When you find something you thought was lost, you feel relief. Excitement floods your body at the sight of that lost item and you are overjoyed. But, when you find something that you never knew existed, the feelings are unexplainable. A thousand emotions run through you and at the heart of them all is surprise. I felt that exact emotion the year after my mother passed away. I came across my old senior portrait in a frame that had hung for decades at my parents’ home. It had been sitting in a moving box in my basement. Something made me go through that box and pick up that frame. Something made me bend back the hooks and remove the cardboard backing. There I found the most beautiful image I had seen in years. It was a sketching of my mother from 1951. An artist must have drawn her as a young woman when she visited Coney Island with friends. I immediately felt her presence, and, in that picture, I saw her innocence. She had already survived the loss of both of her parents; yet, she hadn’t met my father and she hadn’t started her journey through motherhood. She hadn’t started that journey through the sorrow and the joy. I never expected to find such a treasure. I never even knew it existed. It made me think about my journey and I realized I had found so many things along the way that I never knew existed within myself. Finding that sketch was the beginning of finding myself. You’ll be surprised at what you find out about yourself when you’re ready to open your eyes.

“Always remember that you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think and loved more than you’ll ever know.” (A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh). I had never truly believed I was any of those things. Bravery is reserved for soldiers and heroes. Strength is found in those that overcome great physical obstacles. Intelligence is something inherent in those with years and years of eduction and schooling. Being loved by many is something the pious and benevolent possess. It took me years to uncover and “find” those traits that I never knew were part of me. It took me until now to understand, accept and let go of the voices in my head and the guilt in my heart. It took me twenty something years to “find” myself . As I sat in amazement holding that sketch of my mother I had found, I realized that I was about to discover so much more.

I found my bravery. I believe there is bravery in every mother that holds their child through any illness, rocks them to sleep after hours of crying, holds their child’s hand while looking into the eyes of a doctor telling them very difficult things, and realizes their child is never going to be like other children. Courage, fortitude and fearlessness reside in every mother. I was no different. I held my baby girl after every seizure, rode with her in ambulances comforting her as best I could, rocked her to sleep hundreds of times when she fought rest with every ounce of her being, held her hand while doctor’s told me what it was going to be like for the next twenty years and, more importantly,  I looked into the eyes of that little girl and told her she was “smart” and that people were looking at her because she was “beautiful.” Years ago I wanted to run and hide because I was ashamed. Those aren’t exactly hallmarks of bravery, of course, guilt never let me forget that I had those feelings. Guilt kept reminding me that I once didn’t want that baby girl and that I didn’t want to be her mother. I found my bravery when I quieted that voice.

I found my strength. Stability and tenacity were never my strong suits. If you asked me what I wanted for breakfast I’d simply say, “whatever you’re having.” If I disagreed with someone, I kept it to myself, smiled and walked away. When something seemed too difficult, I moved on to something else. I was always changing my mind and doubting every decision I made without fail. I crumbled under pressure, especially when I felt the weight of responsibility.  I was never strong, at least, not on my own. But, when Boy was around, his strength lifted me. He set the compass for due North and that’s where we headed. He took the reigns and always got us back on track. His strength, decisiveness and authority put me back together when I was rubble. When I couldn’t handle being her mother, he’d carry the burden for both of us and when I shared my guilt with him………he listened and understood. In life there are so many decisions; so many choices to be made. Neither one of us knew what the right choices were, but, at least, he was there for me when I needed it the most. Through him I found my strength.

I found my intelligence. I remember the first time holding that baby girl and how scared I was. Every parent has that moment when they realize they have no idea what they are doing. I felt that often. I had no idea what to do with a child that wasn’t “typical” and that almost drove me to give up and walk away. But, something inside me wanted to learn and something inside me wanted to understand. I read books, talked to professionals and found myself back in the classroom all because of that little girl. I found my purpose and my passion and I finally realized I was smarter than I ever let myself imagine. I had no purpose and no passion when I first started out in college. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. Boy and I both took our time in that area. We actually grew up…… together. There is no better platform for learning than struggle. There are no better avenues to learn than the streets of life. I learned everything by walking down those unlit streets of Holland; turning on lights one at a time. I still have plenty of lights to ignite, but I’m more sure of how to do that than I was twenty something years ago. I believe more in my ability than I ever did.

I found love. More importantly, I realized the value of loving others and the strength in loving yourself. That sketch of my mother that was hidden away for years, hangs in a frame outside my bedroom door. It reminds me everyday about the importance of loving others. Her example of selflessness lives in my heart. Family was everything to her and she gave so much of herself to them. My brother and I were loved and we never doubted it for a second. She took on our problems and our worries and prayed for us to find our way through them. I kept so many things from her because I knew how she worried and I didn’t want to be a burden to her. But, she instinctively knew everything and when I would open up to her she’d cry for me and tell me that, “she knew” something wasn’t right. She would have given her life to make things better for her children. That kind of love for others is what I’ve found through my own children. But, loving myself was much more of a challenge and something that has taken years to finally comprehend. Those voices kept me down. Those voices whispered over and over again that I wasn’t good enough or strong enough. That picture of my mother reminds me everyday not to listen those whispers. That’s not what she would have wanted. That’s not what she would want to be her legacy.  “Stop hating yourself for everything you aren’t; start loving yourself for everything you are.” Author Unknown.

I also found forgiveness. When you’re used to blaming yourself for everything, absolution is hard to find. Most of us live with guilt over something and those without it don’t know how lucky they are. The tears still continue to fall when I look at her sometimes. That dream I had for her all those years ago continues to appear from time to time. I’m not free from those thoughts or feelings; but I’m able to forgive myself for having them. I still get mad at her for being different. I’m only human. And, I still blame myself for her disabilities. I understand that I shouldn’t spend my whole life wishing for something to be different. So, I accept the guilt, let it go and then forgive myself. I allow the tears and the self-doubt. “Remember when you forgive, you heal. And when you let go, you grow.” Author Unknown.

Finally, I found my story. Everyone has a story. I never thought mine was an important one. I didn’t survive a horrible tragedy. I haven’t had to face many of the atrocities the world hands many individuals. I’m grateful for that. I’m grateful to have been raised by two wonderful parents. I found love with a Boy at the tender age of 19 and we’re still together. I have three beautiful children and I’ve watched them grow into loving and compassionate individuals. I never thought there was much in my story and I downplayed it as much as I could. The only reason I kept diaries and held onto those journals was for myself. To remind myself of the way it used to be. That story sat in boxes. Those poems sat stagnant in manilla folders tucked away in drawers. I started putting things together and realized something. As I laid everything down in front of me, I finally could see it. I could see the progression from a young, naive, scared young girl to a more confident, intelligent and grateful woman. At that moment, I knew I  needed to share my story. I knew I needed to set it free from those journals, diaries and manilla folders. I wanted to write it down and share it and finally set it free. I wanted to stand and share my story so that I could finally begin to heal and so that others could know that they aren’t alone. And, as I sit here and write these final words, I close my eyes and see my mother’s face and hear her beautiful voice faintly singing in the distance;  “When you walk through a storm, Hold your head up high, And don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm, Is a golden sky, And the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind; Walk on through the rain, Tho’ your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on, With hope in your heart, And you’ll never walk alone, You’ll never walk alone.” (Rogers and Hammerstein).