“Soooo…?”

Everybody’s got a name for it…the elephant in the room…the 900 lb. gorilla in the room…the question no one wants to pose…

“Soooo…how are you doing?”

I hate it. Just keepin’ it real, peeps. Because, although asked with the most genuine sincerity and concern, it never takes a prisoner alive. In that moment, I have a decision to make.  Fudge the reality for the sake of the questioner…pull myself up by my britches and try to navigate through the tumultuous answer…or just lie. It’s that simple.

To be perfectly honest, you’d also get varying degree of answers from different people that have to deal with yours truly. My kids would probably say I’m doing mostly ok. The hubs would express some concern. My friends would say I’m handling it great. Me…I’d claim to be the hottest mess of all hot messes that have ever been messed with…in the heat. (That sounded better in my head) . I should also mention that I went into this trial a non-crier. If you know the Carr family, that pretty much makes me an outcast.  Although I’ve definitely been known to breakdown over these past couple years…I’ve still got a long way to go to catch up.  Anyway, just tuck that little 411 in your back pocket…Eva is not a crier…crud. So take that girl and have her randomly bursting into tears at the blink of an eye….yea, that’s it…now you’ve got it figured out.

My own response would vary from day to day…or more like…moment to moment. You see, that’s what grief does to you…creeps up when you least expect it…when you’re most vulnerable…when the ugly cry-face can cause the most discomfort. As a matter of fact, I can illustrate my point exactly.

On Tuesday of this past week, I had to make the fated journey back up to the hospital for a doctor’s appointment of my own.  I was heavy-hearted when I started the journey…even texted a couple friends and asked them to pray for strength…and the anxiety had increased to a Vadar force, the closer I drew.  By the time I arrived, I was taking deep breaths and pleading with God to calm my spirit. My best friend, Denial, and her ugly cousin, Avoidance, walked me straight into the waiting room and plopped a squat beside my alter ego, Distraction. (You know some Hollywood types will be stealing my names within the next year. Lame.)

Regardless, the Comforter did answer those prayers, and the 2 hour visit sailed by. I was even able to talk about Zoe and the whole journey with the nurse at length.  Remarkably, she had a harder time than I did.  Huge moment. When it was time to leave, I felt overwhelmingly compelled to venture up to the PICU to encourage another mom that’s been there since March with her sweet babe…and to personally thank the nurses that had cared so well for Zoe.  Again I asked for peace and comfort…again He gave it.  I can assure you, you’ve never known another friend so faithful…who will all your sorrows bear.

What a sweet reunion God provided with those amazing individuals.  Smiles of recognition.  Arms stretched wide open. Hugs of encouragement.  Words of comfort. Acknowledgement of shared pain when our paths crossed ever so briefly. All because of a sweet little China doll that has changed our lives forever. Our lives are now inextricably linked because of her, and I’m forever grateful for it.

 “Zoe’s mom”…that’s how they know me there. It’s got kind of a ring to it, don’t you think?  No one can take that from me. It’s a gift I will always cherish.

Interestingly enough, the gal I went to see had stepped out of the hospital for a little bit. I knew why God led me there. Healing…encouragement…comfort…peace. I left the hospital that day much different than the last time…with a smile on my face and a small measure of peace in my heart. 

Fast-forward a few hours…HOURS, mind you. I had to run to Wally World to get a prescription and a few odds and ends. I was sailing through the store until I swung into the kids’ section to grab some shorts for Mr. Z.  Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by every cute thing Zoe had wanted me to buy…and even some she’d not noticed, but would’ve looked so sweet on her.  I was overcome with emotion as the room began spinning out of control. There I was…sobbing…in the middle of Walmart, of all places. It seems laughable that I’d just spent some considerable time at the place of her death, yet couldn’t make it through…have I mentioned…W.A.L.M.A.R.T.!!! I struggled to breathe and had to take a good amount of time before I could even move. 

