The story of Wafa
Dear Mom,
I watch you take your child to therapy while your friends take their children to soccer or dance.
I see you avoiding conversations where your loved ones congratulate each other on their children’s accomplishments. At the same time happy for them and embarrassed somewhere by their indifference towards your child for whom everything is complicated.
I watch you juggle as best you can between your house, the multiple weekly therapeutic appointments, the doctors and the school, when your child is extremely lucky to have one adapted to his needs. I see you facing the ruthless administration. Always with my head held high. Valiant mother.
I see you sitting for hours at the computer researching what therapy your child needs or looking for other moms like you. Both companions in misfortune and in arms. To be able to hold the moral blow.
I see the sadness and anger on your face when you hear people complaining about nothing, while you don’t plan your life beyond the next month.
I see you waking up early in the morning and tackling your duty as a mother without ever complaining, despite yet another sleepless night.
I know you feel invisible, as if no one sees all the clouds that envelop you. As if you were just a shadow of yourself even after so many years of fighting.
Yet I see you continue at all costs to move forward and move mountains forever to your child the best possible.
In these days when you wonder if you can do more, I want you to know that the unconditional love you have for your child is your most powerful weapon, and that you are the embodiment of it.
This text is not a complaint, it is a tribute to all mothers of disabled children who fight in the shadows to allow their children to exist tomorrow.