finding the rope

This is a long grief.

I had thought of it (dealing with Peter and his problems) almost like being thrown into a lake, floundering a bit, but eventually finding that boat to get into, the rope to hold onto until I could get in the boat and then be ok.

It seems more like keeping my head above water in a choppy sea... the boat is there, and the rope is there, and I can grab onto it. But all I can do is hold on to the rope, let go, find it again, and hold on... there is no getting into the boat, just struggling to keep holding on.

It is a grief. A dying of expectations and hopes and dreams.  Perhaps made more difficult because no one could predict the outcome.  There was only a range of outcomes, giving hope for the better end of things. And gradually having all the hopes of the better end be washed away, one by one.  Every day slides the mark on the spectrum further to the worse end of outcomes. Every day there is a little more dying, a little more realization that Peter is not on the good end of his spectrums.  Though I do have to remember there are plenty of kids worse off than he is, with no prospect of improvement, only a slow decline back to death.

Eventually I find the rope again. God reminds me of the Cross, of Jesus, of being ransomed and forgiven and bought with blood. He reminds me that I would gladly do anything for my Savior, and that his bidding is "care for this child".