Today I honor all mothers…young and old, and attachement style moms, birth mothers, step mothers, mothers of all kinds. Liberal or conservative mothers, I honor you. I honor moms who breastfeed or bottle feed and the mothers whose kids play with wood or plastic. I honor the mothers that push or wear their babies and especially those mothers who have said goodbye to their babies for whatever reason. I honor the women who are motherly when needed and who come to mothering through happy or tragic reasons. I honor all of you.
I honor my mother today. My mother who has mothered a special needs mother so eloquently. My mother, who has watched me mother children who’ve been in pain and sick and falling apart at the seams. Somehow she sat back when she needed to and was there for me before I knew I would need her. She has made me a better mother by her mothering and I am grateful.
There is something though about being a mother of kids with special needs that binds us together, you and I.
I feel a kindred spirit in you when I see that you’re struggling, I do. There’s little I can do but listen, agree, and nod my head. I can send prayers or good wishes your way, hoping you’ll find comfort in the thoughts. I feel your energy when you do the same for me.
When I watch you hurting for your child I feel your pain in my soul because I know that it could easily be me on the side of that pain. When your child is sad, or sick or bullied or trying to survive an episode I think about how impressed I am with your skills to maneuver around it or through it with agility and grace.
You amaze me. When we hear people say, “I couldn’t do it.” I think about you and how both of us probably thought that one day a long time ago, too. It was before we were the ones fighting with insurance, keeping our emotions in check, or playing therapist for our kid. It was before we managed an educational team, or even knew what IEP stood for or learned about medication we never thought we’d be able to pronounce. It was before we cried at night, or stood outside the hospital room our child was in trying to catch our breath.
There was a day when we were oblivious too, I suppose. I guess we didn’t understand that we’d be able to quickly feel connected to another mom who has parenting challenges. I think there must have been a time when we couldn’t imagine that we’d look at “typical” parents and think, “A kid appointment once a year? I wish.” Certainly there was a day that we laughed at the thought of hitting our annual insurance deductibles by March and we never even gave it a second thought that insurance wouldn’t cover something our kids needed. Those things never crossed our minds.
Before we met, you and I, I felt alone. I felt like my friends and family, who love me fiercely, didn’t really understand what I was going through, no matter how much they tried. I, like you, were probably also at a play date where it stung just a little bit that the other kids were running around, completely on target a proven by all those (now) stupid baby books. The alone part wasn’t so much a part of my life when I met you.
Some of our views aren’t the same, but that doesn’t matter to me because I think you are an incredible parent. Instead of trying to get your kid to fit into the mold of the kid you imagined, you became the mother that was necessary for the soul that you call yours. You’re the mother that your kid needs.
I don’t care if we know each other or not. If mothering your child is a challenge for any reason, I honor you today. Mothers of kids that can’t walk or talk. Kids that look different, sound different or act different or all three. Kids that fight for their lives and kids that fight to belong. Mothers of kids who need us to hold them and the kids that won’t allow us to touch them, I honor you. I honor us.
We have big hearts that hold love and pain and sometimes our hearts do that in equal parts at the same time. We’ve learned the delicate balance of living with fear or sadness but still enjoying the beauty.
To all kinds of mothers, I hope your mother’s day is everything you want it to be and I hope you are being honored in person. Know you’re not alone. On this day or any other day.
You’re enough. We’re enough.
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