It's 5:00 a.m. Cal time. James is sleeping sweetly in a little port-a –crib next to the bed. Brooks just went out for Starbucks, as he got up 3 times with him last night. I slept like the dead through all but one, praise God...with no dreams that I remember. This present reality has a surreal, dream-like feel to it, yet there is a déjà-vu element as well. Maybe it's that out of all my worst dark fantasy imaginings, this ranked in the top 3. How would it feel if it were my child? It almost feels oddly familiar...though perhaps I'm just still in shock. Yesterday (I think....time has no meaning any more) some of Katherine's Athens Academy friends who live in LA (Emily Callaway and Andrew DePalma) came by the hospital to encourage us. Andrew said something about how we can talk about our faith, but it is times like these when we live it. That started a chain of thought when I escaped for some air later on. This is it. This is what we've been in training for, what we've been given preparation for. I'm not ready for the test, but it's too late now to cram for the exam.
I can't do this.
I will have to be carried.
I realize that will depend on whether or not I allow myself to be. There is certainly no dearth of arms here. I have been held and hugged and held up by countless people whose names I don't even know. The lobby of UCLA Med Center has become a sea of love and pizza and baby toys and prayer. The first night they kept politely asking Amie and me to please stop lying on the floor, and told us we needed to get the food out. They have long since thrown in the towel. It seems that there are always 30 or so people waiting, praying, eating, sleeping, being with us. They are weeping 'with those who weep' (us), but they are weeping for themselves as well. It is stunning to hear each one's story of Katherine's significance in their lives. I find myself looking around for her, knowing how she would revel in the party of friends and strangers.....turning them all into friends.
4:00 p.m.: I want to write much more, but there's no time now. It is important to me to do this because I feel that something much bigger than anything I've ever seen before is happening here. In spite of my fear, in spite of doubt, in spite of inadequacy, in spite of sin, in spite of a "bad prognosis," a miracle is taking place. I want to record it as it unfolds.
p.s. When I checked my voicemail this afternoon, I had a message from Kat and Jay's friend J.T. He had left it the night before. Among other things, he said, "Kim, you are being carried." God knows me well, and is anticipating every need. His grace is sufficient. Please keep on carrying me for the long haul. I love you all so much, dear friends. I can't tell you how much the calls, texts, emails, etc. have meant to us. We are overwhelmed.