Happy Mothers Day

[Guest guest]

To You My Sisters

Written by Maureen Higgins

Many of you I have never even met face to face, but I have 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 have culled with your very heart and soul. You

are compassionate beyond 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 neurologists' offices, NICU units, obstetricians

offices, in emergency rooms, and during ultra sounds. We were initited 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 wasnt quite right.

Then we found ourselves mothers of children with special needs.

We are united, we sisters, regardless of the diversity of our childs 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 childrens needs are not as

" special " as our childs. 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 "

neurologist, " the " hosptital, " the " wonder drugs, " the " treatments. We know

" the " tests that need to be done, we know " the " degenerative and progressive

diseases, and we hold our breath when while our children are being tested

for them. Without formal education, we could become board certified in

neurology, endocrinology, and physiatry.

We have taken on our insurance companies and school boards to get what we

need for our children to survive, and to flourish. We have prevailed upon

the State, to include augmentative communication devices and special

education classes and mainstream schools for our children with cerebral

palsy. We have laboured 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 recieve 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 in line. We have tolerated inane suggestions and home

remedies from well-meaning strangers. We have tolerated mothers without

special needs complaining about chicken pox and ear infections. We have

learned that many of our closest friend cant understand what its like to be

in our sorority, and dont even want to try.

We have our own personal copies of Perl Kingsley's " A Trip to Holland "

and Erma Bombecks " The Special Mother " . We keep them by our bedside 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 dysfunction 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 baought white chocolate bunnies for Easter.

And all the while, we have tried to create a festive atmosphere for the rest

of our family.

We have gotten up every morning since our journey began wondering if 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 homeruns. We visualize them running sprints and marathons. We

dream 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

water colors, 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.