My 39th Birthday Yesvember

So, there is this amazing lady in my life who has taken it upon herself to create a movement called YesVember.  Each day in November, she posts a challenge of something to say YES to…the challenge is to actually say yes and do it. 

As the universe would have it, on the day of my 39^th birthday, here is the challenge:

            Think about a great memory from the last year. If you’ve had a rough year, go back two years, or five even if you have to. When you decide what that memory is, spend some time thinking about that day, that vacation, whatever it might be.
          Then, write about it. Write it like a story. Think 4th grade writing assignment where you use all of your best descriptive words, etc. Start with “My best memory was….” and make a potential reader feel like they are there with you. Talk about the people that were there with you, and how they made you feel. Describe the surroundings. Write as much as you can.
         For those who love writing assignments, go ahead! Do a rough draft and a re-write! For those who love drawing, add illustration! If you have this ability, you should use it whenever you can! (Those of us who can’t draw a straight line are jealous of you.)
         For those who hate writing, just make sure you get the most important parts down. What are the most important parts, you ask? It’s whatever it was, that makes it the such a special memory.

        Now, part two: Make a copy. Or three. Or ten. Because you need to give a copy to every person in your story. If it’s someone who lives with you, you can give it to them however you’d like (with a note of explanation, or not). If it’s your young children, read it to them! How much will they love knowing they’re part of your best memory?! If they don’t live with you, mail it to them (again, with a note of explanation, or not).

Happy writing!

Well, it’s safe to say that those who know me know that I am rarely at a loss for words when it comes to the written word.

Truth be told, however, this one tripped me up a bit.  I didn’t exactly follow the rules.
  
As I think back on the last couple of years, no single moment came to mind as being more favorite than the rest.  So, I started thinking…which I tend to do…about why I couldn’t pinpoint that single moment.  My first thought was that, respectively, compared to years past, my life has been pretty uneventful, but I truly had to disregard that because my life is full of amazing moments everyday. 

Stop. 

Re-read. 

I said amazing.  Not perfect.  But the poignant ones…the deepest-felt moments of ordinary, of joy, of heartache, of shitty, of pride that I experience with my kindred spirits (sorry, couldn’t help the Anne Shirley reference)…all combine to form this favorite life of mine.  Not perfect, but favorite. 

I was sharing with my niece not long ago, and then with my sister-in-law a few weeks later, that I feel as I grow older, I am cutting ties a bit.  I am safeguarding my time and my soul more.  My niece had asked me who my “people” are these days, and I offered to her that I feel like I have really honed in on people who are real to me, meaning people who are not afraid to expose the imperfect while also celebrating the joys.  I don’t have time or strength to pretend to be perfect or to pretend that my kids are perfect or my life or my job or my marriage is perfect.  But I deeply value those who understand that though none of it is perfect, it is my favorite.  I am still learning that I love my times of heartache as much as my times of joy because they teach me so much about the power of the human spirit, our power to be there for one another and with one another, and our capacity to grow and learn and evolve from our mistakes and our misfortunes.

So…my favorite moment is not a moment, but a constellation of moments with incredible people which make my life what it is.  It is a deep feeling I have in my heart for each and every person in my life who allows me to be real and loves me despite this.  I can’t cover them all….but…

To my Bill…who gets the biggest dose of the real me and is still here after 15+ years.  My life simply would not be my favorite without you.  To my kids—my amazing (Stop.  Re-read.  I said amazing.  Not perfect.) littles who make my daily moments my favorites.  To my parents, who welcomed me into this world 39 years ago and haven’t given up on me yet.  To my “person” Wendy--the person who will always be my person.  To my extended family members who have become friends alike.   To my coworkers who accept my full-on sarcasm, make me laugh everyday, and make my job my favorite.  To all of my friends who are really my friends because we talk about more than the weather or our schedules or how amazing our kids are.   And to those people, near and far, past or present, with whom I have been connected for a long or short while, who have challenged me to grow and learn and evolve and be grateful for all of my moments—the amazing and the ugly.  You maybe don’t realize you are one of them, but the feeling of gratefulness in my heart tells me differently.    

You make my life my favorite. 

Time Didn't Freeze...

Not but a couple of short months ago, I wished for a long, drawn-out summer.  However, today, I found myself out on the porch, taking the first obligatory "First Day of School" pictures and wondering where the time has gone.

Three kids...each so different...each starting a new journey.

