Thank you, Conley.

Thank you, Conley.

Thank you for helping me become more than just an average mother. For making me a bad ass mother. The mother of all mothers. The ultimate, supreme mother. A superhero mother. A mother who has the ability to understand the true value of many things, in so many ways, that most mothers will never have the chance to learn. Thank you for being my son; my baby. For allowing me to be your mother. My aptitude for compassion and empathy exploded thanks to you, as did my knowledge for life and living. You taught me about myself and more about how to understand others. Death. Trauma. Loss. Grief. Postpartum Depression. Coping. Struggle. Surrender. Survival. Letting go. Moving on. Just to name a few. I've lived and mastered many of these, thanks to you. 

Thank you for making me a better mother to your brother. He benefits every day as a result of you teaching me how to be the best caregiver, especially for any chronically ill child. Lucky for us, your brother is not as sick as you were, but he still requires daily medical care. And I'm not just talking about viruses, colds, teething or temper tantrums; all those things that eventually go away and are developmental. Thanks to you, I appreciate those things, and embrace them. I like when I see a simple cold, or new teeth, or my son showing his will for life. I embrace these milestones, because those are healthy. Yes, they are still hard, and suck, but they are temporary. I'm talking about long term sickness. The ones that are diagnosed by a specialist and forever followed. But as far as I'm concerned, your brother is a piece of cake, because you taught me strength and courage. You taught me that I am capable, skilled and patient. You, Conley, taught me that I can handle whatever comes my way, especially when it involves my children. My tool box is overflowing and continues to grow as a result of the daily lessons you provide me. You see, your brother was officially diagnosed with Panhypopituitarism in February. Yes, during the midst of all the chaos with your cancer and chemotherapy. But, thanks to you, I am not overwhelmed, scared, shocked or in denial, like other mothers may be. I know the drill and I'm on it. Because you taught me to believe in myself and understand that this is what mothers do - they take care of their children, regardless. I just happen to be a mother who has a bit more on her plate. Daily medications, specialists, procedures, ongoing shots. I have tricks now, thanks to you. But his complications are nothing like what we encountered with you, and I am forever thankful for that. You always remind me that things could be worse; always. Always. So I'm thankful it is not worse. 

Thank you for showing me how to work through, and cope, with trauma. All my career, I have "specialized" in trauma work, helping guide others through trauma, yet I never knew the depth of their despair or heartache. I never truly understand nightmares, hypervigilance, flashbacks or sudden crying spells. Now, thanks to you, I get it. I live it. And my compassion and empathy has no boundaries. I see others in pain and my body aches for them. I can feel with them and understand them. I can relate to them. I have tools for them, that come from personal experience, and not just a book. Thank you for showing me that I did not fail. Not one bit. That no one else could have ever loved you the way I did, or allowed you to be the person you were. No one else could have openly and lovingly shared you with the world that way I did, or continue to do. Thank you for showing me that I loved you bravely, and that no one else could have replaced me. 

Thank you for teaching me about balance. Work hard, play harder. Thank you for teaching me that it' is okay to play. It is okay to rest, and take care of myself. It is okay to laugh even though I am grieving. Thank you for showing me that although life is stressful, and serious most of the time, that it is okay to smile and blow kisses. It is okay to make jokes about a serious situation. Thank you for reminding me that it is okay to be sad, and miss you. Because that means I am human. But also for showing me that I have so much to live for and many things waiting for me. Thank you for helping me remember that dwelling in a bad situation or circumstance is not the way I want to live. Thank you for inspiring me to help others.

Thank you for reminding me that it is okay to feel mad, sad, lost, confused, angry, silly, happy, content, guilty, etc. That it is okay to feel weak and powerless. Helpless. Hopeless. Selfish. It is okay to not want to keep going. Thank you for teaching me that letting go can sometimes be worth it. Thank you for giving me the power to know myself well enough to trust my instincts and my gut. Thank you for reminding me that I know myself, and I know my children, without a doubt.

Thank you for showing me how to look at life through the lens of grace. You taught me to walk through fire with poise. You taught me to keep moving forward, no matter how slow you walk, because life does not wait for you to start living. Thank you for showing me that there can be beauty in almost everything, even death. That I may have to look a bit harder, or dig a little deeper, but the beauty is there if I choose to find it. Thank you for showing me how many people care about and love you; love us. How many people care about and love me.



And lastly, thank you for teaching me about love. Unconditional love. Love that has no limits to pain or suffering. Love that guides you and carries you through the worst thing that should never happen to a parent. And by all means, thank you for loving me. Thank you for always allowing me to imagine your face when you looked at me with that love. The love that you knew I was there for you. The deep love that we all strive for in life. Thank you for inspiring me to keep living our life and loving with all I have, and also teaching me that it is okay to sit in the rocking chair in your room for hours and just cry for you. Thank you for reminding me that no matter what I do, that it is enough. Thank you for telling me to not be so hard on myself; that is okay to be vulnerable and weak. Thank you for loving me and for being my son.