Today I decided to stop wondering what it might be like to see Cody shoot a basket during a basket ball game. Or see Josiah hit a baseball and run like the wind to get on base. In stead I took a deep breath and sat down be side my sons as they put together a new Lego kit. I leaned in between them fitting myself in the tiny space between their wheeled chairs. Happily they made efforts to pull themselves a few inches over to allow me space enough to be apart of their fun. Cody eagerly showed me the progress he had made on the building he had created. Josiah quietly worked on the new kit the tooth fairy had left him the night before. I looked around the beautiful Lego room I had created for them. Buildings and vehicles that they had put together lined the shelves. This was the world my sons knew. This was one of their past times they had grown to love.
Marveling at the patience it took to work their weakening hands and arms I leaned over to give them both a little kiss on the head. I watched Josiah look at the directions and search for the correct piece. Cody chatted on about how fast Josiah worked and how proud he was for him. Together we sat, away from the outside world lost in Lego land. My sons were happy, they accepted this was what they could do. I wanted to be at peace with that acceptance. I wanted to embrace all the enjoyment they felt building with Legos. I felt happy that I could give them a place to be creative, a place that they could shine and display there skills. I was so very proud of the abilities they possessed with such little strength. It pained me though knowing that this could and most likely would someday become an impossible task for them. Our friends and relatives pushed and cheered to help their children become athletes and dancers. The world I knew loved stronger and faster. The world we lived in did not know the magnitude of strength it took for Josiah or Cody to build a small structure. Or the concentration it took for either of them to follow instructions. My two younger sons would never have the athletic abilities my friends shared about their own children. They would struggle more each day to use their dying muscles. Inside I was horrified at what was inevitably to come. I knew thinking past today would however take the joy we held on to at this moment away. So Legos was our now. I picked up some blocks asking Cody if I could help make his wall on his house stronger. He smiled at me saying "mom you are good at finding ways to make something be stronger." Hugging him I said "sometimes being strong is all I know".
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
impact
On any given day someone somewhere is going that extra step to make a difference. Being on the side that so desperately reaches out for the compassion of others, I can not say thank you enough for the generosity of those who give of themselves. Several months ago I spent the day with my two sons afflicted with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, along with my sister Marie, helping out at a Lock-up for MDA. Our job was to greet and tell our story to the representatives who came to make donations for MDA. Volunteering for this cause has become a big part of our world and speaking on its behalf is very near and dear to our hearts. While it is not always very easy for my sons Josiah and Cody to attend some events they willingly accompany me on request.
This day at the lock-up was a special time for us to share our story because we are involved personally in research. For the first time in a long time I felt I could talk about Duchenne with hope. My boys sat in their chairs next to me, quiet and feeling quite shy while I spoke about The PTC study my sons were enrolled in. PTC laboratories had enlisted several young boys to part take in a on going study using the drug "Ataluren". Research reports were indicating that Ataluren was showing signs of slowing the progression of Duchenne and in several cases some strength was being maintained. My sons both showed some healthy muscle tissue to be present, which told us something was deffinately happening with in their bodies. We had hope given back to us and that alone gave me the courage and energy to let anyone who cared to listen, learn that research was vital to my sons lives.
Both my sons being extremely shy stayed close to my side remaining very quiet. On occassion responding verbally to hellos or compliments but mostly smiling and nodding through out the day. Cody seemed to be relieved when I finally had no one left new to speak to and announced we could go. We graciously thanked all those who came out to help cure Duchenne. It was not until we headed home that I realized the real impact my openess to speak had. The two people who had the most to gain from hearing me talk were my sons. As I loaded my boys in our van, Cody simply said thank you mom. Surprised I asked why. He told me for not letting him give up on hope.
That night I sat in my room alone thinking about research, the study, my fears of allowing my sons - for the most part to be part of an experiment for this new drug. I thought about my desperation and anger I feel daily from watching my sons muscles waste away. I also thought about hope. I knew we had come a long way in research. Science understood so much more about this disease. But yet a cure for Duchenne still does not exist. However, I was happy my son had hope.
