Day 3 (and 4) reminders of purpose

It’s taken me a few days to get to Day 3… which actually turned into Day 4 because we needed to go back for one more appointment on Thursday.

By that point, we were all SO beyond exhausted. Physically, emotionally, mentally… just completely drained.

And if I’m being completely honest, we all had some PTSD surface.

There were moments where we just looked at each other and wondered, Why us? Why this again?

I don’t think there is any way to explain what it feels like to have already walked through a heart transplant with one child and now find yourself preparing to do it all over again with another.

I know what that day looks like.

I know what it feels like to watch your child get wheeled away.

I know what it feels like to kiss them goodbye and then walk away knowing their entire life is about to be placed in someone else’s hands.

I know what it feels like to wait.

To sit there for 12+ hours wondering what is happening behind those doors and praying every single minute that your child is okay.

I know what it feels like to finally see them again.

I know the machines, the tubes, the ICU, the waiting, the fear, the prayers, the exhaustion… because we lived it with Hannah.

And now knowing that I have to do it again with Hudson is a fear that can almost feel debilitating if I allow myself to sit in it for too long.

The constant unknown is hard.

Waiting for the call.

Wondering when it will happen.

Wondering where we will be.

Wondering how we will get through it.

Wondering how I will watch another one of my babies be wheeled back to have their heart replaced and somehow find the strength to walk away again.

But then I look at my kids.

Hannah is here.

She is living proof that there can be a miracle on the other side of the scariest day of your life.

Hudson is here.

He is still here with us, and I know there are parents who would give anything to have one more day with their child.

So I have to remind myself that fear cannot be the thing that leads me through this.

I have to trust God with my babies.

Because He loves them even more than I do.

And this is far too big for me to carry on my own.

God knew this was going to be part of our story long before we were ever born. He knew about Hannah. He knew about Hudson. He knew about the heartaches, the miracles, the waiting, the fear and every single unknown we would face.

So I’m trying to trust Him with the parts I cannot control.

Our next step is one more appointment on the 24th. After that, Hudson will be presented to the medical board, and then we are praying that he will be listed by the end of the month.

We still don’t know exactly what the next few weeks will bring.

I don’t know when the call will come.

I don’t know how this story will unfold.

But in the middle of all that uncertainty, God gave us a beautiful little piece of joy. 🤍

The Sugar Land Space Cowboys helped us do something so incredibly special for Dr. Spinner.

He’s a baseball fan, and so is Hudson, so I reached out and asked if they would honor him and allow him to throw out the first pitch.

The GM, Tyler, was so incredibly kind and immediately said yes. He even gave me almost half a section of tickets to share with other heart families so they could come and be part of it with us.

And honestly, it meant more than I can put into words.

Because sometimes in the middle of all of this, I need reminders that God is still using me.

He’s still using us.

Even in the hurt.

Even in the fear.

Even in the uncertainty.

There is still purpose here.

There is still joy here.

There is still life happening in the middle of the waiting.

Seeing Hudson get to stand in that stadium, surrounded by his heart friends and their families, holding signs and cheering for Dr. Spinner was such a beautiful moment.

And watching Hannah on the field with Dr. Spinner… knowing everything she has already walked through, knowing she has already had her own heart transplant and knows a version of this fear that no child should ever have to know… made the night even more special.

These are the moments I want to hold onto.

The moments where we aren’t talking about transplant.

We aren’t talking about labs or evaluations or waiting for a phone call.

We aren’t thinking about what could happen next.

We’re just together.

We’re laughing.

We’re cheering.

We’re making memories.

We’re living.

And for one night, our family got to experience a little bit of normal in the middle of something that feels anything but normal.

What a beautiful way to honor a doctor who has dedicated so much of his life to saving our kids and walking alongside families like ours.

Dr. Spinner has been part of both Hannah and Hudson’s stories, and getting to celebrate him with the very kids and families whose lives he has touched was something I will never forget.

That night reminded me that even while we are waiting for the next appointment, the next decision and the next phone call, we are still allowed to experience joy.

We are still allowed to laugh.

We are still allowed to make memories.

We are still allowed to be grateful for the life we have right now.

I left that night feeling grateful.

Grateful for our doctors.

Grateful for our heart community.

Grateful for people who show up.

Grateful for the Space Cowboys.

Grateful for the little moments of joy God gives us when we need them most.

And mostly, grateful that my babies are still here.

I know who holds my kids. The King of all Kings. 

And for today, that has to be enough.

One day at a time.

One appointment at a time.

One prayer at a time.

And one miracle at a time. 🤍