A Rare Kind of Love

My sweet son, you may never know the depths of my love for you. Ours is a rare kind of love.

You may never know how many times I wept alone on the bathroom floor curled into a ball, begging God to heal you. It was the only place I could be alone and lock the door so you wouldn’t see me in this state of deep distress.

You’ll never know how many nights I woke up to turn you in the middle of the night because you were too weak to turn yourself. And then how many hours I lay awake afterward, unable to fall asleep, filled with fear for your life.

You may never know the countless mornings I woke, overcome with dread, to take you to an MRI, or to meet with a team of specialists who would tell me everything that was wrong with you, or to an all-day surgery, or to yet another uncomfortable procedure.

You’ll never know how hard it was to hold you down while you cried all through a painful medical treatment because I knew it was going to help save your life.

You may never know how I wrestled with difficult decisions for your health because no one could tell me definitively and with absolutes that one way or the other was the best route to choose.

You’ll never know how badly my body ached in pain from injuries due to constant overuse. Or how hard it was to hear doctors telling me that my cortisol is depleted and that the stress is taking a toll.

You may never know how many times I felt like I was barely able to keep my chin above water, to keep our household functioning, to keep regular relationships intact, and to keep you and your brother experiencing somewhat of a normal childhood.

You may never know. The truth is, I hope you never will.

I don’t need you to know. I didn’t do it for that. I did it, and continue to do it, because I love you.

I do it because I want to see you healthy.

I do it because I want to see you happy.

I do it because I want you to have every opportunity to grow and thrive.

I do it for love.

This is the love of a mother. This is love in action.

It is this love that allows me to go and do the hardest things that I never thought I’d be able to do.

It is this love that permits me to wake up each day and do it again.

It is this love that lets me choose not to be a martyr because I don’t want that for you.

You may never know because I don’t want you to. What I want you to know is that I love you.

Somedays, when I am sitting next to you, doing the most ordinary thing like helping you with your shoes, you lean over and kiss me on my cheek. Or you turn my face toward yours and look at me and say, “Mom, I love you.”

My child, I love you too. Oh, how I love you too.

This is a rare kind of love.

It’s rare, complex, and beautiful, just like you.