Post by jdmom on Jan 8, 2004 17:22:06 GMT -5
I found this on another board and just had to share. It honestly made me cry!
To You, My Sisters
>
> by Maureen K. Higgins
>
>"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
>rugs, "the" treatments. We know "the" tests that need
>to be done, we know "the" degenerative and progressive
>iseases and we hold our breath while our children are
>tested for them.
>
>Without formal education, we could become board
>certified in neurology, endocrinology, and psychology.
>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 learned to deal with the rest of the world, even
>if that means walking away from it. We have tolerated
>scorn in supermarkets during "tantrums" and gritted
>our teeth while discipline was advocated by the person
>behind us on line. We have tolerated inane suggestions
>and home remedies from well-meaning strangers. We have
>tolerated mothers of children without special needs
>complaining about chicken pox and ear infections. We
>have learned that many of our closest friends can't
>understand what it's like to be in our sorority, and
>on't even want to try.
>
>We have our own personal copies of Emily Perl
>Kingsley's "A Trip To Holland" and Erma Bombeck's "The
>Special Mother". We keep them by our bedside and read
>and reread them during our toughest hours. 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
>ysfunction 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
>ream 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."
To You, My Sisters
>
> by Maureen K. Higgins
>
>"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
>rugs, "the" treatments. We know "the" tests that need
>to be done, we know "the" degenerative and progressive
>iseases and we hold our breath while our children are
>tested for them.
>
>Without formal education, we could become board
>certified in neurology, endocrinology, and psychology.
>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 learned to deal with the rest of the world, even
>if that means walking away from it. We have tolerated
>scorn in supermarkets during "tantrums" and gritted
>our teeth while discipline was advocated by the person
>behind us on line. We have tolerated inane suggestions
>and home remedies from well-meaning strangers. We have
>tolerated mothers of children without special needs
>complaining about chicken pox and ear infections. We
>have learned that many of our closest friends can't
>understand what it's like to be in our sorority, and
>on't even want to try.
>
>We have our own personal copies of Emily Perl
>Kingsley's "A Trip To Holland" and Erma Bombeck's "The
>Special Mother". We keep them by our bedside and read
>and reread them during our toughest hours. 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
>ysfunction 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
>ream 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."