It is now several months later. Much has passed since that day. Josiah has undergone major spinal surgery and has had to relearn to hold his head up and sit unsupported. We continue to move forward even though at times there have been some set backs. I look at my sons and know deep with them is a drive and determination to fight. I believe that we are getting closer to cure and will not give up on my sons. But for the most part I still remain a skeptic to some degree and a hard judge to pass regarding this new drug. I cling to the hope that it is helping. When those low moments happen and we struggle to make sense of why, I turn to my boys. Watching them continue to hold on to their hope lets me know I am doing all the right things.
This day at the lock-up was a special time for us to share our story because we are involved personally in research. For the first time in a long time I felt I could talk about Duchenne with hope. My boys sat in their chairs next to me, quiet and feeling quite shy while I spoke about The PTC study my sons were enrolled in. PTC laboratories had enlisted several young boys to part take in a on going study using the drug "Ataluren". Research reports were indicating that Ataluren was showing signs of slowing the progression of Duchenne and in several cases some strength was being maintained. My sons both showed some healthy muscle tissue to be present, which told us something was deffinately happening with in their bodies. We had hope given back to us and that alone gave me the courage and energy to let anyone who cared to listen, learn that research was vital to my sons lives.
Both my sons being extremely shy stayed close to my side remaining very quiet. On occassion responding verbally to hellos or compliments but mostly smiling and nodding through out the day. Cody seemed to be relieved when I finally had no one left new to speak to and announced we could go. We graciously thanked all those who came out to help cure Duchenne. It was not until we headed home that I realized the real impact my openess to speak had. The two people who had the most to gain from hearing me talk were my sons. As I loaded my boys in our van, Cody simply said thank you mom. Surprised I asked why. He told me for not letting him give up on hope.
That night I sat in my room alone thinking about research, the study, my fears of allowing my sons - for the most part to be part of an experiment for this new drug. I thought about my desperation and anger I feel daily from watching my sons muscles waste away. I also thought about hope. I knew we had come a long way in research. Science understood so much more about this disease. But yet a cure for Duchenne still does not exist. However, I was happy my son had hope.
It is now several months later. Much has passed since that day. Josiah has undergone major spinal surgery and has had to relearn to hold his head up and sit unsupported. We continue to move forward even though at times there have been some set backs. I look at my sons and know deep with them is a drive and determination to fight. I believe that we are getting closer to cure and will not give up on my sons. But for the most part I still remain a skeptic to some degree and a hard judge to pass regarding this new drug. I cling to the hope that it is helping. When those low moments happen and we struggle to make sense of why, I turn to my boys. Watching them continue to hold on to their hope lets me know I am doing all the right things.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Josiah bent over to pick up a Lego piece that had slipped from his fingers to the floor. I watched silently as his shoulders slumped forward in an awkward tilt. It was becoming increasingly harder for him lately to force himself upright again. He managed and I felt some relief. He was still finding away to continue this ability. It was however, more apparent, the rapid loss of strength he was experiencing. I could feel some anger once again growing with in me as I silently watched him struggle.
I can not remember a time when the words Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy was not in my life. My entire life, consumed of years spent waiting for a treatment, at the very least that would help control the rate of muscle loss. Now I was faced with scheduling surgery for my youngest son Josiah, because scoliosis was aiding Duchenne in this on going losing battle of muscle loss. Spinal Fusion was a new term recently added into our complicated devastating world. My research of the arduous procedure only served to give me more concern, climaxing my fears. But, without surgery fatality looms even more.
Quietly I slipped out of Josiahs' view. It was even more crucial now that I pulled forward strength and hope. Desperately I worked to refocus my emotions on something more positive. But today Hope was not standing in front of me. Reality her very honest cousin echoed in my ears. Her harshness repeating the unrelenting fears I had grown to know so well. Surgery was vital for my beautiful sons life. That same procedure did not come without very real risks, and pain. It was up to me again to find a way to be the strength we would both need to face another battle with Duchenne. Battling seemed to be the some of my existence lately. I felt sad that I had nothing more to offer than my shaken emotions. I felt hurt consume the very depths of my being. I wanted hope. Most of all though, I longed to be comforted to have something, someone, hold me for once.
