A couple of months ago, I hit a new low
{which is one of the reasons I finally headed back to the doctor after years of not going}.
Husby was at work for a 48-hr shift and I was home with my four little ones.
I had a migraine that was so bad…
that my oldest son {age 8} had to make ego waffles for his siblings for dinner
{so embarrassing to admit}….
I found myself running to the toilet to vomit…
I was sure that this was going to be it…
the time that my brain would finally cease and I would die of a brain aneurism or something
{however unrealistic that actually may be}.
My 6 year old, plagued with a look of helplessness and fear, came running…
asking if I was ok.
He took it upon himself to get me a hair tie.
Later that night, after the pain lessened to a point I could tolerate…
my oldest son took me to the prayer box in my bedroom…
with tears in his eyes, he showed me a handwritten letter on a small piece of paper….
a prayer to God,
asking Him to make his mommy feel better.
I was completely overwhelmed and brought to tears with the sheer sweetness of his heart….
that his initial instinct was to pray.
I was crushed,
at the same time…
thinking about the affects this would have on my children….
seeing their mommy so frequently sick with migraines.
