Stepping outside myself...

I admit it.

There are times when I feel sorry for myself.

When I get tired of hearing about JRA and scheduling doctor visits and running to the pharmacy for meds, syringes, and prescriptions. I get tired of worrying about fused joints and H1N1 and the child who sits next to Ellie and coughs without covering her mouth and then hands Ellie her math worksheet.

I get tired.

Of it ALL.

I question, "Why ME? Why US? Why MY daughter?"

It's selfish, and I know it.

And then I get a glimpse... a look at the challenges other families are facing, and I high-tail it right back to my house and thank the LORDS that I have MY challenges and vow never-ever will I complain again.

Never-ever will I question "Why ME? Why US?"

I'll know, "Why NOT me?"

Because I have moments. Moments that can fuel my fire...

This weekend, I went to a birthday party for one of Emma's little friends. It was like many other parties... The theme was Elmo, and balloons were tied to the mailbox. We sang twice to the party girl because she LOVED blowing out her candles, and she ate only the frosting off her cupcake.

And still... the party was unlike any other I've attended because our little friend has autism. She lives in her own little world with Elmo and pretend dogs and balls that are made to be thrown over the fence into the neighbors' back yards.

There are locks up high on all the doors because our little friend bolts. She runs away without any thought of where she's going or how or why. She has seizures and loses huge amounts of time. The yucky meds that are supposed to help with the seizures make her feel bad and mess with her behavior so that people don't really understand why she's acting out.

If you looked at her, you wouldn't know she has autism. If you heard her read, you probably wouldn't know she has autism. If you saw her smile, you definitely wouldn't know she has autism.

Our little friend has a therapy dog. Believe it or not, her dog is a goldendoodle -- just like Olive only twice the size and twice as well-behaved. Doah is a gem. She's trained to recognize seizures, Doah can find our little friend if she gets lost (or bolts) in a crowd, and she has a special harness so the parents can connect the dog and our friend to help control her. She's a lovely dog -- family pet and service animal all in one.

I sat and listened to our friend's parents talk about their challenges: diet, school support, doctors, meds. And while I listened, I watched our friend play, pouring water from a watering can and later pouring tea into tea cups. She'd find a ball and gleefully toss it into the neighbors' backyard.

I can't complain.

Here are two well-educated parents who are full-time advocates for their daughter. And here is a little girl absorbed in her own world. She leaves it temporarily to share a smile, to wear the flipflops of a favorite teacher who has kicked off her shoes, to open a present and paste stickers all over my daughter's legs, to sit on Emma's lap and giggle for a second or two.

These are moments. Small glimpses into her world...

They are fleeting.

They are rich.

They are morsels that these parents work for.

I have these moments.

Every day.

Days full of moments that are longer than just moments...

Some days, I'm so busy working or getting ready for the next moment, that I miss these moments.

For this family, these moments pass too quickly. Because then, our friend is gone.

Back to her watering can.
Back to the balls she quietly throws over the fence all by herself...

And I feel privileged to have seen the smile, to have made a connection, to have a moment with her and my daughter who somehow understands their beauty.

And I think, "Why NOT me?"

I have lots of moments. I can deal with JRA. I can deal with fused joints and chemo drugs.

I have moments.