Letting Her Go

Sarah is at a birthday party right now. Besides going to her best friends house for a play date this is her only outing since her diagnosis. She was so excited, and looked so pretty before she left. She got a "new" dress from the neighbor down the street, and wanted to get ready for the party as soon as she got up.

I almost didn't want her to go. The tightness in my chest is huge. I can feel it with each breath I take, and as she gets closer and closer to having been off of steroids for 4 days I can feel it growing. I wanted to keep her with me because what if something happened? What if she loses her vision at the party? What if she gets too tired, and is afraid to tell an adult that she needs to sit down? What if her legs start to hurt her? What if...?

I know that I cannot live my life this way, and so I let her go. When you have a child that is sick or disabled you become a member of this exclusive club called the "What if" club. You find yourself wondering "what if" when you never would have prior to the diagnosis or with your other children. For a time, you almost live your life on egg shells. The frailty of life constantly shows you its face.

But then I sit back and think that I will stifle her if I live this way, and that is just something that I will not do. I want Sarah to be able to live her life like all of the other kids she knows. I want her to be able to go to parties and play dates. I want her to be able to have memories with people outside of me. I want her to experience the life she is meant to have without me on her back worrying every second about what could happen to her.

As time moves us along the path of our lives she will have to learn how to navigate this disease that lives within her body, and I will have to learn how to navigate being a mother of not only a child, but of a child that has an incurable disease. She will have to learn to listen to her body, and to know when enough is enough. I will have to learn to listen to my heart, and to know when to tell my mind to shush up because enough is enough.

I cannot tell you how much I would love to whisk her away, and to protect her forever. In reality I would love to do that with all of my children, but what they really need from me is not to whisk them away, but to let them go. To let them go, and to lead the lives that they are meant to lead apart from me. What a very difficult lesson this will be for me, especially with Sarah, but it is an imperative lesson that I learn. And so I will....