Friday, August 26, 2011

One unlucky day.

A few weeks ago, a man at the pool told me I was "a wonderful person", as I hoisted Amy from the pool to the hot tub, the hot tub to the pool, and back out again, echoing sentiments my mom heard for 23 years, and I'm no stranger to.  And it's not just strangers, even friends sometimes express such things.  I don't dislike it, I mean, there are some thing I've given up and some choices I've made, and shit, this stuff is taxing, so ok, tell me how great I am.  But the truth is, if you have a heart, and were in the same situation, you'd do it, too.  And the people who wouldn't?  I don't think I'm close to you. 

Long story short, Amy is me.  We have the same parents, the same mannerisms, our bodies look pretty alike.  Amy had one bad day, no fault of her own -- the 24 hours immediately prior to her birth -- and she's paid a huge price for it.  When I look at Amy, I see myself, and one poorly placed bad day that changed her life forever and took away so much.  It could have just as easily been me. 

It's not guilt that drives me to work for Amy and collapse in  emotional pain when she is in emotional pain, although sometimes I mislabel it as that.  It's compassion so extreme it cripples me.

She is me.  I am her.


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