At the therapy center where Lucas goes, on Thursday nights he attends a feeding clinic. For two hours, he and a group of children sit around a dining table with various therapists, and they attempt to eat a variety of foods. We have been attending for several months, and in that time, all of the children have made great strides.
Adjacent to the room where the children are, the parents watch from a webcam linked to a monitor in our room. Slowly, over the course of weeks, friendships were forged. We've laughed together, we've listened to each others cries. It has been an amazing journey.
There is a huge comfort in connecting with other parents of special needs children. They are other parents who share the same worries, fears, and hopes that we have. They delight in the excitement of tiny milestones reached.
It is amazing to know that I am not alone. Others have been there. Others are arriving. We're all finding our way, slowly and with carefully placed steps. This piece really resounded in my heart today. I have printed a copy, and put it in the front cover of Lucas' binder of medical documentation
“Jacob, where do you find the strength to carry on in life?”
“Life is often heavy only because we attempt to carry it,” said Jacob. “But I do find a strength in the ashes.”
“In the ashes?” asked Mr. Gold.
“Yes,” said Jacob, with a confirmation that seemed to have traveled a great distance.
“You see, Mr. Gold, each of us is alone. Each of us is in the great darkness of our ignorance. And, each of us is on a journey.
“In the process of our journey, we must bend to build a fire for light, and warmth, and food.
“But when our fingers tear at the ground, hoping to find the coals of another’s fire, what we often find is the ashes.
“And, in those ashes, which will not give us light or warmth, there may be sadness, but there is also testimony.
“Because these ashes tell is that somebody else has been in the night, somebody else has bent to build a fire, and somebody else has carried on.
“And that can be enough, sometimes.”