This girl started middle school today--6th grade--which of course, doesn't seem at all possible.  Armed with her version of command central on wheels (a bag with a laptop, portable long distance magnifier, iPad, hand-held magnfier, blue-tooth keyboard, and phone) and an appropriate mix of excitement and nervousness, she declared she would be finding her own way into school.  She donned her rose-colored glasses and did just that, declaring the day a success at its closure. 

And then there is this beautiful, quiet girl.  More cerebral and less vocal, in her quiet confidence, she met her teacher on the playground and cautiously dipped her toes in the water of 4th grade, thinking and thinking and thinking about what it may hold.  The day was declared a success in her mind as well; she is already enamored with her teacher and drawn in by the exciting learning opportunities that the year holds.  The fact that they have a "coffee shop time" each week where they get to drink hot chocolate and discuss books will predictably be one of the passions for this little bookworm.  (I'm raising my hand to volunteer during that hour.)

Finally, this guy.  In an uncharacteristic display of shyness, he had last minute second thoughts in front of the school amid the massive amounts of moving bodies.  However, once he realized that one of his baseball buddies is in his class, the apprehension quickly dissolved; with the snap of a finger, my little babe was left at the entrance to his elementary school career.  The moment that he first tread on the grounds of Reeder Elementary School as a 2-month-old to drop Camille off at Kindergarten is still pretty vivid in my mind.

As we know, time flies.  We were fortunate enough to spend this past weekend celebrating the wedding of my nephew Joey and my new niece Elizabeth near Washington D.C.  It was such a privilege and joy to be a part of this day of their lives.  Liz has a presence that is completely infectious; she is such a present being.  I found myself just watching her embrace every moment sincerely and purposefully.  In my younger years, I allowed myself the same presence.  Often, admittedly, in the hectic moments of raising 3 kids, maintaining a household, and investing myself in work, I find myself and my mind spread between so many places that it is hard to be purposefully present.  But...Liz has inspired me again to listen and lead more with my heart, so that even though time doesn't freeze, hopefully the moments will stay longer in my memory because they were lived with purpose. 






Here's to new adventures.

Birthdays, Bacon and Bills

 Whelp, we officially have an eleven-year-old in the house…and the celebrating has not been disappointing. 

While she will get a chance to celebrate with some friends next weekend, this weekend, we focused on family time, and it has been a great day.  As time with Camille would have it, there have been a multitude of unforgettable Camille-style one-liners one second mixed in with sentimental-ness the next. 

On her birthday eve last night after I had made sure she had dutifully put in her eye drop, she told me of the things she wanted to do today.  Mostly, this girl loves the gift of time, and the fact that Grammie and Pappie were here and Aunt Sissy would be over made it ever-so-sweeter.  Her lone specific request was a homemade breakfast (inclusive of bacon).  Oh, and she was excited to see what presents she might receive.  And she would love a game marathon. 

But, as I shut off the light and started to shut the door, she said, with utter sweetness:

“Mom…”

“Yes, Camille?”

“Thanks for giving me such a good life.” 

“Oh, Camille.  Thanks for living such a great life.”

Cue giggles:

“And PLEASE don’t forget to go buy bacon.” 

This pretty much sums up her age and her personality.  So reflective on one hand but so goofy on the other. 

Admittedly, we took the plunge and got her a phone.  I won’t go in to the deliberation that went into this decision.  She’s not one to beg for material things; in fact, she has been so concerned that she might lose it that she has shied from vocalizing that she wanted one.  Bill and I made the purchase last week, and in our nighttime wrap up last night, she said, “You know when I said before that I didn’t want a phone?  I’m wondering now if it would be a good idea…”

So, when she opened it up today, she was a million shades of excited.  Being the tech-lover that she is, she was all over it, entering the numbers of family and sending messages off to a few friends.  It was fun to see this passage—seeing how far she has come.  Her giggling and laughter was contagious as a constellation of pings came flying back her way. 

Later in the afternoon, as she was getting ready to go out in the water with Liv, she approached me with a very somber look on her face.  I could tell that something was wrong, but knew that it would take a bit of coaxing to get it out, as it so goes with Camille.

“Mom, I love you.  Thanks for today.”

 

“I love you, too.  What’s the matter?”

“Well, I’m wondering now that I have a phone, I probably need to pay the bill…and I don’t have a….do I need to start giving you my allowance?”

“Dad and I will pay it for now…you can pay it when you’re older.” 