I’ve thought a good bit about the two drastically different encounters with the reality of Zoe’s death, and I can only come to one conclusion. I went in prepared for one and not the other.  I knew, without a doubt, that going back up to the U would be heart-breaking. I knew I needed to pray and be bathed in prayer. I knew the enemy would be attacking with despair…with hopelessness…with anger…with bitterness, and it would be a battle. I went into Walmart…careless. I put on the armor in one and went fully unarmed with gaping wounds into the other.  The vultures were circling, and I didn’t realize that I was the carcass fresh for the eating…until it was too late.

Soooo….how’s it going?!? I’m still a hot mess…of epic proportions…but my God is the God of all comfort, and He continues to pick me up and carry me in His gentle arms every time these knees buckle.  Some days it’s just more often than not…but He never gets weary.

survivor's guilt

I'm sure somebody's going to send me an email explaining why this is not the correct usage of that phrase...yippee-skippy...for now, we will live on the edge.

You see, it's not that I feel bad that I'm alive, and my daughter is dead...although I would've gladly taken every fear, every heartache, and every pain from her, if that were possible. More to the point, though, is the heavy realization that I would not be doing the things I'm doing if she were still alive. Every ball game...every workout...every meal at home with the family...all seem to be a glaring reminder that Zoe's gone. Don't get me wrong...I love all those things! But considering the fact that those were all things I'd been sacrificing during Zoe's hospital stay, they're a constant reminder that my loyalties are no longer divided...no compromises any further needed...no sibling suck-it-up sessions required. So there you have it...survivor's guilt.

When you mix that with a twist of responsibility guilt...and a pinch of heavy grief...you've got yourself quite the cocktail. Trust me...no one wants the hangover that one provides. [Just a clever analogy, people...relax] 

If you're cruisin for a bruisin, you'll just relish the addition of this reality: due to the demands of Zoe herself, Zane has very little use for me. Zoe insisted on my care 98% of the time...therefore, everyone else had, what has now been affectionately coined, "Zane duty." Although I'm sure this will change with time, it's especially heart-wrenching these days.  

I find myself pacing throughout the pile-laden house...a gazillion things to do...with literally no concept of how to do them. I'm not sure why I'm telling you this...maybe I just want to admit it to myself. I thought I understood sorrow and grief...I can assure you, I was sincerely mistaken. I can also promptly add...wouldn't wish this understanding on my worst enemy...not that I have those...just sayin...

I found myself glued to the clock last night, as the one week anniversary of Zoe's death was quickly approaching. Why?!? What good would that do me? Zoe is still gone, whether I mark her TOD or not.  As if making note of it would merit me the favor of those that continue to weep with us.  I was prepared to be overcome with sorrow all over again.  And there was, indeed, no shortage of tears. I even cried myself to sleep watching videos and looking at pictures. But something interesting also happened. My loving Comforter wept with me and spoke words into the very heart of my Father on my behalf...words I could not utter, still found their way to His ears.  

I remember thinking, "It was one week ago that my world fell apart." I'm so thankful that the very next thought that supernaturally came to mind was this..."Hold up...wait a minute...that's not true! Everything may have crumbled around me, but I'm still standing! I should be huddled in a corner somewhere, but here I am...able to love on my family...in spite of the pain.

My momma's heart was most definitely broken last Friday, but my world...my life...most definitely did NOT fall apart. 

Do I still feel like someone took a jagged edge to my gut??? No doubt.

Do I feel like I've got the worse flu epidemic in the history of the civilized world? Call the CDC.

But has my world, indeed, crumbled into an irreparable heap?  I will answer that with the words our family stood and read at Zoe's funeral.

"But we have this treasure (our life with Zoe) in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed...So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen..."

When Dr. Pepper and Jif aren't enough...

It's a good thing I'm not sitting in front of a doctor right now answering questions...

"Do you randomly burst into tears?" Yep. 

"Do you struggle to get out of bed?" You betcha. 

"Do you know what day it is?" No clue.

"Is it difficult to eat with your whole family...minus one?" Very. 

"Do you blame yourself for things that were clearly out of your control?" Yes, yes, and oh my, yes.

I'm not exaggerating when I say they'd bring the white coat and pills and haul me away. 

The ache runs deep, and I wonder if there will ever come a day that I don't have a hard time swallowing. The very definition of "depressed" is what I see every time I look in the mirror. 