Lost in my thoughts, I jotted down a few sentences, hoping that would help me release a little of the uneasiness I was feeling. Rereading my words I paused momentarily recalling some of the responses I had received from a few blogs I had posted about my feelings previously. On occasion it seemed that the message I had hope to convey was lost to some. I was offered advice on health care, given suggestions on home improvement and my favorite, hints that I some how was in fact not addressing other issues that pertained to my own physical abilities. For the first time in a long time I felt totally distant from the world. I could not recall writing any blog that resembled even remotely that I was asking for advice or for that matter complaining. Why was it, I wondered, impossible for some to just share my passion? Reality echoed even more, was what I searched for even available to me? Perhaps not in the way I had hoped or expected, but yes, those that could share in my intensity far out weighed the negative. Together with the inspiration I wanted to be for others and the encouragement I received I knew that I had connected in some way to other people.
Today though I felt fear overwhelm me, captivate me into my sea of emotions. I looked for hope to help me feel not so isolated but she stood blankly looking back at me. In order for me to have her I would have to escape from the despair that slowly was beginning to surround me. I knew reality was here for me today.
She was not asking anything from me, or demand that I put aside my pain. She showed me the truth, not a world of fairy tales. I realized, again, the pain and fear I felt would pass. I would face whatever challenges that lay ahead with dignity and pride. I would most certainly not let my sons down. I would as always be a constant source of strength for them and that was something I would never let Duchenne take from us.
Reality, helped me to see what I am capable of, but hope helped me find the courage to run with it.
I can not remember a time when the words Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy was not in my life. My entire life, consumed of years spent waiting for a treatment, at the very least that would help control the rate of muscle loss. Now I was faced with scheduling surgery for my youngest son Josiah, because scoliosis was aiding Duchenne in this on going losing battle of muscle loss. Spinal Fusion was a new term recently added into our complicated devastating world. My research of the arduous procedure only served to give me more concern, climaxing my fears. But, without surgery fatality looms even more.
Quietly I slipped out of Josiahs' view. It was even more crucial now that I pulled forward strength and hope. Desperately I worked to refocus my emotions on something more positive. But today Hope was not standing in front of me. Reality her very honest cousin echoed in my ears. Her harshness repeating the unrelenting fears I had grown to know so well. Surgery was vital for my beautiful sons life. That same procedure did not come without very real risks, and pain. It was up to me again to find a way to be the strength we would both need to face another battle with Duchenne. Battling seemed to be the some of my existence lately. I felt sad that I had nothing more to offer than my shaken emotions. I felt hurt consume the very depths of my being. I wanted hope. Most of all though, I longed to be comforted to have something, someone, hold me for once.
Lost in my thoughts, I jotted down a few sentences, hoping that would help me release a little of the uneasiness I was feeling. Rereading my words I paused momentarily recalling some of the responses I had received from a few blogs I had posted about my feelings previously. On occasion it seemed that the message I had hope to convey was lost to some. I was offered advice on health care, given suggestions on home improvement and my favorite, hints that I some how was in fact not addressing other issues that pertained to my own physical abilities. For the first time in a long time I felt totally distant from the world. I could not recall writing any blog that resembled even remotely that I was asking for advice or for that matter complaining. Why was it, I wondered, impossible for some to just share my passion? Reality echoed even more, was what I searched for even available to me? Perhaps not in the way I had hoped or expected, but yes, those that could share in my intensity far out weighed the negative. Together with the inspiration I wanted to be for others and the encouragement I received I knew that I had connected in some way to other people.
Today though I felt fear overwhelm me, captivate me into my sea of emotions. I looked for hope to help me feel not so isolated but she stood blankly looking back at me. In order for me to have her I would have to escape from the despair that slowly was beginning to surround me. I knew reality was here for me today.
She was not asking anything from me, or demand that I put aside my pain. She showed me the truth, not a world of fairy tales. I realized, again, the pain and fear I felt would pass. I would face whatever challenges that lay ahead with dignity and pride. I would most certainly not let my sons down. I would as always be a constant source of strength for them and that was something I would never let Duchenne take from us.
Reality, helped me to see what I am capable of, but hope helped me find the courage to run with it.
Sometimes it can be tough to find your back when your world has collapsed, or been ripped apart. It can be almost impossible for some of us to even pick ourselves up when we have crashed. We can become so consumed by pain that we lose ourselves completely.
