A few weeks ago, I woke up crying after an early morning dream. My pillow was wet with tears, and the vivid accusations hurled during the dream—or should I say nightmare?—haunted my day.

Why didn’t you stand up to the doctors?
Why didn’t you ask more questions?
Why didn’t you shield your baby from pain?
Why didn’t you do more?
Why didn’t you?
Why didn’t you?
Why didn’t you?

For two days, I couldn’t escape the memory of the dream. I wondered at its vehemence 35 years after the arrival of our son, his first surgery the day he was born, and his NICU stay. I was shaken and shamed by my inadequacy as a mother. Suddenly, every wrong decision and poor parenting choice I made during my son’s childhood came to mind. Then I looked at the calendar and saw that Mother’s Day was only a few weeks away. Why would my son call or send a card to a mother who couldn’t give him what he needed most at birth?

A mother who wasn’t with him on the flight to the hospital?
A mother who didn’t protect him from excruciating pain?
I wanted to crawl into a hole.

Instead, I thought of the last time my mother stayed overnight at our house before entering a nursing home. She needed me to help her get on and off the toilet, to get in and out of the shower, to dress in the morning and undress at night.

To read the rest of this post visit Key Ministry’s blog for parents of kids with special needs.

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