The fragility of life is terrifying. My son got hit by a baseball in his chest two nights ago at his game. All went quiet. Coaches rushed to the pitchers mound. He stayed standing. He did not fall to the ground.
But seeing him clutch his chest as we all held our breath looking on in silence was a moment I will not easily forget.
And overhearing a mother say, “He got hit on the heart” on the way over to the dugout was deafening.
Those still moments carry a lot of weight. They are the times when we either exhale with a sigh of gratitude and relief or remember it painfully as the instant before everything changed.
We have all been there before. When we lose sight of our child for a brief moment at the store, when the school calls, or when hearing the final diagnosis from a family member.
Those moments where time stands still and we stay frozen.
I couldn’t sleep two nights ago. I kept seeing my son, my beloved heart and soul and wondering was everything really okay?
To me, the hardest thing about having a child is how much we love them and knowing how much can go wrong. What a delicate balance it all is.
And somehow we learn to exist in this in between place. The place between breaths, between terrifying and beautiful, gratitude and disbelief. We hold our own hearts, inhaling and exhaling, accepting, and continuing to embrace it all because closing our hearts and residing in fear is no way to play ball.