I read this story on a blog of a parent whose child has CHARGE. I imagine this would be very similar to any parent who has a child with any kind of challenge.

Many of you I have never even met face to face, but I’ve searched you out every day. I’ve looked for you on the Internet, on playgrounds and in grocery stores. I’ve become an expert at identifying you. You are well worn. You are stronger than you ever wanted to be. Your words ring experience, experience you culled with your very heart and soul. You are compassionate beyond the expectations of this world. You are my “sisters.”

Yes, you and I, my friend, are sisters in a sorority. A very elite sorority. We are special. Just like any other sorority, we were chosen to be members. Some of us were invited to join immediately, some not for months or even years. Some of us even tried to refuse membership, but to no avail.

We were initiated in neurologist’s offices and NICU units, in obstetrician’s offices, in emergency rooms, and during ultrasounds. We were initiated with somber telephone calls, consultations, evaluations, blood tests, x-rays, MRI films, and heart surgeries.

All of us have one thing in common. One day things were fine. We were pregnant, or we had just given birth, or we were nursing our newborn, or we were playing with our toddler. Yes, one minute everything was fine. Then, whether it happened in an instant, as it often does, or over the course of a few weeks or months, our entire lives changed. Something wasn’t quite right. Then we found ourselves mothers of children with special needs.

We are united, we sisters, regardless of the diversity of our children’s special needs. Some of our children undergo chemotherapy. Some need respirators and ventilators. Some are unable to talk, some are unable to walk. Some eat through feeding tubes. Some live in a different world. We do not discriminate against those mothers whose children’s needs are not as “special” as our child’s. We have mutual respect and empathy for all the women who walk in our shoes.

We are knowledgeable. We have educated ourselves with whatever materials we could find. We know “the” specialists in the field. We know “the” neurologists, “the” hospitals, “the” wonder drugs, “the” treatments. We know “the” tests that need to be done, we know “the” degenerative and progressive diseases and we hold our breath while our children are tested for them. Without formal education, we could become board certified in neurology, endocrinology, and undergo.

We have taken on our insurance companies and school boards to get what our children need to survive, and to flourish. We have prevailed upon the State to include augmentative communication devices in special education classes and mainstream schools for our children with cerebral palsy. We have labored to prove to insurance companies the medical necessity of gait trainers and other adaptive equipment for our children with spinal cord defects. We have sued municipalities to have our children properly classified so they could receive education and evaluation commensurate with their diagnosis.

We have coped with holidays. We have found ways to get our physically handicapped children to the neighbors’ front doors on Halloween, and we have found ways to help our deaf children form the words, “trick or treat.”

We have accepted that our children with sensory dysfunction will never wear velvet or lace on Christmas. We have painted a canvas of lights and a blazing yule log with our words for our blind children. We have pureed turkey on Thanksgiving.

We have bought white chocolate bunnies for Easter. And all the while, we have tried to create a festive atmosphere for the rest of our family.

We’ve gotten up every morning since our journey began wondering how we’d make it through another day, and gone to bed every evening not sure how we did it.

We’ve mourned the fact that we never got to relax and sip red wine in Italy. We’ve mourned the fact that our trip to Holland has required much more baggage than we ever imagined when we first visited the travel agent. And we’ve mourned because we left for the airport without most of the things we needed for the trip.

But we, sisters, we keep the faith always. We never stop believing. Our love for our special children and our belief in all that they will achieve in life knows no bounds.

We dream of them scoring touchdowns and extra points and home runs. We visualize them running sprints and marathons. We dream of them planting vegetable seeds, riding horses and chopping down trees. We hear their angelic voices singing Christmas carols.

We see their palettes smeared with watercolors, and their fingers flying over ivory keys in a concert hall. We are amazed at the grace of their pirouettes. We never, never stop believing in all they will accomplish as they pass through this world.

But in the meantime, my sisters, the most important thing we do, is hold tight to their little hands as together, we special mothers and our special children, reach for the stars.

By Maureen K. Higgins

Deep questions I challenge you to publicly answer:

1. Name a childhood regret, something you did as a kid that you wish you hadn’t done.
2. Name something you love to do, but wish you could do it better.
3. Name something really big you want to do but it is so huge you can’t even get started.

My responses:

1. Name a childhood regret, something you did as a kid that you wish you hadn’t done.

   One day when tramping through the woods near my house with some of my friends, we got to Meatball Mountain, a mountain that we kids loved to explore. It towered above us by several hundred feet (remembering at it now, it was probably 20 feet high). Just getting to the top of it was an accomplishment. We all managed to get to the top, then we explored. We found a lake (probably only 10 feet across). And on a rock sunning itself, minding its own business was a short black snake. We all started tossing rocks at the snake. It woke up, and started slithering towards the forest. So what do we do? Let it go? No, we started chasing the snake. It doubled back and went under the water. A few rocks created large enough splashes that it came back up. The snake went into a hole in the ground. We found some bigger rocks, and proceeded to smash the area near that hole with lots of rocks. I assume we killed the snake. It’s been probably 30 years since that day, and I have felt bad about that poor frightened snake ever since then.

2. Name something you love to do, but wish you could do it better.

   I love swimming, but am not very good at it. I don’t think I’ll drown, but I’m sure my flailing at the water provides lots of enjoyment to the lifeguards.

3. Name something really big you want to do but it is so huge you can’t even get started.

   I’d love to bicycle across America. Right now it’s hard enough to do 10 miles cross town. 4,000+ miles cross country seems impossible.

If any other blogathoners respond to these questions from their blog, with a link back to Planetmike.com, I’ll donate something to their charities.