There's a Place for Us

A few times a month I go to a meeting of my mom's writing group.  Technically, it's a group of moms who have children with special needs who get together to write on a topic given by our leader.  But mostly it's just my "mom's group" and that sisterhood is the bond.  The writing is just an excuse we use so that our husbands and children will let us out the door.  "Oh, Mom has to go write!"  Off we go, each scurrying away from our homes with a notebook in hand. Some of us leave tire skid marks down the street if its been one of those weeks.  I shouldn't minimize the writing because it is the cathartic outlet for our thoughts.   In that writing we find truth, clarity, grief, hope, gratititude.  Each woman brings to her writing years of experience, moments of great despair, and challenges not faced by most.  We read to the others, sometimes voice quivering, sometimes downright sobbing, oftentimes laughing at the absurdity of our adversity.   When the words are spoken out loud, their power can be overwhelming.   I find that I can write very easily most times, and very matter of factly about Sam.  But it is the reading to my friends in that room that will bring it from thoughts on paper to words spoken from my heart and I will no longer be able to deny the pain, or the joy, and will feel it to my toes.  Almost every mom begins their sharing by saying "Well, I'm not a good writer" or "I just have a big mess here because I couldn't figure out what I was trying to say".  The rest of us usually say, "Just shut up and read it" (with kindness, of course).  It doesn't matter how well organized the words, or if the sentence runs on into a paragraph.  It is the words, the very action of taking what started in our hearts, then was written on paper,  and and then shared with women who walk in your shoes.  It is more powerful than I can describe.  Our kids are all different.  Some have autism, others cerebral palsy, diabetes, arthritis, chromosomal disorders, ADHD.  All are welcome and there is no hierarchy, no less compassion given for a lesser debilitating diagnosis.  We are simply mothers who have children who face challenges that most do not.  We come to the group to share our worries and to lend support that we cannot find anywhere else.  A counselor or pastor may say "I understand" but honestly, that is not true.  It's an elite club we have here, not one any of us would have chosen to join, but one that lends us the support we need to keep going.   After the meeting we go out for margaritas (all part of the creative process, we tell our husbands).  The discussions continue and you would think that we would be a serious bunch, with all we have on our plate.  You'd be wrong.   Last night there was more laughter at our table than at any other.  We have great challenges in our lives, but with that comes great perspective and joy.  And laughter that might appear quite inappropriate to an outsider, but which we have earned by years in the trenches.  We talked about creating a "compound" for our families down the line.  A place surrounded by a tall, brick wall.  Our kids would be safe, surrounded by families who "get it". We'd all look out for one another, and be tolerant of the delightful quirks of our wonderful kids.  No more nasty comments about tantrums, no more stares at wheelchairs, no more bullying.  The wall would be built to keep our kids safe, yes, but also to exclude those who don't qualify. After years of feeling unwelcome, the tables would turn.  After a few hours we disperse with hugs and discussions about summer plans to meet for concerts and a cocktail cruise.  Back to our lives at home, rejuvenated in our sisterhood.