A couple of years ago, I wrote about this song and how it helped get me through those rough moments before, during, and after Izzy's OHS
I find that lines of the song still loop through my head as needed, often for different reasons, but comforting nonetheless. Recently, one line has been popping into my mind in particular--I won't let sadness steal you from my arms.
Not too long ago, Andi over at Bringing the Sunshine wrote about comparison being the thief stealing your joy (http://www.bringingthesunshine.com/2014/09/comparison-thief-joy/). To be honest, comparison isn't often a problem for me. I'm not really one to feel regret over things--they are what they are and the only thing we can do is move forward. When I look at comparisons, it is more a clinical study--my child is or isn't doing XX that all the other kids are doing so I need to tell this doctor or that specialist to see if it is significant to their treatment plan. But every so often, that urge to compare in a woe-is-me way creeps in.
My Busy Little B has been having a rough go of it the last few days and it has made riding the bus not an option so I have been driving him to school. We go and park and I walk him to his classroom through a sea of tiny little kindergartners. Their busses pull up to the front door and let them off. They all stream up the sidewalk and through the doors and find their lockers. They put away their coats and backpacks and chatter with their friends and make their way to their classrooms. They are so tiny and cute and independent. And gosh, did that make me sad for a bit. My little B can't do those things. He has to be escorted from bus (or car) to his locker, he struggles to get his stuff off and hung up, he needs an adult right there to keep him on task, he doesn't like interacting with other kids beyond saying "hi" so there are no cute little conversations with friends.
But as I made my way back through the sea of tiny people, I could hear the music and line in my head--I won't let sadness steal you from my arms--a reminder, just when I needed it, that if I focus on all of the things he isn't doing right now, I'll miss out on all of the things he does do. The way he sings off key with me at bedtime when we do our good-night song, giggling while he does his chores, shouting "watch this, mama!" as he spins in circles on the beach, snuggling up against me when he gets home from school because "I missed you soooooo much", proudly showing off his Lego creations. Letting the coulda, woulda, shouldas take over means you miss out on what is. And what is may be difficult at times but it also is filled with a whole lot of wonder and joy and love.