I got it. As I drove out of the lot, my car dwarfed by the yellow school buses in the school district bus lot, I realized that I'd move a mountain for my child. Hell, yes. And a little while later, I plugged into the energy of my other mothering friends who also had offspring with special needs. First, I thought of Dena. Then…I cannot even remember now the other mothers that first came to mind, as my mind now clutters with names and faces. After Dena the parade of names and faces flowed.
I got it. We would all move mountains for our children with special needs. Ideally, every mother loves her child with such intensely deep passion. But, what you've got going on in our community, in our sisterhood of mothers who have differently-abled children? Well, we are doggedly determined, fiercely impassioned to seek justice and equality, rights, inclusion, opportunity…the list goes on…for our children who do not come by these privileges in and of themselves because they are born (or become) different. Atypical. Not the norm.
There is a reason we are (lovingly and sometimes not-so-lovingly) called "The Mothers from Hell." As I've written about here, on "The Journey with Grace," before, we are advocates, (not gripes,) who seek these rights for our children and others. And what fuels our flames of passion? Love. It is Love. Love. Love.
Having put the thoughts, the aha, together in my mind, then having put the words down here, it is still illusive to try to describe the crazy-deep love for these children, these very different children for whom, sometimes we have to fight for their survival. For the right to show up, be heard and do what everyone else can and is doing, to the best of their ability.
That. Is passion. And it's fueled by love. Mother love. Deep. Crazy deep.
Part I: here.
