These words are not empty

This little blog of mine is going to be two years old this summer. Two years ago, I was a married kid with two kids. A responsible, mature kid, who honestly lived more like a 30-something than a just barely 20-something...but on many levels, still a kid. I hadn't faced much opposition in life, I had access to everything I needed and wanted, and life was moving along, free and easy. Then in June of 2006, we saw our current pediatrician for the first time and my life was turned upside down. Something was wrong with my baby. I was hearing letters I never expected to hear...the alphabet rearranged into something confusing and unknown. MRI, CT, EEG, ECI, PT, OT, ST, ABR. Over the next couple months, the picture got more and less confusing, until ultimately I decided to quit my job and stay home with KayTar until the waters calmed. For the record, I'm still waiting on that.

I started this blog only for me, it was the one place I was free to be honest. My island of emotion. I never expected to find other people on my little island, but I did. Strangers commented on my very first post. Strangers, reading my words and offering support. Somehow, this was okay, these strangers appearing on my island. No one from the mainland of my life was invited here, that would have felt like an intrusion, but the strangers with the kind eyes and soothing hands, they were more than welcome here. And so I clicked here and there, meeting strangers from all over. I visited their islands and they visited mine. We left each other gifts and notes and other kindnesses. It was lovely.

In the early days, sometimes I would visit an island once and find there were children there, children KayTar's age, and I would leave immediately. I couldn't watch these beautiful children do all the things KayTar wasn't able to do. I wasn't ready for that yet. Time passed and I heard about a gathering, a wedding celebration for two women that I didn't know very well. The latter, I had visited once or twice, never staying long because her darling and my darling were close in age. The former, I don't think I had ever visited. In spite of that, I still attended the wedding, silently watching from the background. I remember thinking, "These chicks are deep. I'm way out of my element here." And it was true. The things they spoke of were things I knew nothing of. I had a particular disdain for politics or anything remotely related. I did my best to steer clear of it and maintain my ambivalence. I was a--GASP--Republican. Oh yes, I was. Not by choice particularly, but by birth and apathy. I knew nothing of homelessness or abortion or women's rights, nothing of healthcare or war or how any of it could possibly be related to my life. I knew nothing of it.

More time passed, who knows how long, and I began seeing them both in passing as we came to and from common islands. Eventually, that initial shock and pain about KayTar's condition wore off and I widened my circle. I found myself sharing spaces with both of these women. These wise and strong women, women with open eyes and hearts. They gathered once a month to celebrate their nuptials, women coming together, gathering from all over to share stories and knowledge, spreading awareness and care. It was something to behold. So I stayed and I listened. I learned, more than I can relate to you in the number of words I'm limiting myself to here. I learned about the world and I learned about myself.

One day, unfortunately, the things I had learned intersected with my life. KayTar lost her insurance and no one would accept her. And I discovered something new, something I hadn't realized until that moment. I had a voice and it might just be powerful. I could use it. I could speak for us and for others. I could do this, because I had seen it done. I had been taught there was value in it, that speaking was not just an arrangement of empty words, it was a manifestation of passion and power. It could change things. I knew this, because words had changed me.

And so it happened that I stood up in front of news cameras and reporters and told our story, the story recorded here in these pages. As I stood there, I thought of these two women, but not only them, all of you who have participated in these gatherings, all of you who sent these women beautiful baby gifts, all of you who have inspired me. I've heard people say that these gatherings are not enough, they are not important enough, they are just words, not change. But I disagree. They are change. Every time we read these posts, raise our voices, share these stories, we are affecting change. We are changing ourselves and those around us. So much so this one small, shy girl was able to stand in front of those cameras, not once but twice, and speak her heart and mind. Tell me that isn't real change.

This post is part of Julie's (yet another inspiring woman) Hump Day Hmmm.