Monday, August 24, 2009

Noah's New Gloves

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Noah had his occupational therapy today and was fitted with thumb splints to help him hold his thumbs out so eventually we can teach him how to use his hands. Therapy went well, I really like our therapist, Julie a lot. But my heart is heavy today, and I am sad. This just feels so unfair for Noah and for us. To sit and watch him struggle to hold a toy, to sit, to position his head to reach for anything even his bottle. It makes me twinge with this shooting pain that always takes aim at the very center of my heart and it never misses. They say time heals all wounds, but will my wounds as a mother that has to watch her child try a million times harder than regular children ever heal? Probably not. And I bear the burden of therapy on my own. I know that Chris would gladly be there if he could, if he wasn't slaving away trying to make just enough money for us to get by without a raise in sight. I see it in his face every night when he gets home the worry of trying to provide for the three of us and two very hungry dogs. He has his own weight on his shoulders, just as I have mine.

Sometimes I think there's not a single thing I could write that could even explain the gravity of what I often feel. The sinking feeling, the heartbreak, the laughter behind the tears, the hope, the loss, the promise each new day brings along with the pain and often sorrow filled moments. Yet there's Noah who smiles and laughs through it all. He doesn't even recognize that he's different, doesn't yet know that he cannot do what others can. I worry about the day when he does know, will his spirits be able to soar beyond cruel words from others, the hurt of kids teasing. Will the comfort of his mother's arms be enough to make up for what was lost at his birth? I'm sure Chris would say something brilliant like don't worry about things we can't fix today. Noah's daddy has some pretty unbelievable courage and strength set aside especially for him. All the while he allows me my window of worry, sadness, tears and motherly anguish. Yet he makes sure that I also focus on all the "rainbows" in Noah's life. He has no GI tube, he socializes, recognizes people, makes attempts to roll and grab, that he laughs appropriately to things that are funny, that he likes to be kissed on and loved.

There's so many theraputical things we're trying to get Noah. In therapy we played with a little blow up therapy pony named Rody. For those of you that have given your hearts and helped donate money for Noah, I'd like to tell you all the wonderful things that it is going towards. Things like Rody, and therapy equipment and toys. Things that may seem little but mean so much that we can get them for Noah to help him reach his goals. We wouldn't have been able to get Noah these things without your help. I'm sure there is a lot more Noah will need down the road, but as Chris says we'll cross that bridge as we come to it.

To each and everyone one of you thank you from the bottom of my heart. I may never know all your names, some of you I may never get the chance to personally meet and hug, but there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of each and everyone of you that has helped us.
Eventually when I can get Noah in a good place, I'd love to start a non-profit organization in his name to help give back to other children that need help purchasing therapy related items.
These items aren't covered by health insurance and it would mean so much for me to help another family who is facing our same journey.
I've attached a picture of Noah's "boxing gloves" or better known as his therapy splints. He's been a really good sport about wearing them today.
Stacy, Chris & Noah