and then came my answer.

Those same glass doors are the ones Mike carried Cayman through when she was not breathing. In those doors I felt trapped. Their automatic motor felt slow. Desperation rising as I peered through the glass into the compartment in front of me. Cayman looked like a rag doll. All floppy and limp. Her arm dangled and swayed over the side of Mike's tight and loving embrace. And then away he ran in the clearing, out of sight. My revolving compartment moved on slowly as I could only watch them disappear from my view.

In the E.R. Cayman laid there cold and clammy without a traceable heartbeat.

That day I walked in the dark valley of the shadow of death, scrapping my knuckles on its sharp rocks, tossed and beaten by the worst and longest minutes of one of my worst fears. It almost became my reality that day. That feeling revisits me from time to time in my emotions. How quickly it will rob me of strength during the day and sleep at night.

I cling tighter. Worry more.

I do not really believe God creates such horrible days. For whatever reason, He did allow it to happen and I know it was not so fear would be instilled deeper within me. Each time I talk with Him about my worries He gently urges me to remember He has plans for Cayman and whatever those plans are will not be enhanced by me obsessing over every little thing I think I can do to control her safety. What a funny thing worry is. It trips our belief to think that if we did not worry life would fall apart. As strange as it is, it's viewed as the glue that holds our life together. I know that's silly. You know that's silly. Yet we still worry and try to control the very things that are out of our control.

When there has been as many shunt failures as Cayman has experienced the mind stops thinking "If" and thinks "when will the next one occur?". And I watch for it daily. I get panicky leaving her out of my sight. The only way I feel I can protect her is if I keep her close. My worry causes me to anticipate chaos. Shunt failure is an area I know I cannot control. But human nature is funny. Still I keep trying. And that's when the band around my heart squeezes and the unproductive use of worry causes my mind to run in circles.

I know this is not what God would have for any of us. I know worry is a bad thing. And in that pursuit of a tender heart I have tried to rid myself of these worries. When they would rise up I would not give in to their dwelling. But in trying to do so often left me beaten and feeling more desperate.

My human-ness is so thick and tough to work through.

Then one day I thought, perhaps I am going about this all wrong. I am trying to rid myself of something that is a part of life here, and possibly asking more of myself than what I am humanly capable of. The answer seemed to not be found in dismissing the worry but rather acknowledging and harnessing it so it does not harness me. I use to think that by acknowledging and focusing on it would cause it to grow bigger. But actually the opposite occurred. It found a deeper dwelling place within me in each time I tried to ignore it. Learning the difference between a running-in-circles-worry verses a concern that motivates me to find solutions within my parenting responsibilities is key.

A doctor by the name of Terrence J. Sandbek says it like this, "Your goal is not to stop worrying. This does not make sense. If worry is a brain activity and you could stop it, then you would be brain dead. This is not a reasonable goal for your life. You want to learn how to replace worry with concern."

Worry told me, "Don't send Cayman to preschool. What if her shunt fails and they don't notice it right away like you would. It might cost Cayman her life."

Worry anticipates chaos that may or may not ever happen.

Concern told me, "Cayman is ready for school. She'll learn and grow in ways I cannot give to her at home. Therefore educate those at the school. Train them on the shunt failure signs. Come up with a medical plan of action. Pray. And leave the rest in God's hands.

“As a mother, my job is to take care of what is possible and trust God with the impossible.” ~ Ruth Bell Graham

I do not want to speak sounding like I have it all together on how to handle such worry and fear. It's funny to even hear these things pour out from myself as I sit in a situation that feels very worrisome to me today. It does continue to be something I struggle with. By God's grace I am learning to not let it be a wet towel in the linen closet of life. To not let it spoil the good or cripple Cayman from living. To recognize where it has left me weak, which were always potential weak spots. I am simply aware of them now.

It's a careful balance to steady. To carry with me the good that comes from trials, growing within me a strength and maturity that will not allow the bad to knock me down and keep me there.

This is such a broken and fallen world. Heartache is something we all know and experience to different degrees. What I encourage to happen in me and in you is let that heartache be the tenderizer to your spirit. Let yourself feel and give more to others because of what you know and understand from your own life's experiences.

Use it to walk this life together.

And let it remind us to be thankful for what we can.


When through life's darkened maze I go
And troubles overwhelm my soul,
Oh, grant me, Lord, Your grace to know
That You are surely in control. -- DJD