In 2007, I read a news story about a mother in England jumping off a bridge with her handicapped son, killing them both. This hit me hard because in the dark days when Billy was a toddler and failing to develop properly -- when we were just realizing something was seriously wrong -- I fantasized about jumping off the George Washington Bridge with Billy in my arms. The following poem deals with the harsh reality of trying your very best and yet feeling that you've failed your child. You get through this by believing in your child, and in yourself.
No Miracles
There is a bridge in England where
One loving mother took her son,
and, in despair of miracles,
ended all that she’d begun.
* * * *
When Bill was small, we read each book
-true stories like shimmering lures-
with hope and determination,
we searched for treatments, for cures.
Some books implied that if only
We worked hard with Bill, if we tried,
He had a miracle waiting
Locked up and hidden inside.
But miracles run scarce, it seems;
Our day to day struggles prevailed.
And though we made every effort
I sometimes feel that we failed.
Though Bill has come such a long way;
Though we love him; though we are strong;
I read of one mother and son
And cry, though I know she was wrong.
Listen, I know that there may be
No miracles, do what we will.
No matter. We’ll live without them,
Believing, instead, in Bill.
