I came home from the hospital with a Foley catheter, heavy eyes, and pain weighing on every part of me. As I navigated the challenges of Motherhood with a chronic illness, I was tired. Quiet. Stuck between exhaustion and surviving.
But I also came home to my most precious gifts:
My husband. My boys.
The four reasons I keep getting back up.
That Saturday night, during our family prayer and quiet time, my youngest asked me a question that shattered something deep inside me.
“Mom… if you die… will I lose my sparkle?”
He asked it so softly.
Like he already knew the answer and was bracing for it.
He said his cousin had lost their sparkle when their father died. He didn’t want that to happen.
And just like that, I broke.
I pulled him close and promised I wasn’t going anywhere. I told him his sparkle would never fade, no matter what. I told him he was made of light.
I told him I’d be here.
But after the hugs and good night kisses, I sat in the dark with my husband and felt the truth wash over me.
I’ve lost my sparkle.
Somewhere over the last 6 to 8 months, it slipped away.
Where Did It Go?
The laughter in our home used to echo, wild and loud, bouncing off the walls like light.
I used to speak in Star Trek quotes, cracking jokes mid-sentence, turning everything into a science fiction adventure. My boys grew up with alien toddler bedtime stories, tales of warp-speed school runs, and captains who negotiated bedtime treaties like they were diplomatic missions.
I used to dance barefoot in the kitchen, folding sourdough with one hand, sending calendar invites with the other, and humming some ridiculous 90s song while checking homework and ordering vitamins on Amazon.
I was fast. Sharp. Efficient.
I was funny.
Now… I barely move.
The kitchen is quiet.
The soundtrack of our lives, the silly, fast-talking, deeply me kind of joy; has gone quiet too.
The air feels heavier now. Still.
My body feels like it’s moving underwater, and my mind, the one that used to juggle a thousand tabs at once flickers with static.
The woman my kids knew, the hyper-organized, type-A mom who could run a small country with a color-coded planner and a label maker, has gone still.
I’ve spent my whole life solving problems, spotting patterns, connecting dots. I’ve always known what to do, who to call, what to research, what to say. But this time, there’s no plan. No checklist. No brilliant solution just waiting to be executed.
This time, the answer is: wait.
This time, the healing is: invisible.
And it’s breaking my heart in the softest, slowest way.
A Sad Thought I Can’t Shake
It’s not just about the pain. Or the fatigue. Or the relentless fight for answers.
It’s this quiet, aching fear that maybe…
just maybe…
my kids have lost some of their sparkle too.
And the thought of that undoes me.
I think of my son, years from now, unable to laugh the same way.
I think of him holding a sadness that doesn’t belong to him , one he inherited from watching me break and not knowing how to help.
Being Sick Sucks
It sucks being in pain.
It sucks not having answers.
It sucks watching your family carry your grief while still needing you to be their joy.
I believe God will heal me.
I believe He hasn’t brought me this far to let me fall.
But maybe what I’m still learning, what I’m still fumbling my way through is how to have faith in the waiting. How to believe in restoration when I still feel so broken.
How to hold onto hope… and ask for help when my own hands are tired.
Even in the quiet, I’m still loving you loud.
I haven’t lost the sparkle.
It’s just quiet right now.
Hidden beneath a storm.
But it’s still there and I’ll find it again.
For them.
For me.
For the girl who once dreamed of exploring galaxies, and for the mother who now prays to just walk through her own house without pain.
I have faith, in His plan, His time and His love, I have faith he will return my sparkle, someday.
Until then, I’ll whisper to the silence,
I’ll hold my son’s hand,
I’ll watch for the sparkle in their eyes and trust that even in this quiet,
they still feel my love — loud as ever.
Interesting!
Thank you Caleb!