Yet I'm still trusting in, and depending on, a gracious and compassionate Father that is sovereign in all things. That's really the crux of the issue. How do people cope with such tragedy without this Rock to lean on? I want to sorrow well...to reflect His grace to those around me...but it's seems impossible to do so when I can't get past my own pain.

Monday was, without question, the most difficult day of my life. We were surrounded by innumerable family and friends, which initially made it easier to function. We were able to share some private time with Zoe before the casket was closed and were also incredibly blessed to have an unexpected caravan of people from Indiana come to celebrate Zoe's life with us. Some had never even met Zoe but loved her all the same. This created the largest "family" procession in the history of funerals. It was awesome.

Many good friends made the service especially meaningful to us, and we were able to worship and remember together in the midst of great sorrow. The songs, prayers, words, and pictures were sweet nectar to a broken spirit. To sing the words, "There's a peace I've come to know...though my heart and flesh may fail. There's an anchor for my soul. I can say, 'It is well'..." with an auditorium full of heart broken people was a tremendous statement of God's powerful presence smack in the middle of extreme tragedy.

Perhaps the most poignant moment of the service was watching the video of Zoe singing Jesus Loves Me. She knew it. Our little princess absolutely knew that the God of the universe loved her. This truth makes me swell with gratitude and amazement. I just know that she went straight to the lap of my sweet Savior and sang this right to His face while He just smiled into her beautiful face. I bet He gives the best eskimo kisses and tells the juiciest secrets. This makes even the most crushed spirit fill with joy as I can hear her giggling all the way to Iowa!

The same large, yet intimate, troupe traveled the few blocks to the cemetery where we laid her fraile body to rest. My dad said some comforting words as I remember thinking, "I'm so glad I know she's not in this expensive box we are lowering into the ground...I'm not sure another breath could escape my lungs if that were true." 

People gathered together for some food and fellowship at the church as we processed the next phase of our lives...without Zoe. Believe it or not, we actually shared quite a few laughs with family as we sat around the table...mostly teasing my dad about the endless supply of boat carcasses that dotted our lawn for the majority of my childhood. Laughter does a heart good, my friends.

The one thing we were certain about going into the services on Monday was that we did not, under any circumstances, want a receiving line. Yea...Chris somehow escaped but as I stood to hug a friend goodbye, a line the length of the Great Wall formed in the blink of an eye...and there I was...hugging. My favorite. :) Now if you were a line-former that day, please don't feel badly...it really was so sweet and precious that people wanted to share in our grief with us and offer prayers on our behalf. I promise. I just had to chuckle as I looked up at the line and thought, "I'm gonna kill Chris for ditching me!" HAHAHA! It was even funnier when Jason said he appreciated me pushing him out of his  comfort zone as he led our worship without a guitar in hand, and I replied, "Yea, well...I just hugged a whole line of people without throwing up! So...we're even!" :)

It was a couple hours before I got the announcement that Chris was "done"...:)...not kidding...honestly gotta give him props for hanging tough as long as he did.  I asked for a minute alone before we left...to breathe...to think...to pray.

I quickly found myself standing in the exact spot where Zoe's casket had laid just a few hours before. I'm not really sure how I got there, but there I was...looking up at the cross. I poured my broken heart out to God, knowing He'd been waiting for this moment. Through a waterfall of tears and cracking voice, I sang to my Rock...over and over...

Our God is greater
Our God is stronger
God, You are higher than any other
Our God is Healer...awesome in power
Our God...our God

And if our God is for us
Then who could ever stop us
And if our God is with us
Then what could stand against

Praying I will allow that same strength and power to raise me up in the days ahead.

Today I Bury My Baby

Well, friends...this is a day I did not anticipate, nor do I welcome. This day could have never come, and it would've been too soon.  Even as I type this words, the tears are flowing and my faithful friends, Dr. Pepper and peanut butter are in abundance by my side. I'll probably even add cookies and muffins to the plate before too long. Might want to go ahead and call the workout police...multiple infractions over here at the Carr Castle.

