Survivors

A "friend" called today to share some new juicy gossip about me that she had heard through the grapevine. I think she feels that if I know what people are saying, I can make sense of why these people are talking about me. I dunno. At the risk of being rude and possibly alienating one of the last people I tolerate from BRL's school, I shut her down before she could say anything. I simply told her that with everything else that has happened to us over the past few months, what people may or may not think of me is about as important to me as what Brittany Spears is doing next to ruin her life. I was expecting some angry comment in return and all I got was. "wow. you really are a survivor."

That got me thinking... when I should be sleeping. Survivor, maybe that is me. Then again... who really wants that title? Let's see here: I am a survivor of Scleroderma ( a rather nasty autoimmune disease), a survivor of rape, a survivor of late miscarriage/ pregnancy loss, I made a name for myself in a male dominated industry, left the comfort of high income and low responsibility to care for my mother full time knowing that one day, I will wake up to find her still and gone. Odds have been against me from childhood. So, do they make a t-shirt for women like me? What would it say? Would I wear it? Chances are, nope. No, I wouldn't wear a t-shirt stating what I have made it through. I wouldn't sign on for a reality tv show offering money and fame for the "winner" -- the last woman standing. Surviving is (or should) be a private victory- one celebrated between that person and God. I don't want my children to see me as a survivor, I want them to see me as someone who celebrated at life's little beauties, cried for those who meet injustice or pain, and took every opportunity to grow with them as they grow and one day, let them go. Let them go on to be people who don't survive but thrive in God.