Sometimes I Cry

Sometimes I cry for the little girl I dreamed of. The one all first time moms hope to get. The normal baby that grows into the beautiful little girl, that transforms into the confident woman. I cry for that little girl because I know she is somewhere trapped inside the child that sits before me, waiting to come through. But, as I sit there crying, mourning the loss of that dream child, I feel a little hand rub my back and a small voice ask “mommy are you ok?” And through tear washed eyes I see the child that sits beside me who is so much more than I ever could have dreamed.

Sometimes I cry for the normal life I always thought she’d have. The life we as parents hope are children will someday have. I cry for the friends, that she could have had if only she was ‘normal.’ I feel sorry for the sweet little girl in her that just wants to be loved and accepted by her peers. How her life will go I cannot say, but I do all I can everyday to try to give her that life.

Sometimes I cry for trials she will have to face in this life. I cry for the testing that they do to her. I hope one day she will understand why we do it. I hope that she learns tolerance, for often times people present the hardest trials of all. I cry because I know that she will fail more than she succeeds, at least for the time at hand. But then as I cry I see through my tear washed eyes that she has over come so many trials and doesn’t even know it yet, and how wonderful that is for her.

Sometimes I cry for her and how things must seem to her. How difficult her life must feel to have so much inside and no way to say it. To want to learn it, but not understand how it’s being taught. I cry because I want to help her but I don’t know what else to try. But then as I cry I see through my tear washed eyes that she is happy with her world and the people in it, and that she will continue to try even if she fails.

And sometimes I cry for me. Being the mom of a special needs child is hard, and not what I signed up for when I decided to be a parent. Every day is a struggle to try to understand her, every night an eternal search for sleep for her. So I cry with my head hung down in shame for me and my loss and all the losses she will face in her young life. And every day I will continue the search to figure out what is wrong so that it may be fixed or overcome. And I cry for the bills that keep stacking up while the quest for the truth continues. But though my tear washed eyes I see my husband standing with me and I hear him say it will be alright. I hear him tell me that no expense is too much when it comes to a day where I might not have to cry for her anymore, and I know he is right.

But until then, sometimes I cry.