I have remained largely silent since my last blog post on Friday evening, and it wasn't because I thought we were on a break. :) There simply were no words. There still aren't, but it's difficult for me to be quiet...even if what I'm saying is drivel. I also remembered that those cavemen/women without Facebook were most assuredly missing the 411.  SO...here we are.

Late Friday evening, our sweet Zoe went running into the arms of Jesus. Her poor little body couldn't withstand one more thing. She was in her 2nd high-risk heart surgery, and it was just too much. They'd already equipped her with the Berlin heart device, had added a shunt to aid in the flow to the lungs, and were planning on adding an oxygenator to the device should her lungs not be able to function at full capacity due to the issues she'd developed there. Surprisingly, Zoe's blood pressure wasn't able to stay within functioning parameters, and every time the doctors would try to remove her from the bypass, her pressures would plummet. They really couldn't figure out why this would happen and were certain that there were even further issues with Zoe's anatomy that they'd not yet learned that were causing the problem.  Therefore, in spite of every effort known to man, our sweet angel was no more. 

With tears in their eyes, the doctors told us that it appeared that nothing would've ever worked, given the apparent systemic problems that had gone undetected. In the end, it wasn't her heart...it wasn't her lungs...it was more likely, too much damage over too long a period of time. Ultimately, it was God's plan.

It's surreal. I'm sitting in my living room at 1am, writing you this little note...a room that was full a few hours ago with family and friends that have gathered to celebrate Zoe's life. The outpouring of love and compassion from our family and friends has been unbelievable. We are so thankful for each word said and each prayer lifted on our behalf.

But is this really happening?!? The last two days have been filled with horrors that no one...especially no parent...should ever have to endure. Choosing caskets, picking cemeteries, choosing plots, picking out clothes for burial, deciding what special things to include in the casket, trying to choose what to wear to the funeral of your sweet baby who loved bright colors...this cannot be real.

People keep telling me when to eat and sleep. We're planning services, picking music, caring for our other children...trying to be sensitive to their need for normalcy when the death of the innocent smacks you square in the gut...I don't want to do this. I want to go back in time...back before it was hard to keep breathing. I feel like I'm floating through sludge...desperately trying not to get pulled under for good.

"Mom, what will we do after tomorrow?" 

"I don't know, babe...I just don't know."

Sometimes the ache is so tangible...like my entire body will cave in. The sorrow fills up my throat and chest in such a way that I wonder how people around me aren't being pushed away. I shake my head with fury and give way to gut-wrenching sobs. 

I know the truth...Christians need not fear death because Christ has overcome the grave. I don't fear death...but I'd really like to give it a swift kick in the behind. Now before you go all Billy Graham on me, I truly believe Zoe is with Jesus this very minute, and I'm so very thankful she sporting the pinkest skin you've ever seen and is running so fast, the angels can't keep up! I find some level of comfort from these foundational truths.

I can't, however, come to grips with the fact that she is gone. No more yelling at Zane for messing with her stuff...no more running from the other kids, screaming with laughter. No more reading "No No, David!" No more Zoe/Momma hugs and secrets. No more convincing Zane that something's not scary because he saw Zoe do it first. No more birthdays for Zoe Lynn Carr. 

Gotta tell ya...I'm not okay with this. I desperately want her back. In the most bizarre ways, it felt like she'd been part of our family for her entire 3 years. She was so happy. She laughed and sang all the time. She trusted us completely and loved us all wholeheartedly...and we felt the same about her. 

Some have suggested that we knew this was coming.  Given her heart condition, it was a long-shot at best. It was a super long road, full of pot holes the size of Texas. It was shaky ground on the most solid of days. But I tell you right now...I was shocked to my core when they told us she wasn't going to make it. I completely expected God to heal her, whether supernaturally or through the medical team and procedures she had at the U. 

"Expecting a miracle,"...that's what we always said. We knew He could do it...no doubt. I thought I understood the sacrifice we were called to make. But we are at a whole other level of sacrifice here...very unexpected and very bitter-tasting.

I'm still desperately clinging to the promises of Christ, knowing that He is working even this situation out for our good and His glory. 

