I don’t know why, but for a couple of weeks now, I’ve been focusing too much on the things that make my life difficult rather than on the things that are just absolutely perfect, which is really most of my life. I’ve been focusing on “lack.”  Of money, of time, of emotional capacity, of muscle tone…

Then the Universe brought my friend Lori Ware to town.  Lori has a lot of difficulties that she could focus on. Well, actually, there’s one difficulty that she could use endlessly to remind people of how hard her life is.  Her son, Seph, who is 8 years old, has Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. And, to be quite blunt, if scientists don’t find a cure soon, Seph will one day be in a wheelchair and, much too soon, he will die.

I hate writing that sentence. It makes me sick to my stomach.  And it is Lori’s everyday reality.

The Ware family — Lori, Seph, sisters Mallori and Hannah (dad Joe couldn’t make it) — were in town for a PPMD conference. Parent Project Muscular Dystrophy advocates for kids like Seph. It was founded by an extraordinary woman named Pat Furlong, who lost BOTH of her sons to Duchenne.  Can you even imagine?  I know a lot more about Pat’s story, too, and maybe I will share that with you, as well, sometime soon.

But back to Lori.  I met her downtown, Mae in tow, to attend some of the conference sessions with her but, really, just to be with her.  She is a force of nature… with a cute southern accent.  Lori introduced me to other parents facing exactly what she is facing with Seph. Every time I looked one of them in the eyes, I wanted to hug them. I wanted to ask them about the moment – that one, awful, life-changing moment – when they learned their son (or in some cases, sons) had Duchenne and that he could die of the disease. (Lori’s doctor told her, “Take Seph home and love him; he’ll be dead by the time he’s 18.” She found another doctor.)

I thought about that moment. No parent should ever, ever have to face a moment like that. I had one awful moment with Mae when I was forced to my knees and I feared for her life.  My awful moment was brief. Theirs will never end.

And so, I followed Lori around like one of the service dogs that many of the boys had. I lapped up her energy, I wagged my tail at her smiles. I met boys and moms and dads who talked about the same things I find myself talking about: the next meal, naps, grade point averages. But they also talk about clinical studies, heart attacks at the age of 8, and whether their boys will ever have the chance to fall in love.

By the end of the day, Mae and I were both whooped, but I was rejuvenated. I was on an energy spree. Not because I was able to recognize how good my own life is (that, too) but because Lori focuses on blessings, not on “lack.” She sees blessings in her life – Seph is still walking. His doctors are amazed at his strength and flexibility. And she was VERY focused on driving to the top of Mt. Evans the next day because it’s one of her favorite places on the planet.

There is no “lack” in Lori’s life. Nor in mine.

My dear Lori, yet again, I learn from you and I “gain” from you. Thank you… Give Seph a big ‘ol smooch for me!

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