I left you last with my fears about kindergarten. I wish I could tell you we've got the whole thing figured out, have found a perfect and safe place for him with awesome teachers, but after multiple emails, phone calls, and getting advice from everyone under the sun, we are still in the "who knows?" zone. So we wait.
Much of Jack's life we've been waiting. Waiting for him to take a breath. Waiting to see if he'll make it through the next minute, next hour or through the night. Waiting to cut loose from the hospital. Waiting to say goodbye to oxygen. Waiting for surgery. Waiting for a diagnosis. Waiting for the first step. Waiting to hear his voice.
We are pros at this whole waiting game, but you never quite get used to the uncertainty that comes along with it. It's an inner anxiousness where we go about our normal day, do our normal things, but it's always there, under the surface. Sometimes, I'll admit, I find myself forgetting how good we have it and my prayers become "can't just this one thing go smoothly? Must everything be a struggle?"
Then I remember that the very best things in my life have come from struggle. I would argue that Jack's story represents this to me, but it is true for so many things, for so many of our stories.
And so we wait. Wait for word on kindergarten and for cars to drive by. It's just what we do.