“Whew!  All the sudden, I feel so much better about this!” 

And off she flew. 

After having had birthdays that were pretty atypical, complete with ER visits and glaucoma, I am pretty tickled that today, we got to bask in what was seemingly a pretty typical birthday eleven-year-old style. 

I am grateful. 

A Goosebumps Kind of Day

This blog post has been several years in the making because I’ve never felt like I could do it justice.  Though I still doubt that I will, here it goes….

This morning, I got to stand next to one of my dear friends as we watched the news report the Supreme Court ruling in favor of same-sex marriage.  As goosebumps literally crawled up my spine, I stole a sideways glance at him, and quickly realized that the depth of my emotion could in no way compare to his.  Someday soon, I will ask him what was going through his mind as a gay man in that moment, but right then, the only thing I could do was feel.  No words were adequate, but it was a great, great privilege to spend that moment with him, celebrating that moment that was long overdue. 

Life has afforded me many blessings in the people I have met who have taught me well and still have a lot to teach me.  Many patients, friends, and people I hold so very dear to my heart have allowed me to listen to their stories over the years of my adult life about their experiences of being LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual or Transgender).   Though I have been allowed to hear their stories, I will never understand what it means to be LGBT.  That’s okay.  Newsflash: My friends who are LGBT can’t comprehend what it feels like to be straight (and believe me, many have tried).  Truth be told, it doesn't matter if we comprehend it.  

(Sidenote:  I also can’t comprehend what it means to be left-handed, brown-eyed, an astronaut, Canadian, or someone who likes little weenie hotdogs with barbecue sauce (barf), but I really feel that people who have these traits are good people, too, and they probably aren’t ruining my life while on a fast train to hell.) 

What matters is that their stories have deeply engrained in me the belief that everyone has the right to love and be loved.  No one else has the right to determine for us who that should or should not be.  True love is not a dangerous, devious, sinful thing that is harmful in nature.  It inspires us to be better.

The stories I have heard have caused me to think deeply.  I have met SO many people who have been ostracized, intentionally excluded, abandoned by family and friends, and marginalized because of their sexual orientation.  I have seen people try to be “healed of their gayness,” or try to live as a straight person in order to conform to the expectations of society or family, only to have their life fall apart because they were not living as themselves.  I have heard countless accounts of suicidal ideation, depression, and anxiety as people try to grapple with feelings of trying to be who people say they should be as opposed to who they are.  I have seen self-loathing and shame inflicted upon people by themselves because they have been made to think that they are sinners by those around them who feebly attempt to take on God’s job description (which somehow magically became humanly known). 

And I have asked myself:

• ·      What if someone told me that loving Bill is wrong?
• ·      What if I was made to want with all my heart to marry and commit myself to him, but was denied that right?
• ·      What if I started to hate myself for feeling an emotion as pure as love?
• ·      What if I felt like I had to hide the deepest parts of myself?
• ·      What if my family never wanted to see me again because I loved a man?  Would I be able to fall in love with a woman?  Nope.  Then what? 
• ·      What if I was told that God created all humans, knows every part about us, and loves us more deeply than we can ever know…and God doesn’t make mistakes….but somehow you have to not be the person you were born to be…or well, you can be that person but not BE that person.  WHAT???
• ·      What if I lived and never felt wholly validated…by society…by the law…by family or friends…by people who know nothing about me?

I have also seen victories.  I have witnessed people who are LGBT who have been unconditionally loved and supported by family and or friends; it is a beautiful thing.  I have witnessed loving and committed relationships grow and thrive and be shining examples of love for us all.  I have seen same sex couples raise beautiful children and be among the finest examples of families that I know.  I have witnessed people feeling free to be themselves, and in doing so, profoundly touching the lives of others. 

Today was a beautiful day.  I celebrate the fact that my children will grow up in this age of marriage equality, be they straight, gay, lesbian, transgender or bisexual.  I hope that this is another step towards acceptance by all for all. 

And yes, I am Christian.  I am Catholic.  I love our new Pope and pray change and respect will come for all in all faiths.  As inspired by my LGBT friends who practice their faith, I will keep the faith that I mostly love, being a steady agent for change from within.  I know that I am not alone.  And yes, I believe Jesus is smiling today (though I can’t say for sure because I, in fact, am not Jesus).   

So, to my dear ones who have fought this good fight for so long, I celebrate this victory.  I am thankful for this validation of you.  Your joy is my joy. 

