It’s hard trying to articulate the depth of this loss to my friends, and to those that care for me on a professional day-to-day basis. I even took some time off from writing these articles, because I needed to pinpoint and state where it was I’m coming from without lashing out unfairly. Even if it is understandable. Read more
An Open Letter to Parents:
Now, full disclosure: I’m not a parent myself yet, but I hope to be some day.
I hear you exhaust yourself. You don’t have time to “focus on yourself” anymore, and I get it. I do. Finding time for yourself can be exhausting, both physically and mentally, but taking care of yourself is an extension of taking care of your children. If you need a time out, take it. If you need someone to listen to you, find an ear. Taking care of yourself is tending to your children, because you are what we value most. You can breathe. It’s okay. Read more
As I laid there staring at the ceiling, listening to machines beeping and people screaming, I was worried that I may never be where I was before. I had made it through this situation, and hoped that nothing like it would ever cross my path again. Laying there made me realize that there’s more to life than just going around pretending to be the one person you’re not. It made me think about my past actions, and the person that I have now become. I desperately wanted to realize who I was in this world, where I fit in, and why this had happened to me. Read more
Once you become a parent to a child with special needs you are never the same. There is a before and there is an after. Sometimes you can’t even remember the before you. You only know the after. Don’t get me wrong, my son is amazing and brings me great joy each day. He brightens my day and brings deeper meaning to my life. However, the grief and heartache can on occasion be overwhelming, swallowing you whole on some of your hardest of days. We absorb so much bittersweet pain, balancing the hardships with the joy. You’d think we’d be the most removed from taking on the sadness of others, but the truth is we seem to be the most equipped to being present in someone else’s pain.
Like a Stone
I carry my grief around with me. It is like a stone that changes in texture and weight each morning that I rise from bed and enter another day in CP Land. Sometimes, my stone is light and I can stick it in my pocket. I can reach inside that pocket and rub it’s smooth surface and be comforted that this grief is mine and it is ok to carry. As I watch Roa attempt to roll towards a toy or reach up to grab his balloon string with fists that take time and concentration to open, my grief is there but manageable to carry. I keep it there, hidden behind a smile and the daily routine that keeps me going. Read more