I just wish His plan would've included Zoe remaining in my arms...I was giving Him the glory then too.

But as I mentioned in my last post, God's ways are higher and greater than anything I could imagine. Perhaps He can do even more incredible things through her death than through her life. I sincerely pray my grief does not get in the way of that. 

"All of my life...in every season, You are still God. I have a reason to sing. I have a reason to worship."

I Choose Life!

Bare with me as I jump forward about a week in order to capture the emotion and feeling of this day before my old age...along with many bumps on the head...keep me from remembering.

As I sit in the PICU waiting room while Zoe is in yet another surgery...where the uncertainty and the helplessness are palpable...my mind keeps spinning around a few central ideas that I wanted to share. 

After the army of people wheeled her away today, I found myself back in her empty room, thinking...pondering life. Not simply the gargantuan task set before the surgeons...and it is huge...but also the topic, in general...life.

The director of the PICU walked by and saw me sitting there...on the toilet lid, mind you...no pride left, I can assure you. She stuck her head in and asked how I was doing...to which I responded, "Hanging in there...just trusting." She said, "That's all you can do, right?" I couldn't help but say, "Actually, no...I could despair. I could crumble. I could melt into a puddle of tears. But I'm choosing to trust that God is in control, and that He's got this covered." (I should point out that even as I'm typing these words, I'm sitting square in the middle of such a puddle, tough gal that I am...so hold the fanfare.) Having to say it aloud to her, though, gave me the strength enough to get up and go find my family. 

I can assure you that all the platitudes and fancy Christian-speak can only carry you so far...it's not a long distance journey to the end of your rope...it's really more like an Olympic sprint into the desert...where you're left with no water and no camel...only pamphlets about "coping with tragedy" blowing along with the tumbleweed.

When all this started a couple weeks ago, we were taken aback by all the incredible equipment and facilities and knowledge that would be used to save Zoe's life. It truly was astounding. This little girl from an unknown place halfway around the world, was now smack dab in the middle of some of the best medical care in the country. We haven't been her parents for 3 months at this point. To say it's overwhelming would be the understatement of the year. 

I don't think I'll ever forget the question Chris posed in the chaos of those first few days.

"How much is a life worth?"

All the sacrifice...all the finances...all the schooling...all the intellect...all the technology...all the skill...all the love...all the compassion. How much is too much? What lengths would I not go to save the life of one I loved? In a world where personal sacrifice is frowned upon and personal satisfaction trumps all, how crazy is this? Babies are abandoned, neglected, abused, and thrown out...and we're doing all this to try and rescue...one. (Well, two...but you get my point.) We're pulling out all the stops...holding nothing back...for a little angel we met only 3 months ago. 

Must be us...we're just that awesome. Uh...nah. Anyone that knows us is full-on gut-laughing right now. Ok...that's enough...you can stop now...no, really...k...the rest of you just try to listen over the snorting.

I'm not trying to give a commentary on the world's issues. I could rant for days.  I have a simple comment that could summarize everything...every emotion, every sacrifice, every stinkin' bit of it. Are you ready? Here goes...

I CHOOSE LIFE.

If I could have the senate floor, I'd boldly proclaim the same thing..."choose life." If they'd pipe me through the sound system in the hospital, I'd repeat..."just choose life." To every person that has asked me about Zoe's adoption these past couple of weeks, I've circled the wagons around the same theme...life. After all, that's what her name means...life.

And so I find myself in the PICU, silently screaming to the Ultimate Healer, "LIFE! LIFE! LIFE! Please...I'm begging you...life." It all comes down to this. Every form, every frustration, every check written to innumerable agencies, every prayer uttered by myself and thousands of people all around the world...life. 

Dear God, I plead with you...with heavy brokenness and utter dependance...sustain Zoe's life...for You are the only One who can. Show Yourself in that operating room in such a way that everyone who hears and sees, will be amazed. We've spoken of Your sustaining power in Zoe's life to every single person since this journey began...simply because there is NO other explanation for her surviving to date...save the supernatural power of a loving God.  We presume upon Your compassion and grace in asking for yet another miracle. We long to see her smile again...to share in her sweet laughter...to hear her tiny little voice singing, "Jesus Loves Me." Please Lord...choose life.  This is what we ask. But if in Your wisdom, You do not grant this request...if Your plan is greater than anything we could ask or imagine that includes Zoe, please give us the peace that passes any understanding. Soften our hearts and strengthen our faith. Remind us daily that there is truly no life apart from You.

