Such a Blur

The girls are all napping. Brad and I are sitting here in our living room.  We are watching the first day of pro-football. We are eating lunch and Jake is lying asleep in Brad's lap. It is as if the past 3 weeks have been a total blur. I am still in shock that only 2 1/2 weeks ago we almost lost him. Yet now, we are sitting here as though nothing ever happened. In every other aspect of life the world has continued. We still have to pay the mortgage. Laundry is still piling up. Dishes don't clean themselves. Floor still needs to be mopped. I don't know why I expected life to be different. It is not. The only things reminding us of the past weeks are the scar on Jake's chest and the medication alarm that goes off at 8:00 twice a day. 

I don't know how I expected it to be different, but I did. Jacob is back in our arms. Eating, sleeping, pooping. It frightens me to think of what it would be if Jacob hadn't come home. Things would still be the same. Life would have still continued, even without him. I can hear him cry, and I'm grateful. His face gets red with anger, with heat, with blood. Something it had never done before the surgery. I find myself constantly checking. First I check his color, then I look for breath. I feel his head, his feet, his hands. I say a silent prayer every time I look at his face. I melt every time I look in his eyes. 

People have told me that he will never remember, and I will never forget. I wish I could forget it. It went so quick. I had never had time to process. Now we are back, Happily Ever After. We still have appointments, sponge baths, and quarantine. But he doesn't look sick, he never really did. He is happy, but he always has been. I'm afraid I'm missing something! Like more should seem wrong. Life should be harder after such a life changing experience. Instead, it is back to normal. I have the same little guy back that I left at the hospital. I never really knew what it meant for life to seem surreal. In the true seance of the word: an unreal mix of fact and fantasy. But that is exactly how it feels Bizarre. That I could be here holding this perfect baby, looking back at him just a week ago. 

I can't help think of the what if...

What if we had gone to the Dr a different day? 

What is a different Dr had seen him? 

What if we never heard the murmur? 

What if he had died in our bed that night? 

Would it have just been deemed SID's? 

What if the Cardiologist had scheduled our appointment for the following day? 

What if he hadn't made it to the hospital?

What if we had gone to a different hospital? 

I hate to think of our lives without him, but I can't help but think of what could have been. We have met so many families that are living the other side of the what-if scenario. I feel guilty to have been so lucky. To complain about only being in the hospital 2 weeks.  I am just lucky to be where I am with what I have. He has been watched over. He has been through so much, and he will never remember any of it. Life has gone on. People are still going to church. Football is still on TV. Birthday parties are still coming and going. Our life was flipped one way and then back again faster than we could absorb. 

Unreal! He is a miracle! That is the only way to explain it. Miracle!