Vodka Dinosaur

 It was dark when I set out from the house this morning to hike up my hill and sit by my tree. I felt more like sleeping a couple of additional hours, but the sunrise beckoned me...

 

I've had so many things to process, to consider. I've wanted to write them all out in the very moments where they are witnessed/experienced, but there is simply not that opportunity. The minutes gallop by and with them, the hours, days and even weeks. Life is incredibly fleeting. Life is large because it is filled with the tiniest details, the biggest happenings, the wonder, the horror, the beauty, the tragedy, the hope and the hope deferred. So, I pathetically attempt to capture the fraction I am able to through words, written for reflection to my boys should they need them someday. 

Lochlan is making progress. He hasn't destroyed anything for almost 2 weeks now. His rage has diminished significantly and he seems to be filling with joy again. He is a big kisser and sometimes he sits in my lap and just kisses me all over my face. Those kisses are some great smackers and he smiles the whole time. He bestows many kisses and hugs upon his tutors too, but I can't blame him because they are the BEST EVER. He had a riding accident in therapy a couple weeks ago, and I wasn't confident we'd ever get him back on a horse. However, with much assistance, some serious pep talks and some hard choices (on his part) he did get back on and did incredibly well. When he's really frustrated, he starts telling us movie titles of movies he finds poignant in one way or another, and one of them (The Good Dinosaur) comes out sounding like "Vodka Dinosaur". It brings a certain levity as the whole therapy team attempts to ease him through the session and help him overcome his own fears. We all have come to hope for our own Vodka dinosaurs. Don't judge. I still cannot get a handle on his health, and it's the frustration that keeps me awake in the wee hours of the mornings. The inability to alter his condition(s) is what drives me to bark up every tree, and fight endlessly for answers that don't seem to exist. 

I often wake in the darkness (to feed a baby horse, or really for no apparent reason at all) and ponder all the things I can't change, should change, wish I had changed, all the things I should be doing, haven't done, might do... I wish I had an "off" switch for my brain, because in truth I accomplish nothing of gain through these musings. Worry alters nothing, and making plans with a mind of fatigue is less than fruitful, so I'm learning how to stop the incoming stream of thoughts and hand them over to the still of the night, to the One I pray hears me. 

We all eventually crash into the stuff in life that we aren't prepared for, and in the process of facing those wretched hurdles, sometimes our lives change irrevocably. As I wrestle in the mud of my own life and fight against the impossible, I've been looking around at almost every single person I know and love and no one is untouched. The one supporting the ailing spouse with hope still in the heart but reality knocking with a heavy hand. The one loving and caring for the parents who are fading in all the impossible and most painful ways. The ones facing incredible pain of necessary surgeries and subsequent hours/days/weeks of effort toward full recoveries. The ones facing unidentifiable health challenges. The ones facing terrible fear head on. The ones facing deep loss. The ones facing themselves. As I observe and consider, I am certain of one thing: the darkness of tonight cannot snuff out the light of tomorrow.