There comes a point where one has to choose: Get out of bed, take a shower and get out of the house...or stay put and risk having your eyeballs pop out of your head from crying so hard.
The futility of living in despair is not lost upon me. But it's not as though I have a spicket inside me that can be turned righty-tighty to stop this avalanche of grief.
I did the one thing I swore that I would never do - I called my sister last night sobbing. I know she's already been through the wringer...wondering if the initial diagnosis was correct...waiting for the appointment with the best pediatric neurologist in Southern California. Having to sit in a public space and hear a dreaded confirmation of the diagnosis. I know that there have been days when she has been distraught, and the last thing I wanted to do was heap more distress at her.
But talking to her was good. It helped us both...by putting her in the role of advisor and by giving me insight into Hope. They caught it early. My nephew is putting words together and learning imaginary play. He kisses them smack-dab on the lips with love. He occasionally plays with other children at the park. Actions that will hopefully overshadow the other stuff: His penchant for repetitive behavior, his inability to speak in sentences, his temper tantrums, et al.
Yes, a single sliver of Hope rests in my heart among the dull aches and pain. It's small and slight...but it's real.