Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Sometimes…


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Sometimes... my children ask me questions I cannot answer. Recently, Avery and I were talking as she was getting ready for bed. She wasn’t unhappy, but she asked me, “How old will I be when I won’t have to balance anymore?” I said I didn’t know, and started saying that she was getting stronger all the time, but she pressed, “8? Will I be 8 when I can walk without balancing? 9? 10?” I think she was looking for a light at the end of the tunnel – a goal to push towards. As though if she just knew how long she would have to struggle to stay upright with every step, she could keep on fighting.

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Sometimes... my heart aches for my little girl as I watch her occasional episodes of discouragement or frustration. A few months ago she was excitedly showing me how she could walk across her room to her bed, and she fell down halfway. She didn't really get hurt, but it was one of those rare occasions where she broke down and cried, struggling to understand why her body didn't work the same way as everyone else.
Sometimes... my tears catch me off guard when I see other little girls in gymnastics or ballet class, and know that Avery would love to run around and dance and play like that. 


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Sometimes... Avery's excitement over her achievements puts a lump in my throat. Several weeks ago, I put on a Disney CD and the children spent a good long time dancing around to the music. Under the Sea came on, and Avery recognised it from the one princess dance class I took her to last summer. Her excitement over the thought of going back and dancing on her feet "like all the other princesses" felt like a punch in the stomach. 

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Sometimes... as I look back on the photos from our fun times, I find something that breaks my heart. Like this picture of Avery patiently watching and waiting for some bubbles to float within her grasp while her brother and friends run and jump and chase the bubbles with excitement.

I know that Avery will be okay. She is an amazing little girl who will turn into an even more amazing and strong woman. I also know that the road ahead of her has bumps and challenges that most of us don't have to face. I know that the way she faces and comes through those hard times will shape the person she will become, and she will be incredible. But sometimes... I just wish I could make the road easy for her.

5 comments:

bgabe said...

Nice post. Ditto to everything.

KimN said...

Beautiful post, makes me all kinds of teary. My little one (Ellie) is only 3 so we haven't had to face this just yet...but I know its coming someday. My heart breaks just thinking about it. Just today our whole family was taking a walk. Ellie and my 1 year old were in the stroller while my 7 year old ran in front of us and Ellie said, "I want to run too." I wish she could just jump out of that stroller and run with him.

Coop said...

I think your whole family is incredible, I often wonder how I would cope if I were in a similar position, I am sure that I could not do it as well as you have :D

Amy said...

I have those sometimes moments too. That picture of Avery and the bubbles is heartbreaking. I'm not sure how to steel a young child for the harsh realities of growing up disabled in an able-bodied world...but you do the best you can. Knowing our kids aren't alone must be important--we love your company!

meishan said...

Thank you for posting about your family. I practically start reading since your first post. It has been a amazing journey for your family. Came across your blog when i was googling for Hemiparesis which my daughter is having. Avery is such a amazing girl. Prayers coming from Singapore. Praying for Avery, praying for your family...