By Tara Hanratty 
I often think about what I want my kids to know. Not just about life, but about this thing that’s shaped so much of our lives. This illness. My body.
Most mornings, I wake up before them. I lie there, listening to the stillness of the house. That moment between sleep and wake is the hardest—it’s where I most feel what I’ve lost. The version of me I thought I’d be. The mother I hoped to be.
I want my kids to remember laughter and adventure. But I know they’ll also remember the times I sat things out. The moments I was too tired to play or said no to plans we had made. I carry guilt for that. A heavy, aching kind of guilt that sits beneath the surface of every decision I make.
I also carry a kind of quiet pride.
Because, despite everything, I still show up. Not perfectly, but consistently. Not always with the energy I want, but always with love. Always with intention.
Some days, I pretend better than others. I plan our days with a kind of silent math. calculating rest breaks and energy reserves and backup plans, just in case. Sometimes that means a movie instead of an outing or holding your hand on the couch instead of chasing you outside.
And I need you to know, it’s not because I don’t want to. I always want to. That’s the cruelest part of all.
But even on the hard days, I am not giving up. I may move slower but I am fighting battles and I’m fighting them for you. For every chance to be part of your world, your joy, and your memories.
As you grow, understand that strength doesn’t always look like what the world shows you. Sometimes strength is in the staying. In the adapting. In showing up with what you have, not what you wish you had. I remember that rest isn’t weakness, slowness isn’t failure, and loving people through their limitations is one of the most sacred things we can do.
One day, when you’re older, I want you to know that I lived for you. Even when it was hard. I lived for you, and with you, the best I could.
This body may take a lot from me. But it will never take away the love I carry for you, or the determination I have to give you every bit of myself that I can.
Even if some days, it looks a little different than we planned.
Originally published on the author’s Instagram page
by Jen Smith 
by Erin Burkhardt 
