T+1 Week: Biopsy Day

We're at the hospital for Jon's biopsy today. Five floors above me, they're administering general anesthesia and gently putting my husband to sleep. Cutting a two inch wide hole in his chest and removing several square centimeters of his tumor from his chest ("don't worry, you won't miss it; you've got more than enough" quips the Resident assisting...) You've got more than enough. 15 cms by 11 cms by 8 cms. He's basically got a brick in his chest. Way the hell too much. I've never hated something so small (and so inconceivably big) so much. I'm sitting in the lobby, drinking coffee and watching the sun sink lower into the horizon in a beautiful sunset. Fifteen more minutes until my phone should ring and I should hear that Jon is out of surgery and heading into recovery. The alone time that my mama heart has often longed for is mine in this moment and yet I would give anything not to have to have it. I feel small in the wake of the past week, and scared of the tide of the future. And yet at times, the present feels perfectly normal. Time stands still and yet screeches by at a million miles an hour. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Alone, yet more surrounded by friends and family than every before. Screaming at the heavens, into space, into nothingness - yet intimately embraced by a God that has never been closer. This whole crisis takes everything I thought I knew and throws into a blender swirling out ugly and beautiful chaos. Too much, too big, too long, too short, too small, too little. Enough? Enough. Waiting to see what comes next.