One year ago, he still had a paci. The “ba” he called it.
One year ago, we had never heard the term “Clinically Isolated Syndrome” or “oligoclonal banding” and I wasn’t on a first name basis with nurses at a neurology office.
One year ago, my oldest wasn’t nearly as tall as me.
One year ago, my second born didn’t talk to strangers.
One year ago, I had no idea writing a book would be so hard.
One year ago, I sold my first short story.
One year ago, we had less money but more stuff.
One year ago, I thought the school decision would be out of my hands because that For Sale sign would get a Sold sticker.
One year ago, I wrote more blogs, but had less publishing contacts.
One year ago, he barely spoke. The other day his sister asked why we ever taught him to talk.
One year ago, I didn’t know the testing of faith develops perseverance and sometimes, honestly, I wish I still didn’t know. Because one year ago, I lived in a safe bubble that my children were healthy and untouchable and that was a blessing and I should be grateful and care for others. Instead, what I really need to do, is first care for the blessings God has given me.
One year ago, I backed down when pushed and holed up and cried. Now I push back, with doctors and schools and all those who ignored me when I first raised my concerns. Now I know–
a mother knows her child. She is the first line of defense.
One year ago, I filled myself up on the beach and hiking and books and writing. Preparation for the year to come that I could never have anticipated or expected.
This year I know–store up all the good and all the love and all the happiness. There will come a day you will need to recall the one year ago.