To those who doubt, I beg you to find someone and listen –really listen--openly to their story and just imagine what life would be like if the tables were turned.  Listening has taught me so much.

Bittersweet Transitions

Well, another year is wrapping up today with the closing festivities which end the school year and signal the commencement of summer.

I, like all other parents of their children, am proud of the girls and the great years they have had AND am so thankful that they loved their teachers and school experiences so much that they really weren’t counting down the days until summer.  And I’m proud of Jack, who somehow managed to make it on “blue” (the mark of great behavior in Preshool) despite his “Livin’ Large” philosophy at home. 

This year marks a transition year for Camille, which is a term that means something to everyone who has kids going off to middle school, but a year that carries a lot more verb-age, planning, and pause for reflection for parents who have children with visual impairments. 

I think about where she was when she started Preschool 8 years ago at Reeder, and I see her now, and my heart stands in awe at her transformation. 

My head is flooded with images of blessings, mostly in the form of people who have invested themselves in her and allowed her to grow and THRIVE.  The road has certainly not been always easy; there were times, especially early on, when Bill and I succumbed to tears at night at the stinging words of the naysayers or the seeming impossibilities of navigating the unknowns and the obstacles.  Not so anymore.  She is carving out her niche, and we have had many, many gracious, amazing people who were instrumental in her successes in the academic world.  This makes saying goodbye to Reeder Elementary so very bittersweet. 

There really hasn’t been a time when Camille hasn’t had a teacher in her life.  Since the age of four months, she has had a highly educated Teacher of the Visually Impaired in her life, simply because it is recognized that kids with sensory impairments learn differently as youngsters (and sometimes, as parents, we are pretty dense).  We’ve had a Jayme, a Beth, and a Carrie who were teachers and strongholds for us from the get-go, encouraging us to carry on when the world would say differently—and they were the ones with the expertise to see long term.  We’ve had and still have a Mrs. LeAnna, who teaches cane travel, imparts wisdom about adaptive technology, and stood at the window with me watching Camille try to climb backwards up a slide, refusing help, and refusing to give up (all the while reminding me that her tenacity would someday serve her well).

But I also need to give credit to the people who are not specialists in vision who have been equal champions and life-changers for Camille.  Sandy & Jessy lifted her up in Preschool, Maria the Magnificent transformed from preschool para to captain of the Reeder Ship & KSF (kindred soul forever), Terri and Keri had my number at the “Come Put the Eye Back In” hotline and never blinked an eye when they had to call, Mrs. Dahlhauser never held my crazy against me as I cried like a baby on Camille’s last day of school with her, Dan the custodian—supporter extraordinare and prosthetic eye buddy, Mrs. Standish, Mr. Heiss who somehow made her a P.E. lover, Mrs. Wolfe, and many others.  We also hit the jackpot in Mrs. Roberts.--how do you thank a principal who is a big-picture thinker who single-handedly changed the course of your child’s education?  You can’t.  Not enough. 

Which brings me to this last year—Mrs. Roberts’ parting gift for our Camille and our family: giving us the teacher combo of the century.  The amazing Mrs. Cindy Barr-McNair (Camille’s itinerant vision teacher for the past 3 years) and Mrs. Ann Burmeister (Camille’s 5^th grade teacher), have inspired, taught, and invested their hearts out to put a big whopping exclamation point on elementary school.  This has been a year filled with critical thinking, independence, adaptive technology, exploration, problem-solving, self-advocacy, leadership, and a continued love of learning---a year that is certainly hard to end.  As Camille best put it this morning, “I don’t know how to feel.  I am happy for summer, kind of excited about middle school, but so sad to say goodbye to Mrs. Burmeister and so many people at Reeder.”  Camille is typically a pretty straight-forward gal, not particularly dramatic, rarely sheds tears.  Yet, I could not get the girl to leave the school today, and it brought tears to my eyes when we finally got out the front door, and she just stopped, turned around, and scanned the front of the school, taking it all in.  I’m so proud of her maturity as she processed this pivotal moment.  Quiet tears streamed down her face in the car on the way home.  She was heartbroken to be leaving because she realized the gifts she had received.  Nearest to her heart was knowing that she was done in her 5^th grade classroom, which I assure you, was an phenomenal place.  “Mom, I just had this feeling come over me, and I tried to hold the tears in…I really did.  I just can’t.“ 

It’s okay to cry, Camille; it means you’ve been deeply touched by amazing people.

