I am a mother. I carried my child in my womb and I felt his movements. His heartbeat kept time with mine because he came from me… He is mine. I am his mother.
I use a wheelchair. And yet, that has never changed the fact that I am his mother. There is pain, (there has always been pain), but I am still his mother. He is my child, my son. The precious gift I have been charged with. The man I will raise to accept people as who they are, with love and integrity.
He is my legacy, my footprint on this life. He sees my wheels and the struggles that come along with them. At times we both wish circumstances were different, but again, He is mine, and so we keep on. We encourage each other with love. We weep with love. He pushes me and I push him because we are mother and son.
I cannot fight his battles for him. I will be his sounding board and his comfort. I will share his dreams and his tears because I am privileged to do so. He will watch me struggle and persevere because I want him to remember that his mother was a warrior long after I am gone. He is still my heartbeat and I will always be his mother.