Imperfection.

Dear Abby and Deak,

        I've strived most of my 34 years to obtain perfection. I always had this idea that if I tried hard enough to be emotionally strong, worked hard enough on doing good things and attempted to choose others' needs over my own, life would be easy for me.  I put the weight of the world on my shoulders in an effort to protect you and build the vision of perfection I wanted so badly for myself and my family.

It took me 34 years to realize I had this all completely backwards.

I will never be perfect.  I never was. I feel as if I have needed to learn this lesson several times (and undoubtedly several more) in order to truly comprehend its' message. I am here, as your imperfect mother, trying so much to be this pillar of strength, when I've learned it is my vulnerabilities that draw you closer to me.  It is through our weaknesses, that we learn what we are made of and what we need to do to get up the next day and try again.

It's okay to fail.  It's okay to cry.  It's okay to lose control.
It is all okay.
It's what makes us human.  It's what makes us real.
And, it's what I love the most about life.

Because raw, genuine, unbridled emotion is what makes our hearts beat swiftly and race to keep up with our thoughts. It stirs our passions, and adds fuel to that fire of life.  That, my babies, is the good stuff.  That is the stuff you don't forget.  The stuff that you will long for during moments of loneliness and doubt.  That is what you will hold onto.

That is what I've held onto.

I don't expect perfection anymore.  I don't even long for it.  I will never expect it from you.  I want my arms to be a place of security during your times of weakness.  My arms long to comfort you.  My heart aches to be a place of refuge, until the day you leave this earth.  My love for you is the most pure form of joy I've ever known.  It will never waver, regardless of the curveballs thrown at us.  Your lives are my most defining task and my most genuine source of pride.  You are my heart.

My most sincere wish in this life, and especially this Christmas, is that you never doubt the depth of my unconditional love for you.  Thank you for loving me through all my weaknesses. You will forever be my babies, and I will forever be a place you can call home.

Love,
Mom

Tomorrow.

I have so many feelings today.
So many feelings...

I sat in the sun at the pool yesterday, with my radiantly happy boy snuggled up on my lap.  I rubbed his cheek and he smiled and made his little happy noises.  I know those unintelligible noises that he shares when he is content and peaceful; they typically make my heart flutter alongside his.  But, this time the noises hurt.  My heart broke knowing that he doesn't understand what this week will bring him.  He doesn't understand the pain he is about to encounter, or the set backs physically he is going to have to re-learn and endure.
He doesn't know.
But, I do.

I feel so responsible.  I feel so much guilt.  I know this decision to have the surgery was made factually and appropriately, but my heart carries the burden of the aftermath.  I feel ashamed that I am not only worried about Deak and his recovery, but I am also worried about mine.  Can I handle the load? Can I stay healthy (mentally) and be the mother that Deak needs me to be? Can I balance his growing list of needs with the needs of my Abby?  She needs me too, and she is worried out of her mind for him this week. How can I be all these things for all these people and not feel guilty for taking some moments for me? How will I do this?

I've done this before.  We've done this before.  Maybe my emotions are simmering too close to the surface, but I feel like "before" I was stronger.  I was better.  I don't feel strong anymore.  I don't feel strong today.  I don't know if I can watch my boy in pain again.  I don't think I can do it.  I don't think I can watch him struggle to re-learn the ability to walk after I've watched him struggle to learn it for seven long years.  I waited so long for this, and now it will be taken from him. 

I am leaning on hope today.  I am trying to get out of my emotional system, put on my suit, and function like the mother I have been.  I am trying, but it feels harder now.  I feel worn down.  I feel beaten.

Today. 
Today, I have these feelings, and I will mostly allow myself the opportunity to feel these feelings when I am away from my kids. 
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I will shove them aside and press forward. 
 I will.
And, things will be okay.