My husband made me cry last week. The kind of crying that makes your lip quiver and your heart hurt. The kind of crying that leaves you shaken.

In a totally good way.

We were enjoying a Pearl Jam concert when we heard the first few notes of the song, “Given to Fly”. I threw my fist into the air, as any good rocker would, and I smiled because it’s one of my favorites. Then my husband leaned into my back, laid his hands on my shoulders and put his mouth next to my ear before saying, “This song reminds me of our son.”

The tears were immediate.

See, if you haven’t known my boy from the day he was born, you don’t know how far he has come. People who meet him now don’t know that he barely made it through his first year. People who meet him now don’t know what a fighter he truly is.

They don’t know that when he makes me laugh, it is a hearty laugh because I never knew if I would hear him speak. Or, when he completes his math homework that I want to burst with pride because I didn’t know if he would ever be able to hold a pencil, let alone comprehend the problems.

They can’t look inside his chest and see his mangled heart or his stomach which often can’t hold its contents. They can’t look into his eyes and know that he could rarely open his right eye until it was repaired surgically. They see a little kid, but I see an amazing human being who is living proof that you can’t judge a book by its cover.

A wave came crashing like a fist to the jaw
Delivered him wings, “Hey, look at me now”
Arms wide open with the sea as his floor
Oh, power, oh
He’s…flying
Whole…

He floated back down ’cause he wanted to share
His key to the locks on the chains he saw everywhere
But first he was stripped and then he was stabbed
…well…he still stands

And sometimes is seen a strange spot in the sky
A human being that was given to fly

Today my son turns eight years old. Happy birthday, child. Fly high.

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Have you ever been on the phone with the resolution department of your health insurance company for the fifth time in five days, and you are trying to explain how your husband’s former company left you high and dry, without insurance for 33 days, which is the same 33 days in which your husband tore his calf muscle, you had a sinus infection, your son had an ear infection and your daughter got $406 worth of immunizations, and while you’re on the phone your son starts crying because he doesn’t understand his math homework, and your daughter keeps tapping you on the shoulder no matter how many times you put your finger in the air to signify that she needs to wait a minute and she ignores you and keeps asking, “Can I have some grapes?”, and then the dog starts throwing up and you look in the other room to see your husband sitting on the couch playing the Wii?

Yeah. Me too.

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1. When spring rolls around with her warm breezes and gentle rain, and the air outside is rich with the scent of lilacs, my old house starts to smell like wet dog and rotten wood.

2. When school softball, summer softball, track, baseball, going away parties, graduation parties and weddings all start to overlap, I begin to think I should increase my dosage of Zoloft.

3. Throw in a spring musical and it’s time to get my Ambien refilled too.

4. But, taking Ambien makes me get on Twitter and say things like this: ‘There is missional impossible musci blarking behind my head and it makes me want to put on black leggies and snaek around nmy houser’.

5. And, this: ‘Now t here ‘s a baby crying and it’s making my ovaries hurt. If I start lactating, that will just be weired’.

6. Then people named AmbienRehab start following me on Twitter.

7. My family likes to spend time playing the Wii together, but Super Mario Bros. was invented by someone with a sick and twisted view of family togetherness.

8. My son jumps around on his Hippity-Hop so much that he looks like he has a permanent, blue hemorrhoid.

9. If you go to a wine tasting and the Sommelier starts talking about “shoulders” in your wine, you may think you drank too much.

10. And, if your husband hasn’t had dinner and attends the same wine tasting, he may eat half a cheeseball made of Jarlsberg cheese.

11. So when next year’s invitation doesn’t arrive, we shouldn’t be all that surprised.

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On Tuesday night, I came home after being on my feet for the better part of 14 hours. I was tired. Not just physically, but also emotionally because the events of the last couple of weeks had drained me. The marrow of life had been sucked right out of me.

All I wanted to do was cry.

There was a package waiting for me that had been sent by one of my favorite readers, who also happens to be an inspirational writer. Actually, she’s an inspirational human being. I don’t know how we came to read each other’s blogs, as she’s a knitter and is exceptional at her art. As for me? I just own art. Like from Target and stuff.

Inside the package was a beautiful shawl. I pulled it from its bag and wrapped it around my shoulders. Instead of wiping away tears, I began to smile. That gorgeous shawl, which was made with love and out of pure friendship, arrived at the perfect time. It was like getting a hug from thousands of miles away.

Blogging has brought extraordinary people into my life. Outside of my church, I have never seen such generosity and downright goodness in others. Bloggers latch on to each other’s writing, each other’s causes and to each other.

Last week, my good friend Piper received devastating news when her fiance broke up with her over the phone. Piper is a strong, single-mother who loves with her whole heart and who oozes good vibes. She has a beautiful spirit, is an amazing mom and a terrific writer.

Today I, and many others, are sending her hugs from thousands of miles away. We are trying to repair her spirit to its beautiful state. She needs to know she deserves better than the bad hand that she was dealt. She needs to know we love her.

And, Piper, we do. We really love you. But, you’re totally not getting my shawl.

For more Piper love, visit the links in this Mr. Linky:

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