Slipping Threw My Fingers

The first time I held you in the hospital, I felt so happy that your father and I adopted you. Looking down at your face peaking threw the blanket, I knew then you were already growing up too fast for my liking. Sure enough six years passed in a blur. Your father and I raised you not to look at anyone differently, to treat people with kindness and never to give up your dream. I remember vividly what your first dream was. You looked up at me with those big brown eyes, put our hands on my unmoving legs and said, “Mommy why can’t you walk, why can’t you breathe on your own and why did you have to buy me from the baby store?” I knew this day would come, the day you would ask me why I was disabled.

“Well sweetie, mommy’s muscles don’t work right. So that’s why mommy and daddy got you because mommy can’t have babies. But, you know what, I’m happy I can’t because then I would have never gotten you.” I said looking straight into your eyes. You thought about for a moment, sticking out your lip and tapping on your chin. It’s what you said that made me hug you the hardest I ever hugged anyone.

“Mommy, you said I should never give up my dream. My dream is to make you walk and breathe on your own and anyone else that needs help.” At that point, I knew we were doing something right. Years passed and you worked hard at your studies, never losing site on your dream. Senior year of high school came for you and at the end you got a scholarship to one of the best colleges for medicine. Six years of college you graduated top of your class. I got very sick before that but I was not going to let that stop me from seeing you walk the stage. I cried seeing you up there receiving your diploma. Your father and I were so proud of you, and still are, at that moment. After the ceremony, you came down I hugged me, telling me this was only half your dream. You still haven’t cured me yet. You got a great job at a hospital after that, in the gene labs working on finding cures for chronic illnesses. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I would never walk again, that I was dying, but you gave me strength to keep fighting for awhile. I was happy to live to see you graduate to the next level of your life, giving birth to your first child, a daughter just like you. Time was slipping threw my fingers and so were you. I’m sorry I couldn’t see more of you and your new family physically but I’m with you always. And your dream did come true, even if you can’t see it, I’m walking. No more chair or tubes, instead working muscles. I love you so much.

Reviews

[Katie Heffner]

this is so sad, but so good; Very well written.