sleep will not come easy tonight

I kind of don't know what to do with myself right now, so here it is.

I've gotten kind of complacent when bad things happen. Not so much when they happen to me, but when it comes to other people. Maybe complacent isn't even the right word, but it's all I can think of right now.

The thing is, when bad things happen to other people, I automatically and truthfully believe that it's going to get better. Everything you want, everything you need is going to happen for you because it has to. Because bad things shouldn't happen and only good things should happen and everyone I know and love is deserving of only good things in their life.

And already I see a flaw in my thinking.

Because bad things do happen. And they happen to good people. And sometimes bad things happen to make us appreciate the good things. And through God, beauty comes from ashes. He gives gladness for mourning, and peace for despair. He heals hearts. He comforts.

I know better.

But I've fallen into this place of believing that the people I love should somehow be protected. Safe inside this bubble. Capable of being appreciative and understanding and grateful and compassionate without ever having to experience pain, or loss, or suffering.

Tonight there is a 6-year-old boy in the hospital. On life support. He has swelling and fluid in his brain. A few days ago he was happy and healthy. He plays soccer. He's in first grade. He's ready for summer.

Earlier today his parents took him to the local hospital because he had a temperature of 104. The doctors kept him for a few hours and then released him. They said he had viral pneumonia. Shortly after, his parents rushed him to the children's hospital in a bigger town 45 minutes away with possible meningitis. Now the doctors have said they've done all they can. They've declared him brain dead. They've given him until morning. That's only a few short hours away, really.

What if he only has a few hours left of his already short little life?

The boy's father, Florencio, is an old friend from church. My dad is the one who married the child's parents. I've known Flo since I was eleven. The same can be said of the boy's grandmother, Molly, and Elisse, his aunt. Elisse and I used to be pretty close. Her son is his best friend. I know his great aunts and uncles, his great-grandparents, and so many of his cousins. I taught his older brother in my children's church class.

I met his uncle, Ruben, in an entirely different manner. Friends since 7th grade science class long before realizing our connection through his half-brother, Flo. He and I have been through a lot together these past 10+ years. My heart hurts for him. I've reached out to him. To let him know that I love him, and that I am here for him and praying. It's all I can do.

I know this family. It may have been awhile since we've seen each other, but that love is still there. I know that they are hurting, but I know that they are pulling together. I know they are praying. Praying for a miracle to come.

When I first heard he was going to the hospital, I honestly thought he would be okay. It took hearing that things had taken a turn for the worse to really wake me up. I feel so guilty about that. I feel like I live in some fantasy world half the time. Maybe it's more delusion than it is complacency.

I just can't help hoping. And I am still hoping, but my faith is shaken. Now it seems so much more real, and I'm scared. I know it's in God's hands and that whatever happens is his will, but I'm so aware of how much more pain could come from this. As much as I don't want to think of it, I can see the potential for the good should it go that way, but I know how much of the bad they will have to sift through first and I am scared.

Almost exactly 2 years ago, I had this same kind of news. My friend from high school, Tony, had been involved in a hit and run. Someone had hit him while he was riding his bike, and left him for dead. When he was found, there was a slim chance that the doctors could save him. So we hoped.

I cried and prayed and begged for prayer and I believed that he was going to pull through. Because he had to. Because bad things shouldn't happen to people I love. And the world needed him. And I'd always said I wanted to know him when he was old. I'd always said that.

But he didn't make it. It just wasn't the time for that kind of miracle.

We later found out that had they bothered to stop after hitting him, he could have lived. And as much as that truth hurts, and as much as the whole experience hurts, I know that good came out of all the pain. He was an organ donor. People lived because of him. He was getting ready to take the MCAT, but he didn't need medical school to save lives. And his death brought some of us closer together. Those who loved him healed together. We embraced each other through our mutual love for him and got through it.

I know better than to question God's plan. I don't do it. But I don't know what it's going to take for my heart to ever be able to handle loss. For me, for other people. I've never met this child, but I love his family. And I feel their pain. I'm carrying it with me now. I don't want this child to suffer. I don't want anyone to suffer.

So I'm just here. Trying to sort out my feelings. Praying. Hoping. Wishing for this family to feel the love I am sending them from four hours and many miles away. I don't know what will happen over the next few hours. No one does but God, I guess. As much as I want it, I know there's a chance that it may not be time for that kind of miracle. But I know that God is going to take care of things. What He decides will be right. And maybe believing in the best for the people I love means believing that everything will someday be better. Someday okay. But I don't want anyone to hurt. And right now my heart is so heavy. And sleep will not come easy tonight.