I love my son. More than words can say. More than my own life, even. He is my very beating heart, and all my joy and happiness wrapped up in one sweet, perfect, little boy. And yet there are days. Days when the grief of a diagnosis comes flooding back. Days when I don’t feel equal to the task of all that his needs demand. Days when all the therapy and doctors and insurance and papers, the endless work and worry, feel like they will finally crush me. Days when I feel like, despite my best efforts and despite every painful last ounce of me laid on the line, that I am failing. And that I can’t keep going one more day. Days when I feel like I don’t have anything left to give. And the only thing I can see is the blur of my own tears. On those days, I try to remember this:
You are amazing. You have done more and learned more and faced more in a few years’ time, than most parents do in five times that length. And you’re doing far better than you think you are. Your child loves you. Your child needs you. And you are nothing short of a hero. Never doubt the good that you are doing, even when setbacks and disappointments come. Slowly and steadily, you are working miracles. You are a healer and a comforter, a teacher and an advocate. And your child is lucky to have you. You are a fighter. You’ve got this. Hugs, Mama.©
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