When the “what-if” happens

We talk so much these days
Because I have so much to say
You stay and listen to me closely even though

You already know
You already know

JJ Heller, “You Already Know“

I found that song a few months ago (more accurately, that song found its way to me) to add to the “100 Days” playlist.  It’s a very catchy tune and those lyrics play in my head frequently.  Sometimes, in the weeks leading up to surgery, they were the only lyrics in my head all day. 

You already know.  “You” in the song being God. 

Last week, I reposted “Looking hard for signs of life” from Good Friday 2021, which it turns out is what we are doing this year after a new storm hit. In the original post, I wrote,

“After the storm, the ashes, the hard winter, do I usually look for life?  Or do I just mourn the loss?  Do I keep walking when the trees are bare?  Even though there are dead leaves wherever I put my foot next.  Do I hope, looking hard for signs of life?”

A year ago when I wrote that, God knew.  He knew what life would look like a year later.  And I feel a little betrayed.  He knew and He didn’t tell me.  That may sound odd.  No, I don’t actually hear a literal voice of God but I do hear from Him.  He knew and He didn’t tell me what was coming. 

Or maybe He did a little, in the nightmares before the surgery, in the panic attacks and “what-ifs” playing in my head during the day.  In the turmoil inside of me pushing me to tell every medical professional we spoke with before this surgery about the stroke-like aphasia Chuck had after his first surgery three years ago.  The complications his brother and dad had after their open-heart surgeries as well as the other ones Chuck had.  That his mother had blood clots. 

That we did not have health care directives and wanted to make sure they had that marked in every place in their computer system, so they could intubate or resuscitate if needed. 

One nurse even turned to me and said, “Well, with open-heart surgery we know we have to intubate so we wouldn’t put in a DNI.”  Of course, I wasn’t thinking about surgery, but after surgery. 

When, it turns out, Chuck had a brainstem stroke, went into respiratory failure, and had to be reintubated.

After the storm…after the stroke, do I just mourn or do I keep walking?  We are doing both, quite literally actually as Chuck relearns how to walk.  As I walk behind him holding the gait belt around his chest and he pushes his walker in front of him, we practice walking up and down the driveway, strengthening not just his legs after little use but his brain after being damaged.

“Do I hope, looking hard for signs of life?”

Hope is the only thing I have right now.  We don’t have an outcome – that will take months and maybe even years.

“While optimism makes us live as if someday soon things will get better for us, hope frees us from the need to predict the future and allows us to live in the present, with deep trust that God will never leave us alone.”

Henri Nouwen

I can’t predict the future.

But You already know.

You stay and listen to me closely even when I don’t have much to say to You.  Even when I am disappointed in You. 

When the “what-if” happens and I find myself looking hard for signs of life again, You already know how it will turn out. 

We talk so much these days
Because I have so much to say
You stay and listen to me closely even though

You already know
You already know
Everything I’m scared of
Everything I hope
You hold my tomorrow
And all tomorrow holds
You already know

JJ Heller, “You Already Know”