            The following link is to an iMovie that Camille made under the guidance of her incredible Mrs. McNair to send ahead of her to her teachers at Beadle Middle School.  For my vision friends…how lucky are we?  The making of this video encompasses so many facets of the Expanded Core Curriculum, was a phenomenal experience for Camille to speak for herself while learning about technology, and will make her less ‘scary’ on paper.  After all, if we are being real, on paper a “legally blind child with an orthopedic impairment” looks a lot scarier than the spunky, bright soul that is our Camille.

  

Click here for Camille's Transition Video

When Your Eyeball Falls Out

If that didn't pike some interest, what kind of title would?  

To appreciate the heart of the dialogue that took ten seconds on a dog-walk last fall, you have to know the background.  So, for those who aren't familiar with eyeball history O'Neill style, a synopsis:

With Camille's micro prematurity came her Retinopathy of Prematurity, an eye disease that caused her vision loss.  ROP doesn't always rear its head in preemies, but the earlier in preemie, the more likely it will.  Severe forms of ROP that are unresponsive to a little laser therapy are rare.  Camille was among the chosen few.  

I liken ROP in it's worst form to a natural disaster such a tornado, a typhoon, a tsunami, a hurricane…take your pick.  The disease explodes in the eyes, wreaks havoc, creates a bunch of damage in a short amount of time, and then leaves, never to be seen again.   If you are lucky, a very proactive retinal specialist is on board from the beginning.  If not, you may be fortunate enough to find a good one to try to rebuild the eye after the damage has been done.  

We were fortunate enough to find Camille's amazing retinal specialist, Dr. Michael Trese, after much damage had occurred.  He did repair as much as he could, and his career passion affords the vision that she has today in her left eye.  Unfortunately, for her right eye, by the time we got to him, it was too late.  After the disease hit, she never regained any vision in her right eye.  Though he tried to provide "palliative care" for it, the anatomy inside was…well…a mess.  Between 18 months and 3 years of age, this led to increased pressure, struggles with the pain of glaucoma, and eventual enucleation (removal) of the right eye at the University of Iowa.  The oculoplastic surgeon there implanted a super cool acrylic ball which got sewn into her eye muscles to allow synchronicity of movement between her prosthetic eye and her real eye.  Six months post-enucleation, we met Vaugn, the master eye-maker extraordinaire, who has since been creating very intricate pieces of artwork disguised as eyeballs that have fooled many an ophthalmologist.  This removable piece is essentially shaped like a quarter moon.   Every couple of years as Camille grows, she gets a new one crafted.  It can be taken out, but we don't ever do it on purpose, unless for some reason it becomes irritated and needs to be washed off.  

It would follow, however, according to Murphy's law, that at least once every year during her youngest elementary school years, it would somehow work its way out of her head and into the middle of the floor when the class was gathered around for circle time.  It then followed that the teacher would have to conduct a debriefing session about why it wasn't bleeding as Camille plodded up to the nurses station, I would get a call to come slide it back in, and life would go back to normal…if that's what you call it.  Not kidding…this happened three years in a row.  

I'm getting there…the heart of the tale. 

Fast forward to Camille at age 10.  We are really fortunate to be at a great school, and Camille is really fortunate to have a lot of friends who don't really "see" her obvious differences.  To give her some credit, she's an easy kid to be around---generally fun, kind, bright, and easy-going.  However, there is one guy in particular who I just love.  I won't call him out, though his mom probably wouldn't care if I did.  Even when she was still physically less stable and pretty slow when she was 6-7, he would see her out on Halloween and shout, "Camille!!!  Wanna come with us??"  

Sometime last fall, when the weather was still nice, Camille and I had taken Vinny out for a short jaunt after dinner.  This friend of whom I speak doesn't live too far from us, and as we were walking by his house, I heard the door to his house burst open, and he ran out, joining Camille ahead of me for a bit.  They were chatting about their dogs, something about school--I guess 10-year-old things--when without even pausing, he said to her, "Hey, Camille, do you remember that time in school when your eye fell out and rolled onto the floor?"  She replied without pause, "YES!  That was HIL-ar-ious!" To which he said, "Yeah, that was so cool."  

And then they just kept talking about the rest of their night. 

Oh, that we all have friends who love our idiosyncrasies, and tell us that the things that make us so unique are, in fact, very cool.  