Last night I thought about what makes one person quit and another one only strive harder. "God never gives us more than we can handle". We have all heard that somewhere before. Why I wonder than is there; suicide, depression, alcoholics, drug addicts. We as humans can develop a host of ailments just from stress. Hospitals have special wards just to deal with mental illness. Are we handling it, if we completely withdraw? Are we handling it, if we need a substance to help control our emotions and feelings? What makes one person emotionally stronger than the next? What is it that can separate us so differently?
It also leaves me wondering why it appears to be so easy for some of us to abandon our families in pursuit of selfish desires. Examining my own life it perplexes me that in some ways many of us will excuse one parents failure to put his childs needs first. We even will go so far as to help make excuses for in ability to cope with stress. Call it what you want but, I find myself absolutely unable to listen to any more excuses.
Last night I thought about what makes one person quit and another one only strive harder. "God never gives us more than we can handle". We have all heard that somewhere before. Why I wonder than is there; suicide, depression, alcoholics, drug addicts. We as humans can develop a host of ailments just from stress. Hospitals have special wards just to deal with mental illness. Are we handling it, if we completely withdraw? Are we handling it, if we need a substance to help control our emotions and feelings? What makes one person emotionally stronger than the next? What is it that can separate us so differently?
It also leaves me wondering why it appears to be so easy for some of us to abandon our families in pursuit of selfish desires. Examining my own life it perplexes me that in some ways many of us will excuse one parents failure to put his childs needs first. We even will go so far as to help make excuses for in ability to cope with stress. Call it what you want but, I find myself absolutely unable to listen to any more excuses.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Share my beautiful dog followed me with her black round eyes as I moved around my room, clearing a space close to my bed for her to rest. She laid her head down on the side of her cushioned flowered bed as I approached her. It had been a very rough day for both of us and it did not seem to be improving. I wanted to hang onto the words the vet had said earlier that day. Keep her comfortable and try to get her drink, she would be fine tonight. He wanted to see her immediately in the morning to do more test. We both felt it was better for her to spend the night at home, where she could rest more comfortably. Cradling her small head in my hand gently I put an eye dropper of water to her mouth. Opening slightly she licked at it. I clung to the small hope that If I could just try to keep liquids in her it would improve her condition. She no longer seemed to have any energy to move as I covered her with the towel I had laid beside her earlier. Tears fell from my eyes as she laid there so still looking up at me. Deep inside me, I knew my beloved pet was in fact dying before me, and there was nothing more I could do for her, except keep her comfortable. Petting her gently and laying her head back down to rest, I let the tears fall and I said my goodbyes.
I was hesitant at first to reach for Share when I saw that she still laid in the same spot I had put her in the night before. I placed my hand gently on her hoping desperately to be wrong, I could feel deaths coldness immediately.
Sometime during the early morning hours my Share had passed away. I was silent with grief. How would I tell the boys. Memories of Share with the boys flooded me. Seven years was hardly enough time to have her in our lives. This just all seemed to be so unreal. I Stared at the pink coat she was wearing, that I placed on her the day before to help keep her warm.
Death had been an issue the boys had been questioning lately. It was a subject I wanted to deter them from. The death of a peer, a month earlier who had suffered from Duchenne, left my sons a bit concerned. Delicately I searched for ways to assure them all things had to die but it was God who decided when, and now was not their time. It seemed we had worked through some anxiousness and the boys at least appeared to at ease.
Share's lifeless body laid before me. What would this do to their already shaken spirits? I was lucky to have my sister Marie at my side this morning. Our eyes meeting as we knelt down next to my beloved pet. No words were needed, our tearful glances to each other let me know she felt my sorrow. I told the boys after school that day. In my arms I held them closely, my sister embracing us all.
Josiah asked through his tears would he die like Share. My heart broke. In my arms I clutched my son tightly against me. I hated Duchenne. We would get through this loss together. Our pain from losing Share would lessen each day. But the fear that DMD brought into my sons world only hovered more. Casting my own fears a side I struggled to find ways to help them see past theirs
Josiah and Cody very casually mention death on occasion, like all things Duchenne has brought into our world we have had to accept and adapt. We will live with the fear of knowing the course this disease will take. We will also hang onto hope.
I was hesitant at first to reach for Share when I saw that she still laid in the same spot I had put her in the night before. I placed my hand gently on her hoping desperately to be wrong, I could feel deaths coldness immediately.
