My sweet girlfriends have saved me, time and time again. This blog entry could easily be a novel, but there are a few times that I must share.
A group of mothers can be a pretty mighty force. First of all, we are women (which makes us pretty awe inspiring). It is remarkable that the minute that someone is hurting, we lift each other with same skills we have learned from soothing our tiny babies. My friends did this for me.
Standing in Julie’s kitchen, a place where our group has discussed the finer things. The stupid things we did before motherhood, or what obnoxious thing our toddler had done that day. I looked at the faces of these beautiful ladies who loved Liam like they loved their own children. They felt my fear, my pain and my desperation.
I hugged my friend Katy, who also was Liam (and now Lydia’s trusted teacher). I didn’t want to let go and see the pain around me. I looked into the swollen, teary eyes of my friends and wished that this didn’t touch our lives. That we could still be unaware of what Muscular Dystophy is, ignorance is bliss. They stood not knowing what to say, or do.
They listening as I spoke, in what can only be described as scattered emotion. One minute feeling desperate and needing them to know how bad this disease can get, the next saying “I’m fine with a wheelchair, I just don’t want this to kill him”.
When I returned home that night I looked in on my sleeping babies and saw that Liam was sleeping well with his tiny butt sticking up into the air and drool running down his cheek. He would wake up to a new day. He didn’t know what was happening inside his body. He was happy, and I needed to be too. Happy along side my boy.