Words can change a life

(The following is purely fiction – except for the parts that are true.)

“Why do you always say that,” Allison demanded, “you speak of words as though they are real.  They’re not real – they’re merely a series of letters strung together to formulate meaning so people can communicate with each other!”

I looked at my youngest daughter, remembering the exact moment I experienced the reality of the statement that has infuriated her so.  It was a pivotal moment for me then ~ the moment when I realized that my experience as a parent was completely up to me.  I could parent with joy, with love, with patience and with gratitude – or I could parent under the ever-increasing weight of fatigue, thanklessness, solitude and frustration.  How I ever chose the latter as an option was beyond me, unless – of course – you consider my desire to be accepted, to fit in and to buy into the hype that surrounded me.

“WORDS DO NOT HAVE POWER,” Allison continued, “People have power, weapons have power, thoughts have power but WORDS. DO. NOT. HAVE. POWER!”

How do you share wisdom with an angry, young teen?  Did I even have a hope of expressing my feelings with her while she’s raging like this?  I took a moment to glance out the kitchen window.  I knew the answer wasn’t out there, but it was so much easier to think with the encouragement of fluttering leaves than it was facing this very angry child.

“Words wield tremendous power,” I began, “with words you can build and you can also destroy.  Words can hurt, and they can heal.  Words, when properly chosen, can change a life.  When thoughtlessly shared, they can do irreparable damage.  I consider that pretty powerful.”

“Well,” Allison rebutted, “I wish you wouldn’t always use your words to support everyone but me!”  And with that, she was gone – retreating to the dining room table, likely to create a cryptically clever Facebook profile post about how mean or dumb or frustrating her mother is.

I finished stirring my tea, removed the tea bag and slowly drifted back in time.  My ‘pivotal moment’ happened 13 years ago – and yet, I remember every detail like it just happened that morning.  Life lessons are like that I guess, impenetrable to the effects of diminished memory and the busyness of life.  Thank goodness really, for if I could not call upon the moment when my heart cracked wide open with love and appreciation for the gifts I’d been given, there would be precious little to hold me here in contentious times.

I remember initially feeling nervous and unsure when I discovered I was pregnant with Allison.  Her older sister, Brianne, was only eight months old.  Was it fair to bring a sibling into the family so soon, for either child?  Could we love a second child as much as we loved Brianne?  We didn’t spend too much time dwelling on these questions because the fact of the matter was, in nine months – we would be the parents of two children, and we’d find a way to make it work, and we’d love them both with all our hearts.

In time, I established a workable routine with my two children under two – and Brianne, Allison and I soon ventured out of the house every day together.  We went for walks to the park, we ventured over to the mall to visit the library (there was a café in the mall and enjoying an afternoon coffee while the girls watched people walk by was truly a treat) and, to the best of my ability, we ran errands to keep the cupboards and fridge stocked with the necessities of life.

We were never invisible.  Between the beauty of my daughters and the originality of the double stroller we used – people noticed us wherever we went. 

I was so grateful to have found a used, British, stroller while still pregnant with Allison.  It had a bassinette on the left, and a canvas seat on the right.  The bassinette could be removed and replaced with another canvas seat once Allison was old enough to sit up on her own without fear of tumbling out.  The tricky part was, the stroller was the exact width of two retail doors when they’re held open.  And when they’re not held open, and they seldom ever were, getting through them was an episode unto itself.  It never ceased to amaze me how many people would make disparaging comments about me as I struggled to fit my daughters, the stroller and myself sideways (wheels don’t roll sideways, by the way, so I was lifting the stroller) through the door without tipping a child out onto her face. 

Everywhere we went, people would ask if you were twins.  And upon discovering your proximity in age, they’d exclaim something to the effect of, “Two children under two? You must be exhausted! How do you manage it?”

It was not long before I accepted that identity and lived it to the fullest.  Poor, exhausted, burdened mother of two under two.  Who works harder than me?  It’s amazing we even leave the house at all!

Until the day everything changed. 

My poor, beleaguered self was pushing a grocery cart half-full of groceries, with Brianne in the back and Allison in the front through the doors of our local grocery store when the inevitable comment was made, “Oooh!  Your children are adorable!  How old are they?”  I adopted the face I now wore when asked this question, the one that shows a depleted mother doing her best to survive with two children under two, “3 months old and 21 months old” I valiantly responded.

The elderly woman looked at me with eyes alight, I mean – really looked at me, and exclaimed, “How lucky you are!” 

Four simple words – and they changed my life forever.  How lucky I was.  How very lucky I am …