I have spent some of this rainy morning reading blogs. This is not unusual, I love to Blog Walk, starting with someone I know, then clicking one of their links, then one of those links, and so on. It is the same way I learn my way around a new neighborhood, get lost on purpose. You get a glimpse at some pretty interesting people and you also find out you can't be but so separated from people who seem to think very differently than you do if it only took you 4 clicks to get there. It's like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon in the blog world.
I have found, not surprisingly, that if you are reading the blog of someone who has an ill child, you are going to link into the world, the support system, of other families facing very serious illness. There just isn't anything harder than losing a child. That is probably one of the few universal truths among humans. You read these blogs and you just want to hug your kid, lock the doors, and tell the world to stuff it because you want to have every minute possible.
Not only is that not realistic or healthy, there is no point in it. These families are living what they know are their last days with their kids. Yes, anything can happen to anyone at anytime, but those aren't the odds. You have to live in the long-term. You just can't go anywhere you want, buy your child anything they want, and excuse any kind of behavior because you are banking on a long life for your child. These families don't have that gift, and must cram a lifetime into a moment. I am so grateful that I get to put Fin in timeout, that I get to tell her she can't have that toy she wants, that I don't buy her that outfit because we need the money for the bills. I get to live with the hope, even the arrogant expectation, that I am forming an adult with all of the responsibilities and restraint that is required of her.
That doesn't mean that the lives of these brave families are lost on me. In fact, I find myself deeply affected and thinking of them often. Their presence in my mind moderates my voice when I want to yell at Fin for squirting out six inches of toothpaste... again. Their mournful recounts of the last moments with their child make me agree to read the same book ten nights in a row. They make me aware of how very lucky I am when Fin bear-walks into my room with her shoes on her hands because she is trying to make me laugh, not trying to make me late.
We are so, so lucky to have our children for whatever time we do. It's easy to forget that in the trenches of parenthood.
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3 comments:
Beautiful post.
Hear, hear.
Well said. I've thought of this often over the last few days - not only reading about little Liddy but also because this is happening to a family very close to some members of my own family.
You can visit Brett's website here:
http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/theclownfish
Heartbreaking and so very freaking scary.
Great post, and so true.
A few years ago I dealt with multiple traumas in a very short space of time, and found myself not living like I was dying, but living with the constant fear of another tragedy and anxiety over there being no purpose or plan to anything. It took a few years to recover from this and find that balance between enjoying every moment, knowing that fate is not in my hands, and knowing also that it is okay to live in the long-term because that is the most likely scheme of things.
Thanks for all your positive thinking.
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