Sit back, close your eyes and listen to the sounds around you.
Do you hear kids playing in the other room? Do you have music playing in the background? Do you hear the electrical buzz of your computer or lights?
Let me tell you what I hear. . .
I hear a muted click followed by a whoosh. I hear a computer click followed by a pause, then another click.
These are the noises from Frances' room. The click-whoosh is her ventilator breathing for her and the computer clicking is her special speaking computer she controls with her eyes.
However, I also hear other noises that I have become attuned to in the last couple of months. There's the gurgling of the water from her humidifier that has condensed in the tubing. There's the sound of the mucus that has built up in her lungs that needs to be suctioned out. There's the whine the ventilator makes as it works harder to push air into her lungs around the mucus building up.
There's also the alarm from the ventilator that I hear in my dreams sometimes. There's the doorbell she uses to call for help when we're in the other room.
And in all of this, I also hear God's voice.
There are days I feel like I am fighting God because it doesn't seem fair to my human brain. And still He says that this is His plan and to wait.
There are days I want to ignore Him because I'm angry. And still He says I'm still here for you.
There are days I want to hate the world, hate this disease, hate God. And still He says He loves me.
And then I cry. And I pray. And I thank God for the things that I take for granted. Every breath I take. Every step I take. The family that took me, a virtual stranger, into their home.
And I know that I am loved, even when I don't feel it.
