Skip to main content

Baby Prasifka

A friend and I were having a conversation the other day about how it seems like the whole world's crashing down around us right now. If you've been following my blog, you know that beautful Baby Will lost his battle with the effects of prematurity in January. We know people who have been diagnosed with awful diseases. One of our walking buddy's relatives had a young child die. Several friends, coworkers, and acquaintances are trying to come to terms with the fact their babies may be developmentally delayed, autistic, and so on.

We've heard differing reactions to awful news. The people who have strong-as-steel religious faith believe that everything happens for a reason, in God's time and terms, and that we don't always have the ability to understand why, at this moment. Others, who are more jaded and fatalistic, believe—bad things happen, life sucks. Then there are a lot of us, in between, who don't want to simply throw up our arms in defeat OR can't simply sit peacefully, believing that someday the curtain will lift and shed some sort of all-knowing light on the situation and reveal the purpose behind such suffering and loss.

I want to throw things. I want to yell at whatever higher power might be up there either wreaking havoc on the lives of people I love or standing idly by, watching it all happen and doing nothing. I want to scream, WHY WHY WHY?! I hug my own sweet boy, and then I don't want to let him go for fear that, in an instant, I could lose him. Life's so fragile and fleeting. And then what...

I'm not ready to delve into that "what's the meaning of life" and "what happens when we die" business this morning. It's too early. It's a Friday. And I'm not in the right state of mind for the effort to be constructive.

Long and short of it is, my dear cousin and friend, Kerry, recently found out that the baby she's carrying—due March 31 via c-section—has a serious heart defect that will require surgery a couple days into his or her life outside the womb. And the baby will need at least two more operations by age 2. Kerry just started a blog this week (www3.caringbridge.org/tx/prasifka/) to keep family and friends updated on Baby Prasifka's condition and progress through the next months. My first reaction to reading the first post was a mixture of sadness, anger, dread, and pessimism. I have the utmost confidence in Kerry's and the baby's doctors and nurses. But remembering Will's struggles and our daily visit to the blog (sometimes three and four times daily), hanging on Mom and Dad Kenyon's every tidbit of news about his condition...well, I'm not sure we're emotionally ready to handle that again.

But I guess it isn't up to us.
That's just life. I guess we'll just have to put our questions and negativity aside and focus on Baby Prasifka and renewed hope. I'm wishing for a joyous outcome. We're all due.

We love you Kerry, Jason, Jackson, and Baby P.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Holy Separated-At-Birth, Batman!

Gary Oldman...meet Uncle Knit-Knots from Imagination Movers.

Hair

This has become the age-old question...Why do men hate short hair on women? I've been thinking about this a lot because my current style, an angled bob, requires a bunch of fussing every morning to get it to do anything. My favorite haircut of all time, as far as ease of care, was my pixie cut. I loved that I could wash it, gel it, and be done. No blow drying or flattening or curling. Just gel and go. Very sporty. I thought it looked cute. My husband has another opinion. The longer the better is his motto. Thing is, my hair becomes an unruly, tangled, nappy mop when it gets long. If I had all the time in the world and Jennifer Aniston's budget, I'd be more than happy to grow it long and have others style it every day. In real life, I guess I'd rather go for comfort and convenience. And if you ask me, I think the pixie is dang cute. I suspect heterosexual men aren't hot on short hair, in general, because it's too much like their own hair. No matter how much jewel

Ho, Ho, Ho, How Many Times Can I Use "I'm too busy" as an Excuse?

I haven't had time to write. Work, swim meet volunteering, holiday decorating and shopping. But truthfully, I've not been in much of a mood to write anything anyway. Last night we put up the tree and Santa chachkies, and I drank my first egg nog of the season, so perhaps I'll be in a cheerier mood. Also, I have spent some time writing the annual Schoon holiday newsletter. If you happen to get a copy, treat it like a drinking game. Every time I make you roll your eyes, take a drink. Nog, wassail, Everclear. Whatever gets you through. One sure way to assist with merriment motivation is listening to Christmas carols. I'm not going to get into a debate over what truly constitutes a carol. You can "Jesus is the reason for the season" yourself until you turn blue; I generally lean toward the secular end of the holiday tune spectrum. And if you just gasped at my use of holiday instead of Christmas, go suck on a candy cane. It's my blog and my opinions. Deal.