Huge Little Things

When you experience loss and heartache, you often think it’s the big things that will impact you the most, and they do, to be certain, but it’s the little things that both bring tears and overwhelming joy.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a blog about our 24-year-old son, Eli, who was tragically killed this past July called “He Sometimes Smelled Like Onions” where I talked about some of the unexpected things that bring his memory to the forefront of my mind and make me miss him even more.

Today I experienced the flip side of that with Brynna. What you may not realize is that every night we put her to bed and in the back of our minds we wonder if tonight will be the night; the night she has a silent seizure in the night and doesn’t wake up. Every single morning as I go in to wake her up I see her lying very still and motionless; she’s a really deep sleeper. And every morning in the recesses of my conscious mind there is a twinge and hint of this thought: “I hope she wakes up.”

That first moment when she rouses from her deep slumber, stretches, yawns, and reaches to give me my morning hugs will forever be one of my most precious times. In that very moment, the rush of relief is hard to explain, and yes, it happens every. single. day.

She and I have a routine, routine is important for autistic children. She sits on her stool and we hug. Every. Single. Morning. And every single morning I pray and thank God that last night was not “that night” and ask Him once more to heal her. He hasn’t done that yet, and may not until she is with Him in eternity, but that doesn’t stop me from asking. It does, however, make me thankful for this one HUGE Little Thing.