Sometime during the early morning hours my Share had passed away. I was silent with grief. How would I tell the boys. Memories of Share with the boys flooded me. Seven years was hardly enough time to have her in our lives. This just all seemed to be so unreal. I Stared at the pink coat she was wearing, that I placed on her the day before to help keep her warm.
Death had been an issue the boys had been questioning lately. It was a subject I wanted to deter them from. The death of a peer, a month earlier who had suffered from Duchenne, left my sons a bit concerned. Delicately I searched for ways to assure them all things had to die but it was God who decided when, and now was not their time. It seemed we had worked through some anxiousness and the boys at least appeared to at ease.
Share's lifeless body laid before me. What would this do to their already shaken spirits? I was lucky to have my sister Marie at my side this morning. Our eyes meeting as we knelt down next to my beloved pet. No words were needed, our tearful glances to each other let me know she felt my sorrow. I told the boys after school that day. In my arms I held them closely, my sister embracing us all.
Josiah asked through his tears would he die like Share. My heart broke. In my arms I clutched my son tightly against me. I hated Duchenne. We would get through this loss together. Our pain from losing Share would lessen each day. But the fear that DMD brought into my sons world only hovered more. Casting my own fears a side I struggled to find ways to help them see past theirs
Josiah and Cody very casually mention death on occasion, like all things Duchenne has brought into our world we have had to accept and adapt. We will live with the fear of knowing the course this disease will take. We will also hang onto hope.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Seasons
I listened as a friend told me about how much he was enjoying the football season and his son playing. He shared with me the joy he felt watching his son play quarterback. Giving me highlights of the most recent football game, proudly he spoke of how well his son played his position. The force, skill and strength his son was developing left him with immense joy. I listened happy for him, as he talked to me about fitting the boys in their equipment and the excitement all the boys had as they practiced for their games.
Hours later driving home I could not help but think about my friend suiting his son up for football. I could not help but think about the differences in our lives. While he watched his son run, I pushed both my sons in wheel chairs. While he helped choose the right size equipment his son would need for this season, I refitted my sons in AFOs and had their wheelchairs resized. While he tossed a football back and forth to his strong son, I picked up legos off the floor that slipped from my sons weakening grasp. As parents I was feeling we had so little in common in the care of our children. I listened to him beaming about how strong and fast his son was for his size, wanting to feel joy for him. However, inside I was hiding my fear that my sons were beginning to become to hard for me to lift and carry. While he went to practice with his son, I took turns strapping my sons to a machine that would help them stand. He watched from the side lines with immense joy that his son was developing muscles. I watched in horror daily as my sons showed signs of more weakened muscles.
As parents we shared the same kind of love and admiration for our sons. Yet, in reality our parenting was so unalike. While he helped plan strategy with his son for a game, I would be encouraging mine to try to use their almost useless limbs just to feed themselves. while he helped to condition his son for another season of playing ball, I would work hard stretching the limbs of my Josiah and Cody, in hope to preserve strength. I cried alone in my thoughts driving home that evening. I had sometime ago accepted all the challenges that lay ahead for my sons. But this pain was new to me. The feelings that were bursting from me now were different. I was happy for my friend and his son for what they shared. Yet inside, I was being reminded of the pain and loss my sons and I faced each day. I was happy my friend wanted to share with me how proud he was. I fought to control the tears that fell freely down my cheeks. Wishing I was able to find a comfortable way to happily share the fact that my Josiah took five steps today while in the support of my arms. Find words to describe the magnitude of strength I felt managing to assist Cody in the bathroom by myself. Annoyed at myself that I was once again letting this devastating disease hold me captive to my unrelenting fear I pulled my car over and sat silently. I wanted to see my sons have their moment of triumph at the level my friends son had.
After sitting for sometime alone with my thoughts, slowly I started my car again. I knew I could and would learn to accept this too. In time I knew this reality of loss would lessen. I would find courage to share in the joy that my friends shared with me about their own children. I would somehow find away to overcome the constant reminders of the challenges we face daily. But for now, I would allow myself the need to be comforted from the grief that had attached to me. Tomorrow I would continue to sing praise for each attempt my beautiful sons made at using their weakened muscles. I would embrace the fact that I did not have a section to sit with other parents and cheer on my sons, because I stood along side of them.
Soon the season will change again, a new sport will start for many. For us the same game will continue. The strategy unchanged because we have just one goal, to have another day together filled with hope.
