Hopping To Hopkins

 Sleeping infant, her head cradled in the fold between my calf muscle and my knee. She’s chugging a bottle. My other hand is typing this post. My four year old finally crashed  again after waking up because of the loud rain outside.

Our bags are packed by the door, I packed them and then double checked I had everything we needed to survive a zombie apocalypse. We’re heading to Baltimore in search of some hope, a miracle, some good news, the absence of bad news. I just pray we come home with more than with which we left. It’s always so hard. The unknown.

I cannot preach enough the power of communication. Talk to someone, anyone, hell I say talk to everyone. Venting is good for the soul, and a good support system is imperative. Beyond that seek therapy, it is essential that someone hears you and a professional is going to give you a massive toolbox jam packed with the tools you need to stay afloat. I’m blessed with family, friends and supporters that are willing to listen. I pray that everyone is entitled to that same privilege.

Matt said something tonight that he has said so many times in the past few weeks… “I know I’m dying, but I’m not sure when”. No one knows when they will die. Although the “if” is guaranteed. Everyone will die. It’s inevitable. So tonight the words I have heard before, lingered a tad longer, because they’re honest. As I packed a unicorn hairbrush, and a years supply of formula I did not cry while anticipating the unknown. I didn’t even blink in the face of all the possibilities, because we are hunting for a miracle in Maryland. And that my friends will be the next post you read.