There's truly nothing like tragedy to put things in perspective. This is true of anyone. It is certainly true of me, especially when I'm already hypersensitive as I both navigate the changes of becoming a family of five and adapt to our new life as a special needs family.
So, when I read about
what these parents endured with the loss of their oldest child, read the emotions she went through as a mother, saw the pictures of their last moments with him, I cried. I bawled.
And then I prayed.
I prayed because my heart felt broken for those parents. You can tell they are good parents, and you can see how much they loved their child and how hard it was to endure his loss.
My heart hurt for my own parenting failures, especially recent ones. My mind remembered all the recent times when, from the confines of the couch, arms full of newborn baby or self hooked to a pump, I yelled too much or threatened too readily, times when I resorted to physical punishment when I had to put the baby down or unplug from the pump to run after unruly boys who were not listening to my repeated (and increasingly loud!) demands of them. Times when the demands of the day, of having three children to look after, of repeating myself for the hundredth time, of getting mired in the monotony have overwhelmed me, set me on edge, and then ultimately pushed me over that edge.
I imagined what it would be like to be at the threshold of losing a child, of having a child be fine one day and then completely not fine the next, of having to make those unthinkable decisions, of having to face that unspeakable loss.
Morbid as it may be to do so, I imagined how utterly heartbroken I would be if I were in that circumstance with any of my children. And I imagined the guilt and regret I would harbor for all the times I have not been more patient. Times when I have not been the mother I really want to be. When I have not been the mother my children need and deserve. Times when, in the light of day, I have been mean and impatient and demanding and tried very hard in the dark of their room at bedtime to make up for it with eleventh hour hugs and kisses and whispered "I love you"s.
It shook me. It woke me up.
I prayed for forgiveness. I prayed for strength to do better, to be calmer, to speak softer, to correct more gently. I pleaded for the ability to unplug more frequently, to really connect with my children more often during the day, to capture small moments each day where I really look at (or touch or hug) my children and once again feel awestruck at their being, and at the privilege of being their mother.
I am happy to say that today I was better.
I hope and pray that tomorrow I can be better still, so that for each of the tomorrows my children spend in my home, they will know the depth of my love for them, because they will feel it in the ways I treat them and speak to them, in the ways I confront and deal with conflicts with them, in the ways I respond to challenges, and in the ways I love and hug and touch them, even in the midst of those challenges.
~Nichole
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