My friend Heather wrote to me the other morning after I'd thanked her for her recent donation to epilepsy research and for her ongoing support of my efforts as witnessed by her kind and loving messages and sharing of Calvin's Story posts on Facebook. She had been a year or two behind me in high school though we really didn't know each other. I only knew that she was an identical twin and that she was beautiful. Now I know that her beauty is not only skin deep.
She had recently read a piece about courage by Kristin Armstrong, from which she included an excerpt. Then she sent her love to me and my family.
The excerpt reads:
Courage is not only manifested in major moments. Sometimes it is quieter. Sometimes it is a series of small moments or choices that brand the brave. Sometimes it is not big or flashy at all. Sometimes it means taking the high road for so long that you can finally turn off your GPS. Sometimes courage is exhibited in people who simply continue to do the next right thing. People who do the ordinary with great character, and only think they are doing what is expected. Some of the bravest people simply do what they need to do and never consider anything special or unique about it. Courage is all around us, yet because bravery and bravado are not the same thing, it often goes unseen, or seen but unrecognized.
After reading this I thought about what courage means to me, particularly in the face of raising Calvin. I think the most courageous thing that I do is simply to endure the heartache knowing that he hurts, watching when he seizes, making him take so many bitter pills, seeing him when he feels ill or dizzy or nauseous or crampy or headachey and cannot tell me what is wrong. That takes courage, but at the same time I really have no choice in the matter. He is my child. All the rest I simply do because I can, and because people like Heather, and so many countless others, help to fuel my fire.
Please consider a donation to CURE epilepsy: http://www.calvinscure.com It takes no courage at all.