Did it all get real? I guess it's real enough.

That line pretty much sums up my feelings for the Ronald McDonald house. It's an amazing organization. It's clean, affordable, they feed you, and basically try to everything in their power to make you feel at home. The walls are painted bright colors, and there's pretty artwork on almost every wall. The house itself is homey, but the guests are sad. None of them act sad, I haven't yet seen a single one break into tears or anything like that. But, you can see it in their eyes. If they're here, then every thing is not all right for them. That yellow band on their arm might as well be a broken heart on their sleeve.
For the last couple of nights, C and I went down to the kitchen for a little pre-bed chocolate run (for C, not me.). The kitchen is usually as full as it ever gets around that time. Visiting hours are coming to a close, or therapy is done for the day, and every one wants a drink or a snack before bed (there's no food allowed in the upper floors). And right then, even as everyone is laughing or saying 'Hi!' to C 15 times, right then is when every one is at the peak of their sadness. The outpatients and their caretakers are exhausted, the families of the patients in the hospital are tired, too. And whether they've gotten bad news, or no news, you can tell by the way they sit and stare at the quilt art on the wall, they're sad. I don't blame them. You pretty much know going into this house, it'll probably get sad. It's almost like a funeral home in that aspect. It might look pretty, but there's pretty much a limited reason you're in this house and it's not because you're child is healthy. C is probably one of healthiest kids associated with this house. I almost feel guilty sitting there laughing with this smiling kid when I know the man next to me has a son whose never lived outside of a hospital before.

There's other kids like C here, one is a little boy named Austin. I don't know his whole story but I think he had a stroke like C. He wears a brace on one foot, and his walk is wobbly. He also can't use one hand very well and he's in the same intensive therapy C is. He also has blue eyes and blonde hair, and when I watch him run around the playground (however wobbly that run may be) I'm sure that one day, when C is Austin's age he'll be just as rough and tumble. (Austin did an accidental dive off the slide yesterday, and just hopped to his feet and started playing again.)

Every time I see another family, my heart goes out to them. The young man whose son has been in the hospital since birth, and he's seven months now and still not taking a full bottle. The family with the 14 yr old boy in a wheelchair, who has limited movement, but smiles a lot and loves iced coffee. And even the parents of the other therapy patients. Because I've seen first hand the struggles they go through and they may not be as gut wrenching as the cancer patients' families, but they're still there and they're still hard.

This house makes me count my blessings (which I already did twice a day) with almost every thought.

Maybe it's the Irish in us, but we've always been a very blessed and lucky bunch. The enormity of just our immediate family alone makes us a lightening rod, but we've always pulled through if only by the skin of our teeth. JD fell down a flight of stairs when he was a baby and there wasn't a scratch on him. I think we've all been in some pretty hairy car accidents, and came out bruised and swollen but breathing. And then there's the miracle babies of the bunch; SB, and C.

Vincent Van Goe wrote to his brother Theo that if you pray and work God will smile on you. And, since in her 60+ years on Earth that's essentially all my mom's done, I think we're seeing the outcome of that now. We all have our sorrows, but when you put them in perspective (or realize that they're self-inflicted) than, you'll see just how damn lucky we really are.

"Did it all get real? I guess it's real enough."

Tired of only hearing that one line of that one song, I put that artist on shuffle on my itunes. The first song that came up had this line in it, 'My mind races with all my longings, but can't keep up with what I've got.' Pretty much the moral of the story, I guess.

But, anyway, C is showing improvement already in the therapy. There's been a few minor bumps in the therapy road, but (and this may be biased) I don't think they've been C's fault. Thanks for the prayers for those who are praying them, and the thoughts for those who are thinking them.


I hate journaling, but a lot's been on my mind lately. This will probably be a one-shot deal.


-Sarah.