Q:How many times can a mother’s heart break before it shatters into a million pieces?
A: Put your big girl panties on, it won’t shatter, it just gets bigger until it bursts with pride.
I don’t talk about her publicly. That is mostly because I don’t have permission to run her business round town. She deserves that discretion.
When I was twenty four, I found out that there was a tiny life inside me. I was making another person….a precious pink bundle of love and coos that would smell of baby powder.
I dreamed that she would sing like me. A force to be reckoned with, that one. A triple threat who could sing and dance and act circles around anyone that dared to come against her. Smart, funny and talented with my dark hair and her father’s full lips. She was on Broadway before she had lips to gloss.
She did two shows in my belly that year. We were Ethel Merman and Lady Thiang. We ran up and down grand staircases and sang in spotlights together. She was a trooper and a gypsy in utero. There was greasepaint and glitter in her tiny little veins. My girl…
Her entrance into this world, like any diva worth her feathers, was dramatic.
She arrived mid August. She wasn’t supposed arrive until October. She had full lips like her daddy and that head full of black hair like her momma. She was tiny, and she was mad.
We spent two months together in the neonatal intensive care unit. She was sick, really sick. The sickest baby they had ever seen, that’s what they said in the hospital. She was a fighter. She was a hell of a fighter. Tiny and fierce….That was my girl.
A great deal happened in those two months. We were told that she hadn’t developed the plumbing to her liver and that she wasn’t going to make it, and if she did, she would be so handicapped that we wouldn’t be able to take care of her for long.
I got mad at all of those people. I decided that she was going to live. I had to take things into my own hands. Well, I had to put the situation in greater hands.
I started to pray. I prayed to everything that even looked like a cross. I prayed to every church steeple on the way to the hospital every day. I prayed to ever light pole with a cross bar every day. I held her and prayed. I prayed at the snack machine because the shelves that ran across the middle bar made seven crosses. Seven levels of heaven that I had to pray to, that’s what I imagined.
Then one night I had a dream. I was in the most beautiful place. It looked like the best produce section ever. Lush plants and fruits and vegetables and flowers in the most attractive lighting surrounded me. I was waiting in line. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew that I was waiting to see Jesus.
I will tell you at this time in my life that I was not a particularly spiritual or religious girl. I had enough of that growing up and it didn’t turn out so nice. I had really lost a great deal of faith. This new praying thing was out of desparation. I was doing my best to try to connect to someone for help.
Then it was my turn. I was standing there in front of Jesus. He was kind and had a robe on that was the most beautiful shade of pale blue. He looked at me and shook his head a little and said, “She is going have big problems, Susan. Can you handle that?”
“YES!! Just give her to me. I can handle it”, came bursting out of my mouth.
He stopped me and said again ” No, SUSAN…she is going to have big problems. Can you handle it?”
I took a step back and thought for a moment and said, ” I don’t know, but I will do the best I can.”
Jesus looked at me like he felt sorry for me, shook his head again and said with a sigh, “Okay, she is over there on that step”
I said thank you and ran over to a little stairwell and on the dirty third step down was a bundle wrapped in the same color as His robe. I picked her up and walked down the steps.
then I woke up.
The next day when I picked her up, I started to cry just like always. Someone inside me said, “Stop crying and sing.” It was hard, but I managed to start humming “Paper Moon”. She snuggled up and slept.
The next day the nurses said that she had a rough night and her numbers were not good. I picked up, and I don’t know exactly how I knew to do it, but I got the urge to focus light from my belly into her. The light was yellow and bright. When I did it, I felt her wiggle a little. Something told me to get to the bookstore and start doing some research.
I told my husband that I wanted to go to the bookstore that night on the way home. He was annoyed, I didn’t care. On a rolling book cart I saw a book about healing with imagery. I looked up liver and read what it said.
The next day I picked her up, sang, gave her my energy and then tried the visualization. That day, Dr. Reidle appeared. A neonatal gastro guy who was visiting the area. He was in the Air Force.
A week later, the doctor’s came to us and told us that she did have the liver plumbing and they were going to put a shunt in her head to drain off the fluid and we could take her home. Thank You Jesus….and know you know why I talk about him so frequently 🙂
Since that day we have been through three brain surgeries, countless hospital stays, countless therapy sessions, 4 wheelchairs, and a bazillion seizures.
It has been a mill, y’all and we have been through it.
She never sang, she never danced, she never took the stage at all. She is fierce in her competition. He competition is life, and the living of it.
She talks to dead people. She can control the volume on the stereo without touching a knob. She is magic. She is Joan of Arc in there.
I couldn’t be prouder of her. My girl.
This week we moved her into her new house. There is a lovely woman from Nigeria that cares for her. Her voice is like velvet and her accent is charming. Her name is Grace.
The woman who is responsible for taking her out on adventures to the library and the theater or wherever she can grow, is named Gabrielle.
Her new housemate and friend is named Therese.
Last night when I called to check on her, the first thing she did was address my worry in telling me that everything was alright and that she was okay. She made a point to make me feel better. I was worried that she was going to hate me. She didn’t. She is fierce. She is good. I didn’t raise a diva, I raised a star…a sparkly shiny star straight from Heaven. I thank Jesus for the gift of her. When we were hanging up the phone I heard her say to Therese, ” Das My Mom” .
You’re damned skippy I am…and proud of it.
She is worth every tear, wrinkle, worry, fret and grey hair…well, if I didn’t color them 🙂
Big Love, No Apologies, No Condition, No Question…..just the love. That’s what it is all about.
Megan Elizabeth Rushing Rawks, y’all. That is the God’s honest truth.
Now go hug your babies.
Smooch Out 🙂