I really didn't even know what to do with myself when the neurologist told me that my husband's chances were terrible. There were so many thoughts battling in my mind. Faith demands belief, and I couldn't stop believing that God could do anything He wanted to no matter what those scans showed. But oh, those scans were bad.
I really felt like I was living in some sort of alternate reality. I felt absolutely protected by God and even amidst the circumstances I was able to rest in total peace. I didn't want to lose my husband. I definitely did not want my children to grow up without their father. But when you know your husband knows the Lord, there just is honestly something very sweet about thinking he may soon be with his Father.
My thoughts were random, to say the least. A song might play on the radio and I'd think how lovely it would be at Alif's funeral, and I would see a slide show playing in my mind. Alif with a baby in his lap, little toes pointing toward Daddy's bare belly. Alif kneeling next to three-year-old Canaan, proudly adjusting the toddler's stance for the best chance at a great t-ball hit. Alif in his fancy suit promising to love me as long as he would live. The six of us on the front porch, Daddy's face fading from the picture and leaving a widow and four fatherless children.
Tears came often, as they do now just remembering this time and the confusion that permeated every moment. Laughter was welcome, even when it was slightly manic. Friends and family showed the kind of support I could never have expected. God utilized each person's strengths, gifting and personality to bless us beyond measure.
But the reality was that we were facing a repeat brain scan in three days, at which time we would "need to make some decisions." I determined to spend those days loving my husband the best way I could and to not spend them mourning. I prayed over him many, many times a day. I stayed at the hospital, surrounded by loved ones. I went home in the evenings and tried to make life as normal as possible for our children. I set my alarm for two wake-ups each night, so I could call the ICU and get an update on the latest. The ICU nurses were absolutely angelic in giving me as many details as they possibly could.
On April 22, Alif had a few facial and left arm movements. There was some speculation that this could be just a nerve thing. I didn't buy it and soaked up every sign of life. He also had a fever, which was terribly concerning to me as we were now several days in with 5 or 6 tough antibiotics coursing through his system around the clock, and a few days out from a major surgery. I continued to pray for healing over every system in his body, for the nurses to be alert, skilled, caring; for the doctors to have wisdom and precision in their decision-making.