-hearing my own "worst case scenario" come to life -- my daughter needs a valve replacement NOW, not years down the road; that she was, in the doctor's words, a ticking time bomb over the past year.
-watching them take her away, feeling my empty hands.
-visualizing what a heart-lung bypass must look like on MY daughter.
-walking to meet the surgeon, hand in hand with my best friend, holding our breath, hoping beyond hope, also fearing the worst.
-sleepless nights and the inability to provide comfort to a sad and restless little girl.
-witnessing the open wound of grief.
-seeing babies hover between life and death.
-feeling hundreds of prayers lifting us up, bringing God's peace.
-hearing the best possible news, hugging my best friend, telling each other she's really okay.
-forging instant friendships in the strangest and most difficult of circumstances.
-reconnecting with old friends.
-knowing how much we are loved by our families.
-cuddles and snuggles and lots of I love yous from the two greatest kids on the planet.
-enjoying the rain washed air, lush greenery and delicious food of Seattle.
-celebrating the removal of each tube and wire.
-knowing that God is making me into a much more loving and much less selfish mommy.