Memories

In Dis Abled Mom, Family by Amy BlanchardLeave a Comment

I remember my mother’s words
Of the day that I was born.
She wanted a girl after so many boys
Then she got me – oh the joy.

They said “It’s a girl!”
My mom thrilled to the gills
But, oh dear, trouble’s ahead
Okay, so fix it, just put it to bed.

Hours later, things changed.
“Should we give her, her last rites?”
The nurses wanted to know.
As mom basked in her glow.

But I proved strong
As many disabled babies do.
Doctors report all the worst
While the parents are parched with thirst

For a bright, happy future
For their little bundle of love
To beat all the odds
And put their faith in the gods

I don’t remember being told “you can’t”.
I don’t remember being told “you won’t”.
I don’t remember being told “don’t try”.
I don’t remember wondering, “Me? Why, or why?

I don’t have memories of a sad childhood.
I don’t have memories of pain.
I don’t have memories of boredom and tears.
I don’t have memories like that through the years.

I did it. I won.
I’m happy, healthy and strong.
Now I have my daughter, so sweet.
Life – full of hope, promise – a treat.

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