The unwelcome, familiar noise could jolt me out of bed like nothing else. His little body, forcefully being shoved down by some unseen force, with the exhalation of breath. I know this noise. It is quiet. It is known. It wakes me. I move into action.
Praying, I scoop him into my arms and hold him close. His muscles rigid, and suddenly limp only to become rigid again in the next moment. This scenario repeats thirty, forty, fifty times. His gaze is far off. I speak to him softly, I tell him it’s going to be okay. I pray aloud and include him. He is there, but he is not present.
I ask God, “why?” I don’t hear the answer. I know that God hears my cry, I know that ultimately He is good. I know…and yet I cannot say that I understand.
These sleepless nights, these seizures lasted for two years. Nightly waking, more than once to cradle and comfort the jerking body of my son. Every night, pulling him into my bed to hold him close, to pray, to love, to protect.
Sleep has come back to us these past weeks. Sweet sleep. His body has been resting. Ten hours of sleep at a time. Restful boy. Rested parents. This diet, these prayers, God is answering. Precious sleep. Peace in the night.
Thank you Lord that you are answering our prayers. You are healing our son. Thank you for rest and peace and nights without seizures. Thank you for leading us to this diet. We are so grateful!