I'm happy to say that, as an adult, I have found friends who love me when, metaphorically, my eyeball falls out.  I wish this for all of my children as they grow in life.  The unique ability to be transparent is a true gift in a society where we often feel the pressure to hide our flaws, which can, in fact, be the things that make us beautiful.    

A little ditty about bravery….

Curses, Veronica Roth!!  

Before you get all judgy on me for reading a book series marketed towards teens, hear me out.  Over the holiday, I finished the third book in the Divergent series, Allegiant.  (Finishing the series cemented my recent feeling that there are some current "teen" writers who are so very wise in the life lessons they have to share; my hope is that the teenage population reading them has the wisdom to really discover the lessons, or at least tuck them away, albeit unknowingly, until life beckons them to surface later.)  

So a bit of background…  One of my little known secrets is that if I had been less practical in my late teens and early twenties, I probably would have majored in English.  One of my favorite classes of all time was an Honors English class I took at UNL called "Stories and Human Experience," taught by Debbie Minter, which was, in a nutshell, a whole semester of exploring why we connect to what we read.  We examined what others said about the topic, we wrote about the topic, we did a capstone project on the topic..you name it.  The verdict:  we likely love the books that we love because we forge connections with the content or the characters.  That class changed my relationship with books, or at least matured it and magnified it.  The books I love the most-- my "bookshelf" status books---are those that have become meaningful to me because of my connection to them.  They make it off of the Kindle app into print or out of the donation pile and onto the mantle to forever remind me that there is great wisdom within the pages.  

So, yes, the Divergent series has made it onto the bookshelf.  As I read the last few chapters of the third book in the series, I thought a big part of me really wanted things to wrap up nicely and neatly with the metaphorical hard-fought, fairy-tale, happily-ever-after, predictable ending.  Spoiler alert:  that is not what happened, and I was REALLY irritated.  I cried.  After three books worth of very well-done character development which left me in Tobias's corner (one of the protagonists), cheering for and anticipating his happy ending, my hopes were shattered along with his.  In one fell swoop, Veronica Roth smashed his dreams, his happiness slipped away, intense grief washed over him, life as he knew it was gone, and he found himself face-to-face with the dystopian-world, futuristic version of suicide.  Yet, he chose bravery.  True bravery.  In his voice, Veronica Roth speaks this wisdom:

"There are so many ways to be brave in this world.  Sometimes, bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else.  Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater.  But sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life.  That is the sort of bravery I must have now."  

Just like that, the connection became monumental and the Divergent series became bookshelf status.  Had it wrapped up in a nice bow with a predictable happy ending, it would have been good, but not great and bookshelf-worthy.  At the risk of getting overly dramatic, I connected to Tobias's words in a big way, as I'm sure many do for a variety of reasons.  I have felt the intense pain of loss so deep that waking up to face the day seems insurmountable in itself.  I have been engrossed in moments where I've found myself, like him, consciously thinking that it seems impossible for grief to subside.  I've had days in my past where my life doesn't even seem like my life, as the circumstances were so different from what I had dreamed they would be.  I've had moments where I have wanted to run, but knew that I could never outrun the fear, the pain, the unknown, and the questions.  I remember looking at pictures of myself from the past, feeling so disconnected from the person smiling back at me.  I felt physically, mentally, and emotionally weak and vulnerable.  

With this several years behind me now, I can look back and see that I may have felt weak, but I have never been braver.  Getting up and facing those days, finding a way to work through the grief, rewriting our family's future and being there to learn from my amazing children and the siblings who have come after them was brave.  I felt weak, but in my weakness, I was brave.  

I know amazing people who have never thrown themselves into a burning building, taken a bullet in place of someone else, been a part of a takedown mission in a foreign land, or fought off a lion with a toothpick…but they are people who I admire for being extremely brave.  They are the patients I see who are facing a new, chronic diagnosis.  They are mothers and fathers who have lost their children, people who are struggling in their marriages or facing divorce, people who have lost their jobs and their livelihood and don't know how to restart.  They are people who have sick children…really sick children.  They are people who have just lost their way.  They are people who are picking up the phone to call a counselor to start fighting the good fight.  

They feel week, but they are gritting their teeth through pain and the work of everyday, the slow walk toward a better life.  They are not weak; they are brave.  

Thanks, Veronica Roth.  The real fairy tales are the ones of which you write.  There are happy endings to be found, and the hard-fought battles can have the sweetest endings.