So how much is a life worth? Ask Jesus. He gave everything. This tiny bit I'm giving right now?!? It pales in comparison. I pray that I'll remember that when this day is done.

Some additional thoughts from our first weekend in the PICU

Our older kids have gotten pretty comfy with the nursing staff at the PICU...Peyton even donned the gloves and helped put the labs in the drop box with Zoe's nurse, and she and Ty were able to help with some chapstick and lotion. They really enjoyed being involved in some way, rather than sitting around watching the paint dry.

They've also begun asking questions directly to the nurses, bypassing us altogether! Traitors.

One particularly sad moment was when Ty asked our nurse, Jenny, "SO...will Zoe be able to wake up after they get her off that machine on Tuesday?" Choosing her words carefully, Jenny replied, "Well, not really buddy. She'll have to get her chest closed back up after a couple days, and then we have to wean her off of most of these meds right here. (Pointing to an insurmountable slew of drips hanging on a giant tree of medicine.) If I had to guess, I'd say it'll probably be another couple weeks!" Not gonna lie...we all stopped dead in our tracks. Weeks?!? Before she even wakes up?!?!? What happened to our entire stay being 2 weeks?!? Yea...that option has come and gone...guess that probably flew out the window with the first complication...but we're naive...what can I say...

As a matter of fact, as I headed out of the PICU Sunday night, I ran into one of the main docs and decided to ask some follow-up questions. She kind of walked through various things before I asked her about what Jenny had said. Then I added, "So the plan for us to go home in 2 weeks has kind of gone up in smoke at this point, right?" She actually couldn't hide the scoff and said, "Did somebody actually TELL you that?!?" K...I apparently need to get a 3rd and 4th opinion next time...you'd think I'd start asking for clarifications at this point in my life instead of living in the world I affectionately refer to as, "Happy Ignoramousland." Yes, I just made that up...I'd not suggest calling me that anytime soon. You've had fair warning.

We did have some happy times last weekend too! As always, one of the Carr girls' favorite things to do together is sing. We love it...Zoe loves it...it's all good. Initially, we were told by one of the nurses that she couldn't really hear us so even though we still sang a bit here and there, it seemed pointless. On Saturday, however, Jenny told us that although she would not likely be able to remember us singing to her while she was "sleeping," she could definitely hear us right now...but was just kind of in a haze. Holla!!! This shall forevermore be known as the day there was singing in the PICU...whether they liked it or not! We sang kids' songs (Zoe's favs), we sang our favorite songs, we sang some Broadway tunes, and we sang goofy songs like, "My Heart Will Go On"...nice, Landry...:) This, of course, quickly led our warped children to think of every song having to do with bleeding, blood, heart, etc...with which we seranaded poor Zoe and her trapped nursing staff. Sick, twisted humor...I know...but admit it...right now, you're trying to come up with one, too...just go ahead and belt it on out there...Zoe would laugh...I promise you that.  We just sang and sang...music truly does reach into your soul and brings healing sometimes...God designed it to do so. God loved our singing as much as Zoe...and since you aren't able to get validation from either one, you'll have to just take my word for it!

One of the funnier moments was when Landry started singing in her fake opera voice, and we looked out and saw Dr. Divaker meeting with a host of other docs...who all stopped what they were doing to save lives and all, and turned toward Zoe's room in shock. It was one of those, "we point at Zoe, she points back at us" moments...take one for the team, Zoe...just take one for the team.

