I remember the years and days leading up to our son’s diagnosis. I remember feeling happy. Too happy. Wondering how I had managed to escape the evils of this dark and cruel world. I remember reading stories – stories of children dying of cancer, stories of children who died of SIDS. Stories from parents who had lost children to a drunk driver, to a freak accident, or to suicide. And I remember thinking I was moved by those stories. I would think of my own sweet babies and see their faces in the stories I was hearing or reading. I would feel a pit in my stomach for those parents.
But then. As we do, I moved on. Sometimes within mere seconds. I would step away from the article or the news and, suddenly, I was back in my happy life and back to my old ways. I would complain about the kids to my friends. Bitch to my husband about how hard my day had been. Not really holding those stories and carrying them with me. And this isn’t to say those aren’t real complaints. Parenting is hard. It’s not always going to be perfect and its okay to vent. But. I tended to forget the weight that story had on me for that fleeting moment. Perhaps I’m uniquely selfish. Maybe the rest of you really do carry those stories with you from day to day and allow them to shape the way you walk through your own life. I commend you if that’s you. But, if you are more like me…easily forgetting the pain of others and happily living in your bubble, then read on.
The day everything changed in my world – the day I became one of those sad stories – I suddenly realized what all those parents wanted. It’s not that we think that writing about what’s happened to us is going to bring us our joy back. It’s that we don’t want you to miss out on the things we will never get to do again. So we write our stories. We share our mistakes. We beg for you to not just listen, but HEAR the regret, the pain, and the love. We want you to go home and scoop up your babies. We want you to yell less. We want you to record your children talking so you can always hear that little voice. We want you to stare at their fingers and memorize the way they wrap tightly around a crayon. We want you to jump on the trampoline with them and leave your phone inside. We want you to have game nights and movie nights even when it’s not been a good week. We want you to live.
Life changes. At times slowly so you can watch it drip like winter honey. And other times, you wake up on a normal day with excitement about back to school shopping…only to be threatening suicide by the time you get in bed that night.
A day can change a lot. Use yours responsibly.
Talk Soon.
Hannah
Hannah Writes Stuff 