Fighting Fear

So, how are we doing?

We're doing really well. We are happy and relieved to see Abbie regain her lost arm and leg strength. We are glad to be back home, glad to be back among the girls, glad to have Abbie back with them. We are hopeful, hopeful that she won't need to undergo anymore dangerous surgeries, hopeful that we may be able to avoid radiation. We are overjoyed to see Abbie laugh, and dance, and try to run.

But, as happy as we are, under all of this runs an icy stream of fear. I've found myself suddenly paranoid about all sorts of things that I never sweated before: will the girls fall off the swingset? will Katie fall off her bunk bed? will Beth fall down the stairs? will Claire bang her head on the coffee table when she (again) jumps off the couch after (again) being told not to? It's as though, having once breached the nest of protection we thought we had wrapped our children in, Danger may now swoop in at any moment, at any unexpected time.

The moment of crisis, I've found, is often the easiest. When the oncologist at Sinai showed up in the waiting room that first time to tell me that it was a miracle my baby could walk, I could almost hear the clink as my emotions shut down, as I went totally numb. This time again, standing in the neurosurgeons office, looking at the MRI images that showed a tumor much bigger than it should be, I again almost heard that clink. Almost my first reaction was to laugh. You can't be serious. This couldn't possibly be real.

It's in the time after the danger has passed that I start to panic. When things slow down, I have the leisure to think about what could have happened, how close to disaster we were. I have the time to think about all the ways things could still go bad. Chris is so good in this way, his optimism really keeps me more grounded. But, deep down, I am still afraid.

This has been a summer for tragedies, it seems. We keep hearing about so many people this summer who have lost their children in terrible, unbearable ways. And I can't help thinking, what makes me think God will spare us when He doesn't spare these others? Putting your trust in God does not mean that He will keep all pain from you.

The Saturday before Abbie's last surgery, I ran into the National Basilica (which is convieniently just down the road from Children's) for mass, and heard a homily that seemed tailor-made for me. The priest was talking about the loaves and fishes, and he said, "People often think that God does not answer their prayers. But it's just that He gives us what we need, not what we want."

I read a paraphrase of a speech Fr. Groeshel gave at the wake of little Joshua Schmiedicke, the son of FUS alumni who died in a car accident last month, and I am trying to hold onto it for my own peace. So weak of me to be so disjointed when I still have the comfort of my little one sitting in my lap. But here's some of what he said, and I am trying to keep it firmly in mind when I'm overwhelmed with my own fears:

Why does God allow this kind of suffering? Regina mentions Joshua's favorite movie was The Passion of the Christ. In that movie, we see the Blessed Mother following her Son to Calvary. And the entire time, Mary was asking Why? Why does he have to suffer? Why does he have to be scourged? Why the crown of thorns? Why the cross? Stop it, please, please stop it.


But God did not stop it. He suffered, He died. And that is his only answer to the question of why.

Do not ask God 'Why?' Ask Him 'What?' What can I do? What can be done with my life, and what should I do to gain Heaven? For Jesus also asked why, on the Cross! Therefore, if our Lord asked why, and was answered by death on the Cross, so must we suffer with the loss of earthly possession, our earthly body, and our earthly selfishness.