Once again, Sandra, you reach into the hearts of parenting – living, laughing, and loving a person with FASD
My every move cannot be about others. And I really do feel sometimes like I have lost a bit of me.
By SB_FASD
Stop presses!
Breaking news!
I went for a walk today.
Not a going-to-buy-slime-ingredients walk.
Not a this-dog-is-climbing-the-walls-and-needs-to-get-out walk.
Not a going-to-catch-the-train-for-work walk.
No, this was an honest-to-goodness walk. Alone. Just for me.
They talk about muscle memory. My body remembers. I once ran hard and smoothly over cross-country courses, around the lines on painted tracks, on beaches and up and down steep hills. I was, once upon a long time ago, a runner. When I stopped running, I used to go for intense walks, every morning at a fast pace, before I even had a coffee.
I was driven, in part, by the horrible illnesses my dad faced through those years. Heart attacks. Surgeries. Diabetes. Amputation. Strokes. Feeding tubes. Early death. Ironically, the closer I get to his age of death, the more lax I have become about my own health.
I can talk a good talk about…
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Red Shoes Rock 