Tuesday July 3, 2007
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Get out your kleenexes….
Video of “I would die for that“. About the heartbreak of infertility and loss. Waiting just under 7 years for Zane, several of those with no conceptions, then a series of 7 miscarriages for those last 5 years, and then another loss in between the two kids, I can so identify with this song. (warning, it talks about abortion too, although that isn’t the part I can identify with).
And some writings geared to parents of special needs kids
First, an essay written to the parents of a newly diagnosed child, then a poem/prose piece called “I am _______, for mothers.”
To outsiders, the lives of children with disabilities can look very bleak for the children and their families. People wonder how we can cope with such dreary circumstances. Frankly, there are days when we wonder how we will cope.Recently, a friend came upon such a day. She’s known since birth that her nearly 2-year-old daughter is profoundly deaf. But the other day, final MRI results revealed that she has no auditory nerves — crushing any hopes of a cochlear implant or other kind of hearing assistance. My friend felt sideswiped by grief as she suddenly realized how tightly she’d been holding on to the hope of some intervention to bring her daughter sound.
Thus began a profound conversation about hope and grief, expectations and trust. I used to think that hope would get us through tough times. But now I think hope may be a dangerous place to hang your hat. Consider my friend’s daughter. Her hearing is the same as it’s always been. The only thing that changed is her parents’ awareness of what that is. Each time we get bad news about our children’s condition, nothing has really changed – just our knowledge of it. Our knowing or not knowing usually will not stop what is to be. The grief is not about a new condition or situation; it is about our lost hopes. When hopes are really expectations of how things should and will be, we are setting ourselves up for grief when those expectations are not met. We have no control over how things will be. The future will unfold as it is meant to – regardless of our “shoulds”, expectations, and hopes. So what do we do with our hope? We use hope as a compass to direct our path and give substance to our vision. But we temper precarious hope with gratitude and trust. Trust that whatever comes will be just as it must be. Trust that we will endure any trial that comes our way. When we find ourselves weary and stooped under the weight of our worries, when our instinct is to hold tightly to hope with eyes clenched shut and a white-knuckled grip, our despair can be lifted with a combination of trust and gratitude. Open your eyes, soften your grip, trust, allow, and be thankful for what is. Michele Westmaas is a mom, a wife, and an advocate for people with disabilities. Contact Michele by email at |
I am …………..for mothers. By Michelle Guppy I am the little engine that did. I am more devoted than Noah’s wife. I am Xena. I am Betsy Ross. I am the Bionic Woman. I am Mary. I am Superwoman. I am Moses. I am Stretch Armstrong I am Rosa Parks. I am Hercules. I am touched by an Angel. I am a mom of a special needs child, all the above, and so much more. Somedays I will want to be none of the above – and just be a typical mom with a typical child, doing typical things. On those days I will know it’s o.k. to be angry, and to cry, and to lean on my friends for support. Because after all, —the most important thing I am, ….. is human. **** c. May 2000 By Michelle Guppy – for those “Special” mom’s |
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Autism is a continuum from genius to extremely handicapped. If you got rid of all the autism genetics, you’d get rid of scientists, musicians, mathematicians. Some guy with high-functioning Asperger’s developed the first stone spear; it wasn’t developed by the social ones yakking around the campfire. The problem is, you talk to parents with a low-functioning kid, who’ve got a teenager who still goes to the bathroom in his pants and who’s biting himself all the time. This guy destroys the house, and he’s not typing, no matter what keyboards you make available. His life is miserable. It would be nice if you could prevent the most severe forms of nonverbal autism.”
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