The next steps

I don't quite know what to update with right now. To be honest this part is like the worst Groundhog Day ever. You wake up in the morning and have to come to terms with reality all over again, feeling utterly helpless as your heart is being ripped out of your chest and fear and sadness take weight on your shoulders.


The hospital bed is in the living room. Myself, David, David's girlfriend Mary, and cousin Matt have been camped out here with Brandon every night, waking every hour or two to tend to him as needed. Aria, my precious baby, continues to sleep through the night in her nursery. A real blessing from God.


Brandon is getting weaker and is resting most of the day, only drinking every now and then. We should be getting admitted to a skilled nursing facility tomorrow morning. Roger and David went to check out a couple places yesterday that have a private room available, which is a high priority to us with the baby and having privacy to grieve as we need. Unfortunately, nothing close by was available, so we will be going back and forth to Greenwood Village/DTC. But the facility is being very generous and allowing us to have a shared room all to ourselves, so it has two 'rooms' and a bathroom, so I can go nurse and rest in some privacy while other family members sit with Brandon. He truly has not been alone in this since the chemo treatment on July 14th. We can bring in a small fridge and microwave and air mattress so I can more or less move in for the remaining time, but Aria can not stay overnight, so that is going to be hard.


We have had some precious moments within this. Last night Brandon weakly said 'I have never felt so loved by so many people.' And this morning I quietly answered a phone call from my dad and Brandon woke, asking if they were coming out, and when I told him they were arriving tonight he said, 'That's so nice of them. I love your parents, they're so good to me.'


You never imagine having the ability to withstand something like this. If three months ago you told me I would be watching my husband go through this, not taking walks in the neighborhood with our new baby as we dreamed, I could not have fathomed how I would be able to do it. How do you handle the words 'inoperable tumor'? Then 'kidney failure'? Then 'nothing we can do?' Then 'hospice'? All regarding your 33 year old husband, and new father. But you handle it, one day at a time. Really, one breath at a time.


As I get overwhelmed with fear of being a single new mother and widow, grieving intensely and struggling with Lupus - I truly can't imagine how I'm going to do it. But, I couldn't have imagined doing this now - and somehow I am. God's grace is bigger then this and He is holding me up. I have to trust in His perfect plan. I know Brandon soon will see why, and understand, and it will be so beautiful. I know as he stands there before God he will hear "Well done my good and faithful servant" and it will all make sense. No more suffering, no more pain.


I try to remain there. In the relief Brandon will have, and the faith that God promises that He does all things for our good. Our eternal good, not our worldly good. And ultimately, if I am being used by God through suffering I know He is refining me for His purpose. But right now it doesn't make it hurt less. It just gives me the shred of hope I need to make it through this day and remain steady in faith.


Please continue to pray for Brandon's comfort. And we all need a lot of strength and peace.