Re: Fw: To the mom's of Special needs children...

[Guest guest]

This was great, thank you.

, mom to 5 and Emerence 2.5

>

>

>

>

>

> 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 drugs, " the " treatments.

> We know " the " tests that need to be done, we know

> " the " degenerative and progressive diseases and we

> hold our breath while our children are tested for

> them. Without formal education, we could become board

> certified in neurology, endocrinology, and pschylogy.

>

> 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 don't even want to

> try.

>

> We have our own personal copies of 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 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 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

> 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 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.

>

>

[Guest guest]

Wow, that was beautiful...couldn't say it any better.

mom to Autumn RSS, Summer, Skye and Ocean

>

>

>

>

>

> 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 drugs, " the " treatments.

> We know " the " tests that need to be done, we know

> " the " degenerative and progressive diseases and we

> hold our breath while our children are tested for

> them. Without formal education, we could become board

> certified in neurology, endocrinology, and pschylogy.

>

> 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 don't even want to

> try.

>

> We have our own personal copies of 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 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 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

> 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 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.

>

>

[Guest guest]

That was great, it really touched me.

anderkat3 wrote:Wow, that was beautiful...couldn't say it

any better.

mom to Autumn RSS, Summer, Skye and Ocean

>

>

>

>

>

> 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 drugs, " the " treatments.

> We know " the " tests that need to be done, we know

> " the " degenerative and progressive diseases and we

> hold our breath while our children are tested for

> them. Without formal education, we could become board

> certified in neurology, endocrinology, and pschylogy.

>

> 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 don't even want to

> try.

>

> We have our own personal copies of 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 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 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

> 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 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.

>

>