Dear Friend,
You knew me before I embraced the journey of motherhood to a child with unique needs. We’ve shared countless joyful moments and navigated life’s challenges together. There are thoughts I’ve kept to myself, simply because they’re not the ones usually spoken aloud. Since becoming Lily’s mom, I’ve seen many friends drift away, but you have remained steadfast.
Most days, I feel isolated. It’s not that I’m physically alone; I’m often surrounded by people. Yet, finding time to engage in meaningful conversation with you seems impossible. It’s challenging to dig deeper when months go by without seeing each other. I truly appreciate you asking how things are going, like, “How’s your relationship?” or “Are you taking time for yourself?” These questions mean the world to me.
I often grapple with guilt for declining most of your invitations. Our therapy sessions usually clash with the women’s gatherings you host. By the time evening rolls around, I’m worn out, so the workout class will just have to wait. Couple’s retreats aren’t even on the table, as we lack the necessary respite care. But dear friend, I can’t express how much your invitations lift my spirits. Each text from you reminds me that I haven’t completely vanished from the world. Thank you for being understanding when I have to cancel our lunch plans at the last moment. I wouldn’t want a friend like me, yet I truly need a friend like you.
My heart swells with joy when you include Lily in your plans. I know it requires extra effort to ensure wheelchair access and consider other accommodations, but I could just hug you for your thoughtfulness. Your children are inherently kind and inclusive, and I’m confident you’re raising some of the most wonderful kids.
There are days that push me to my breaking point, and that’s when you appear like a beacon of support. You check in on me during surgery days, deliver meals when I’m at the hospital, and find ways to uplift my other children. I often wonder if I could be as supportive a friend to you as you are to me if the roles were reversed.
Since our children are of similar ages, most moms might swap tips on potty training or school readiness. Instead, you celebrate Lily’s milestones, like her first steps, even if they come years after your son’s. While many would struggle to hear about yet another medication or surgery, you listen with empathy and understanding.
Moms like me truly need friends like you. So, please, continue to invite me, include me, and make Lily a part of your life.
Warmly,
Your friend
This article originally appeared on July 21, 2015.