11 years ago today, my son, Isaiah, was admitted into the NICU for a severe feeding disorder. For one month, Isaiah was poked and prodded in hopes to discover why he stopped eating entirely. After an NG tube and numerous tests of his brain, heart and gastrointestinal tract, his feeding disease and oral aversion were confirmed. Life after his diagnosis, unfortunately, did not get better and we found ourselves in a pretty dark season. After approximately 3 years, Isaiah showed some improvement and now, at 11 years of age, Isaiah is thriving and has a voracious appetite.
Although I celebrate Isaiah’s healing and improvement, I remember July 24th and that month vividly. For 30 days, I wondered if there would be any improvement. For 30 days, I came home to an empty nursery. For 30 days, I woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bassinet. The memory of those days are forever etched on my heart and mind. But, with that, the memory of hope and faith are also imprinted. My faith in God, my hope for better days, the connections with those who loved us and loved Isaiah, the courage to ask for help when we desperately wanted to be self-sufficient—those, too, have become dear memories. “Much of the beauty of light owes its existence to the dark, “ Brene Brown says. It’s been enlightening to realize how much of the beauty of his healing and progress is a product of the darkness. The light is seen amidst, in spite of, and because of the darkness.
Now, let’s be real. I’m not romanticizing those dark days. I would trade that darkness HAPPILY—but, I wouldn’t trade the hope, the courage and the connection. I am who I am today because of those days. And, those days have prepared me for the many bumps since then. So, today, I remember the darkness and pay homage to its role in the light, in me, and our story. How have your dark moments proved the light?
One committed to processing truth, finding light in the darkness, savoring the simple, and living fully.