In the weeks after Elias's birth, two of my childhood friends and one of Nick's flew to Anchorage to support us after our parents' flights left the icy runways.
These friends had never been to Alaska and arrived in February, a month of little daylight and below zero temperatures. Our sightseeing involved explaining Iv's, monitors, alarms, vents, breast pumps and terms such as PDA Ligation, Intra-ventricular Hemorrhage, Hydrocephalus, and reservoir placement.
No dog-sled tours, ski trips, or the viewing of the Northern Lights. Just the windowless fluorescent glare of the NICU.
I knew David was a great man when he helped me bag and store my breastmilk.
Jess helped me organize the old office room, the would-be baby room that prior to her visit I couldn't go into without crying, overwhelmed by boxes and the fear that we would never bring our baby home.
And Caitlin held my hand as the NICU doctors and nurses withdrew spinal fluid from my son's brain.
These friends are what you call rocks and we have been blessed by many more. There is Ginna who not only came to see me regularly while on bed-rest, cooking meals and cleaning house, but came religiously to the NICU as well. She was so solid during Elias's 94 days in the hospital that we asked her to be his "Fairy Godmother", complete with a handmade wand.
These, and more, are the friends I can speak honestly to about Elias and they won't run away. Just like all of you who return to this blog regularly, even when I'm drowning in self-pity or fear. Or writing about completely unrelated material because I can't always face being the Mama of a special needs boy and because for thirty years I knew nothing of this reality that I have been sorting through for almost three so there is more to me than therapy appointments, nap time, and lost milestones.
All of you are my granite heroes.
There is Susan, the Chaplin at Elias's children's hospital, who just sent me the link to a short essay that prompted this post. It is written by a woman named Vicki Forman as part of a column series called "Special Needs Mama" developed for what she calls, "The Mother at the Swings" : The curious compassionate bystander who wants to ask questions but does not know how.
I know her because sometimes I am her. And yet more often now I am the one wondering how much to reveal to the woman with questioning eyes.
I have written about this struggle before but Ms. Forman articulated something I have never been able to put into words. Like my readers who teach me through their comments, she is a few years ahead of me in this process. And a beautiful writer who connects with all mothers who push their kids on swings.
In fact you don't even have to be a Mama, just a person who wants to understand another.
Please take a moment to read her article by clicking on the blue underlined title above... Special directions for my Dad and other non-computer folks:)

