Thanks to Drake’s parents, Thursdays are date night for the two of us.

Since Jessie’s bedtime is 8 pm and we are usually out well past that time on Thursday evenings, her grandma and grandpa-papa put her down to sleep at their home.  She is usually in a deep slumber when, a couple hours later, Drake scoops her into his arms and transfers her to the car for us to take her home.

On the ride home Jessie usually continues sleeping, though her eyes may periodically pop open and then quickly shut again.

This last Thursday was our usual routine.  Drake had transferred our little girl in pink pajamas to her car seat and was starting the car to head home.  I whispered, “I love you, my precious girl.”  Then I turned back to see whether she heard me or was fast asleep again. 

When I glanced over my shoulder, the image of my little lady flashed back to multiple images of my suffering boy in his car seat.  Her head was cocked to one side as if her neck lacked the strength to hold it up, her eyes were half-mast in a blank stare, and her mouth was partly open.  It was as though I was looking directly into the face of my diseased son.

My brokenness over all that Jud endured jumped to the surface, as if it was trying to suffocate me.  I ruptured into tears: deep, heavy, all-consuming lament, hardly able to breathe.

Jessie didn’t move.  She stayed in that position as I wept and wept.

I reached my hand back and gently placed it on my Ladybug’s knee, trying to remind myself that both my kids are free of Krabbe disease.