The Recliner.

I sat in a recliner in Deak's blue and red room, in the middle of the night, for a year.
It kept my back comfortable and held my arm in a way that prevented it from falling asleep.
I awoke two or three times a night and held my fragile boy's body in my arms. I gave him medicine through a nebulizer with the prayer that the mask I held carefully in front of his nose would allow him to wake up in the morning.

That chair, my husband, and I... kept him alive.
What a year that was.
I don't remember many milestones or events. Although I know much of it was characterized by hospital food and specialists I didn't want to have to meet. Exhaustion overtook most of my ability to recall specifics, but I do remember feelings. I'll never forget most of them.
Tired.
Panic.
Joy.
Hope.
Guilt...

...because I know that year will also be marked for my sweet girl. She grew ten years wiser during that time and furthered an independence due to necessity, and a mom that was coping while in survival mode. My heart aches at the thought that I may have forgotten at times to show her how important she is and how deeply my heart feels for her. Oh, how I pray that she will someday understand and forgive.

This chair may be leaving my home today. Blair and I have been selling items we've deemed "unnecessary" as a way to supplement our income a bit, and there is a buyer.
I've cried many tears at the thought of losing this chair. The new mother who is buying it won't know...she won't understand the significance it has held in my life.

But, I need to move on.
I hope today becomes a today that I will look back and recall in future years.
I hope it is the beginning of an ability to lose some of this fear I've felt and still hold on to too closely.
A closure of one world, and an opening to a world I wasn't sure would ever exist.
I no longer need that chair to help Deak breathe.
He can do that for himself.
In fact, he could walk to that chair if he really wanted to.

I think it's time to let go.