A Reflective Sunset

I just watched a beautiful sunset.  And as I the sun sank behind a blue, low-lying Virginia mountain, my mind was clear.  It's been over 2 months since I could enjoy something for longer than a minute without thinking about Miles' heart.  Though my worries are not all gone (are they ever as a parent???), I felt secure and grounded.  I am awash in a new sense of serenity.  My little boy is making great strides in his recovery, and his mother is loosening the knot in her stomach.  I don't know if I will ever be able to commit to words the true fear I felt on Friday.  Actually, it's doubtful that I have been completely honest with myself.  It's quite possible my rational brain switched off the moment I handed Miles over to the surgical team.  Deep thinking never helps my survival skills, and this has really tested my inner strength- more than I will know for a long time to come.  Chances are that this situation's intensity was (is) more than I could (can) handle.  Maybe I am only feeling what I need to feel right now.  I bet on our drive home, whenever that may be, a huge sob of relief, gratitude, and remnant fear will escape my mouth.  

These eyes are still fighting the urge to constantly well over.  Deep breath in.  Deep breath out.  I am still taking these days with one breath at a time.  

The Charlottesville sky is growing darker by the second.  Time to return to Miles' side, squeeze his little hand, and hug Jesse- my partner through this storm.  Goodnight beautiful sky and dear friends!  More words in the morning. . .