Besides the actual singing, which I will always treasure along with Zoe as we watch the videos back someday, my favorite moment came a few days after everyone went back home to go back to school. One of the sweet nurses, Barb...please, please, please ask me her last name!!!! Are you ready?!? Walters. For reals. It was all I could do, I tell ya...all I could do.... Anyway, she came up to me and said, "When are your kids coming back up here? We absolutely LOVE all the singing and laughter and joy that follows you all around!! This place can be so heavy at times...we just really love it!" I was so moved and grateful that God allowed us to use something we already thouroughly enjoy doing, to make some sort of impact for Him. He's just really cool like that.  Now I don't think it's appropriate for us to now go room-to-room in the PICU...the Carr Ride Hits the Road Tour...as Peyton suggested (God love her), but what an incredible blessing to know that even a joyful spirit sometimes is just the thing that the Lord will use to draw someone to Himself...and it's a good thing, too, because that harmony on the 3rd song really tanked...

Post-Op days 3-5

I've never had so much free time...with no time to do anything. I dare ya to try and figure out that one.

For some unknown reason, in the midst of this PICU marathon, my laptop keys have ceased to function. So I've resigned myself to simply sit and play Candy Crush.  And while I'm on topic, can we all just admit that any amazing moment on Candy Crush happens purely by accident?!? Seriously, I'm aimlessly making moves...suddenly, the whole board is clear...and I'm like, "I'm so awesome at this!" The truth will set you free, people. Regardless, I say "Grrr"...I'm sure I've lost all sorts of profound thoughts and witty banter that I intended for your reading pleasure, to my extreme short term memory. Listen...I don't remember what day of the week it is most of the time...and without other people to remind me of the medical journey we're on, I'm like, "Why is Zoe sleeping so long?!?" Get us outta here, Jack. Pretty soon they'll be moving us to a room with padded walls.

Most of the weekend was spent resting for Zoe and relaxing for the rest of us.  It was super encouraging.

Jeff and Mimi decided to stay through Sunday...we were so excited to spend some time with them. We did all sorts of back and forth with Zane...each adult (sometimes even the bigger kids) taking turns chasing him through the halls of PICU. No one seems to mind the chaos...even though we've done our very best to not disrupt other families. But then there's Zane...with that sweet face, incredible smile, and infectious laugh...seems to help people forget their heaviness at being in a place like this. For all the amazing facets of this hospital...and there are a ton...you wouldn't be here, if all was well. So he's been a blessing to people just being the little dude God created him to be! We also spent some time at the mall with the Andersons, shopping and eating...yummo for Chick-fil-A! It never get old! :)

Zoe just chilled, the kids shopped, Chris hung with Zane for his naptime, I floated in between everybody...like I said, short term memory. Although Chris had to head back home that night, we even squeezed in a dinner with everybody at Chili's. Not sure if I've ever mentioned our love for their chips and salsa...and it's totally not relevant to anything...but yea...num num.

Sunday morning, we were told that they were going to do a short trial off ECMO again to see how her heart function was doing. She actually did very well, and it was very encouraging to everyone! They told us they would rest another day, then attempt to trial off on Tuesday.

We got another influx of visitors as well! Nanie (Chris' mom) came from Indiana, and Aunt Michelle (married to Chris' brother, Jeremy...and pregnant with their 5th baby girl!) came from Des Moines with her parents and the 4 girls. We had a "houseful"...and they thought we took over the PICU lounge with just the 7 of us that first night! HAHA! Watch out PICU! It was so very nice to have everyone here...to have a little slice of normal in the midst of the unfamiliar terrain...to give Zane the privilege of meeting 4 more cousins. (Pretty sure we're gonna have to keep an eye on he and Quinn..."supervision at all times" sounds like a good starting point for the first decade.) The girls even came in Zoe's room and sang to her with Peyton...it was so sweet..."Jesus Loves Me"...yes, He sure does...every last one of you.

With the kids spending so much time up here, we've had some opportunities to talk about Zoe's condition more. We took baby steps with them seeing Zoe...then some more baby steps before we showed them the incision...even more before they were allowed to come and go from her room. We've tried to not overload them with too much, too soon...and always wrapped up every conversation with the truth that God has this under His control...we trust Him...period. Beyond that...everything's gravy. (If that analogy eludes you, you are, now and forevermore, NOT invited to Sunday lunch at my mom's house...especially if you're not a "sopper")