Tomorrow morning I send my son off to the operating room, wheeled out by a stranger's hands, taken to a place I've never been, cared for by people I've never met.
Tomorrow morning my heart will feel like it is gone from my chest, from the moment they take him away until the moment I get to be near him.
Tomorrow morning a surgeon will cut my son; in order to help him he will have to hurt him.
Tomorrow morning my stomach will be in knots, I will have a hard time focusing, my mind will be in constant prayer, tears will be poised on the brink of falling.
Tomorrow morning I will have to face again what all Mamas face at some point in their lives, though I always wished it would be a little longer until I had to face it: the letting go. The realization that this child, as much as they hold your heart, is not you. They must go. They must have experiences apart from you. They must be hurt in this life and, God-willing, they must grow stronger because of it. I must allow him to be placed in God's hands and watch him leave my sight: so vulnerable, so small, so beautiful, so loved.
Tomorrow morning will be hard.
awe awe awe awe awe awe awe awe awe awe awe awe !!!
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