A letter of love to my son. The finest man I know, other than his Dad.
To,
My Little Fighter, I always thought of telling you lots of things but sometimes words, sometimes work stopped me to do so. But finally today I have decided to jot down all the things that I wanted to tell you. You won’t be able to understand this letter today, but someday, when you’re ready, I hope you will find some wisdom and value in what I’m sharing with you today. You are in my blood, you are my little fighter and you are precious to me. I told you, early and often that I would love you no matter what.
I still remember the day when for the first time I saw you, tiny little, most fragile, hidden from the world safely in my womb. Just like other expectant mothers I was also looking forward for the moment of holding you in my arms. My due date came and passed but you were not ready to come out. I got worried, but doctor said that it’s absolutely healthy and fine. But nothing was fine. It was almost as if my body had been trying to tell me something. I felt terribly wrong. I cried please treat me, my baby is in danger, I can feel it. Somehow doctor got ready for operation. There were some complications in your birth, so when you were born doctors may have known that there was some damage in the brain from the first moment. You were born with Cerebral Palsy, something that leads to problems with movement, posture and coordination as the child grows up, something which cannot let you roll over, crawl, and sit up unassisted or anything. At that moment I did not know what this meant, all I knew was that you are different and somehow God has decided for me that I should be blessed with a child who will be relying only on my daily good judgment for its life’s needs.
I keep trying to stay positive in the hope that one day you will come out of this problem, but I am not Mother Teresa.
As the years passed, things started to get very challenging and sometimes I found myself in very difficult situations when I read that “Why me” question in your eyes, when you see other children of your age or younger playing or running around. I could hear your voice asking me, why Mommy, why I cant run and play with other kids, why I cannot hold a toy, why I cannot put food into my own mouth, why this injustice to me, why cant I be normal like others.
Son, there is nothing I wouldn't give to go back and change things. But that isn’t possible. What’s done is done, you were born this way and you can’t change that, you are not different but you are special. I know you are strong. Your dad and I are trying our hardest to give you the best life possible. Every milestone of yours is a kind of personal victory for us. Rather than buying cars, I buy treatments and equipment, and staff that will facilitate and help the mobility progress of yours. It has been tough to watch you struggle in ways I can't even imagine, but I have confidence that all these things are going to help you.
No mother likes to see her child in pain. There are days when I am at my breaking point and all I want to do is to cry and cry. I still remember the time when you had issues with sleeping, you always jerked yourself awake and the only way to get you any sleep is to hold you close and let you sleep, I stay awake all night holding you close to my chest so that you can sleep peacefully. And I remember being almost overwhelmed with the responsibility I felt for the safety and well being of yours. But I knew I could do it.
Although you have everything in the world going against you, you still are the happiest kid in the world. If I am having a bad day, I will often look to you for inspiration. It’s amazing how much I have learned in my years on this earth from a disabled 4 year old kid. You always seem to know when I am sad and you will do your best to give me a great big hug.
You are a boy who is full of enthusiasm and sweetness and brightness and good humor and all sorts of wonderfulness. You love eating chocolate, ice-cream and birthday cake, you adore rain, you're obsessed with the movies & TV show; you give the most delicious slurpy kisses; you enjoy all sorts of music, you have a happy squeal that makes strangers smile and a giggle that makes the world laugh with you. I am not exaggerating when I say that you charm everyone who meets you even grumpy people. You are my very best friend as I am yours; and I wouldn't have it any other way. I learned a lot from you—inner strength, courage, endurance, and greater faith. That is the true happiness of motherhood. If I had to do it all over again, I would a million times.
On this day, in the Fifth summer of your life, I want you to know that I love you infinitely.
With all my love
Mom
(Just because things are different they aren't bad or unpleasant: they are just different. And different can be an inspiration. This Mom is an absolute inspiration. As she touchingly puts it, this was a far cry from the dreams she had had for her son before his birth. And she understands her kid better than anyone else even if he can't talk; even if he can't gesture; even if he can't look in the eye. She know. She just know).