Hours later driving home I could not help but think about my friend suiting his son up for football. I could not help but think about the differences in our lives. While he watched his son run, I pushed both my sons in wheel chairs. While he helped choose the right size equipment his son would need for this season, I refitted my sons in AFOs and had their wheelchairs resized. While he tossed a football back and forth to his strong son, I picked up legos off the floor that slipped from my sons weakening grasp. As parents I was feeling we had so little in common in the care of our children. I listened to him beaming about how strong and fast his son was for his size, wanting to feel joy for him. However, inside I was hiding my fear that my sons were beginning to become to hard for me to lift and carry. While he went to practice with his son, I took turns strapping my sons to a machine that would help them stand. He watched from the side lines with immense joy that his son was developing muscles. I watched in horror daily as my sons showed signs of more weakened muscles.
As parents we shared the same kind of love and admiration for our sons. Yet, in reality our parenting was so unalike. While he helped plan strategy with his son for a game, I would be encouraging mine to try to use their almost useless limbs just to feed themselves. while he helped to condition his son for another season of playing ball, I would work hard stretching the limbs of my Josiah and Cody, in hope to preserve strength. I cried alone in my thoughts driving home that evening. I had sometime ago accepted all the challenges that lay ahead for my sons. But this pain was new to me. The feelings that were bursting from me now were different. I was happy for my friend and his son for what they shared. Yet inside, I was being reminded of the pain and loss my sons and I faced each day. I was happy my friend wanted to share with me how proud he was. I fought to control the tears that fell freely down my cheeks. Wishing I was able to find a comfortable way to happily share the fact that my Josiah took five steps today while in the support of my arms. Find words to describe the magnitude of strength I felt managing to assist Cody in the bathroom by myself. Annoyed at myself that I was once again letting this devastating disease hold me captive to my unrelenting fear I pulled my car over and sat silently. I wanted to see my sons have their moment of triumph at the level my friends son had.
After sitting for sometime alone with my thoughts, slowly I started my car again. I knew I could and would learn to accept this too. In time I knew this reality of loss would lessen. I would find courage to share in the joy that my friends shared with me about their own children. I would somehow find away to overcome the constant reminders of the challenges we face daily. But for now, I would allow myself the need to be comforted from the grief that had attached to me. Tomorrow I would continue to sing praise for each attempt my beautiful sons made at using their weakened muscles. I would embrace the fact that I did not have a section to sit with other parents and cheer on my sons, because I stood along side of them.
Soon the season will change again, a new sport will start for many. For us the same game will continue. The strategy unchanged because we have just one goal, to have another day together filled with hope.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
There was a time when I packed my dreams away. I felt fear surround me. Afraid of the unknown and tormented by what I knew would be the future. Unable to look past the pain that had become so much apart of our complicated lives. I was consumed by desperation and destined to keep hope alive. I had seen death. I knew the horrific pain Duchenne brought to the lives of its victims and their families. I knew its grasp only tightened as it progressed to complete its mission. I lived in the shadows of despair watching the unrelenting destruction of human life. Helpless and overwhelmed, in silence I surrendered to tears. I gave in to fear and sorrow.
That was my then. My time when fear over took my strength. A time when I was so afraid. I thought that I had reached the end. Overcome by a desire to face the challenges that lay ahead of me and my sons, I have found my strength. This is my now. I am living in the moment. I am facing my fear. I have left the past behind me. The past that once pulled me down, causing me to doubt myself. Now grasping the love and strength that surrounds me. Looking in the eyes of my sons I have found the courage I never had before. I have found away to be the me I need to be. Gone are the shadows that I use to hide in. As I look around I can't believe all the love I see. This is my now, this is the moment I will give my sons.
That was my then. My time when fear over took my strength. A time when I was so afraid. I thought that I had reached the end. Overcome by a desire to face the challenges that lay ahead of me and my sons, I have found my strength. This is my now. I am living in the moment. I am facing my fear. I have left the past behind me. The past that once pulled me down, causing me to doubt myself. Now grasping the love and strength that surrounds me. Looking in the eyes of my sons I have found the courage I never had before. I have found away to be the me I need to be. Gone are the shadows that I use to hide in. As I look around I can't believe all the love I see. This is my now, this is the moment I will give my sons.
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