Much like Alice, Miss Lisha has fallen down the rabbit hole and into what feels like winter right in the middle of summer. I feel a bit bleached and worn through from the inside out--almost as if my self, my soul has been stretched too thin. Why is it that I cannot shut out the pain, push through it, and find the other side? How I wish I were more like Lance Armstrong as he said, "Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever." I hope that tomorrow brings with it a new perspective and a new hope. Surely this cannot hold me hostage much longer. I hope the burning {wo}man will but rest for awhile, quench the fires in my veins, and let me breathe again.

Chronic pain for anyone is a tough pill to swallow. It's something I talk about a lot in life and on this blog. Pain is truly an experience, that only the bearer can ever fully know and endure through. I've watched my son struggle with understanding pain, to put words to it, and learn to control it so that it doesn't control him. He is such a strong child to have done all that he has, lived through all that he has at only seven years, and still jump out of bed with a smile (although not early mind you, Ewan is not an early riser!). I love that Ewan can come out of anesthesia and the first thing he tells me is that 'crap is a funny word'. This is why I giggle when I make up words like 'crapitude' only to see that smile light up his face.

Ewan has had years of therapy visits for all kinds of things, including learning how to eat, how to want to eat, how to enjoy food. Most people don't think about eating or how all consuming that food really is in our lives. For Ewan and for us as his parents, we've always had to think about 3 meals, 2 snacks, drinks, food, food, food--what can we get, what can we serve, what will he eat, and how can we get him to eat it and love food the way we do--every single day of his life. It is a burden not many truly understand and even fewer know how to treat. I am thankful though, to see how Ewan has grown and learned to enjoy the things he loves and how to manage the things he cannot. He perseveres far beyond the confines he was born with and gives me hope that so much can be gained by trusting in others and pushing into the limitless unknown.

So I look to Ewan and all the other children and adults like him for hope; to those who know no limits, no boundaries, no confines, no barriers or obstacles--to those who walk and breathe and live in the face of overwhelming pain.

For tonight, I will think of Elizabeth Barrett Browning when she wrote, "I would rather hope (as I do) that what I lost by one chance I may recover by some future one. Winters shut me up as they do a dormouse's eyes; in the spring, we shall see: and I am so much better that I seem turning round to the outward world again."