Each of us in our lives must face the unfaceable. We must chose our weapons, words or action, we must fight to bring something to justice, or find justice. We live our lives in the culture of our existence, where we came from, what we know. We sometimes travel outside of that existence to find the tools we need to fight. Sometimes, we stretch, we reach. Sometimes we get on our knees in a quiet place and say G-d, I am yours. Tell me what you want me to do, let me become what I am needed to become. G-d always answers. If we are listening, we hear him. The paths are always fraught with fear, stress, anxiety but we do not leave the path, because we have asked for it and been given it. There is an end to every life, we ask for the path, we take it, and we do the very best we can until we see the end. He is waiting with open arms, because we have asked and He has answered. We are His.

"blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled"

R

Fighting for those with disabilities IS a fight, a seemingly endless one.

All you can do is keep wielding the sword.

Rated for wide sweeping swaths.

It isn't just Catholics who see symbols everywhere, though I think there is more seeing going on, than actual showing.

Your narration is troubling, jumping into the middle of things. A bit of a mystery unfolding.

Light a candle.

Why the fuck not?

Maybe I don't understand this well, but I find it disturbs me, Vanessa.

A flesh and bone mother, a child carrying a flame...tears with a storm behind them. You will always find the way.

I'm with Candace, quite disturbed by this. Your frustration and pain are most justified. If you can find any solace and hope through religion, I'm all for that. I wish you success and peace.

To be born with a disability is no sin, its a misfortune. Dont let Facebook nonsense get at you.

Personally I think sin is all about humanity and has nothing to do with God....God is about the good in our life and gives us the wisdom to move forward, one step at a time .... sometimes that's all we can do is move forward one step at a time....

Hello vanessa,

you left these beautiful words for me once
and here

they are still giving...

" ...the melancholy of woven nets cradling themselves on the water, becoming almost transparent...

(have I told you my father was a fisherman?)

...i cannot help but feel the wind hitting my face
why do we present the skin to the wind, why do we let it hit us gladly, does it whisper to us, yes you are alive...

and when hitting the hard surfaced bottom, back in the house looking at our feet, small angry red round blisters the only memory...

...to witness that fence, dancing gladly over a cemetery of bones, and lies, and hopes " (vanessa seijo)


to witness that fence is a privilege
worth a reminder
a pesar de...

I understand lighting candles, I light so many and always feel good doing so. You are fighting the good fight, there is nothing finer then fighting for those that can not.
Your son is lucky to have such a stout heart as yours to battle for him.
Strength, peace, love and Godspeed.
Rated.

You are you. You are his mother who loves him. You will continue no matter what. Nothing is more important than that. That's why God made you to do it. Strength and peace to you.

gorgeous. pain, yes. but you made beauty out of it.

As a Catholic, I believe that God speaks through those we encounter. After all, we are the "body of Christ."

I read this earlier, and kept the page open while struggling for a comment. You say in your tags that "it's okay now," so I don't want to presume that this is happening right this minute . . . but this piece, while beautiful, retains that raw, real immediacy. I can applaud the warrior/mother, and empathize with the sense of desperation and desire for the signs to have meaning - preferably positive. You are an amazing writer, and it seems to emanate from your amazing personhood. Be good to yourself, vanessa . . .

I'm so sorry you're going through this.

I like to think that what that man at the end said, was a message for you.

Through much trials and many errors, I have learned to spot God's messages. Usually, in hindsight. Godspeed. R

Through much trials and many errors, I have learned to spot God's messages. Usually, in hindsight. Godspeed. R

Through much trials and many errors, I have learned to spot God's messages. Usually, in hindsight. Godspeed. R

I always read 'em, but I do not always have a comment that is something other than trite and therefore inappropriate.

This is a magnificent poetic expression. Very beautiful, every word
rated with love

Yours, I think, dear one, is a son whose mother has fought for him with every ounce of strength she has. Where some see disability, she sees strength and courage and talent without bound. Where some see limiting ... she sees limitless ...

With any luck ... with given grace ... your son, your child-man ... will see ... as you see ... he will feel within himself ... what you feel within him ... he will love who he is ... as you ... his mother ... his Athena ... his Boadicea ... love him ... exactly as he is, has always been, will ... always ... be even as he grows and learns and becomes ... himself ...

Beatitudes ... when they help, they are the gold we seek; when they bind ... they are nothing ... and we must draw from within ... all we are ... all we love ... all we would give away if giving away would help the one we love ...

But the candle ... in the hand of your child ... light in the darkness ... hope in the midst of ... whatever may come ... the candle speaks to me of love ...

Dearest one, I don’t know exactly what moment it is that you and your son are facing but even against the winds that blow your strength away and make you question who you are ... know this from one who hopes for you ... for you and for your son ... what I learned from all the students I have known who have learned differently, from students who know some of what your son may know, is that what helps them, lifts them, allows them to find and believe in themselves ... honestly ... is love. Love ... knowing they are loved ... and believed in ... and trusted ... and safe ... safe to learn and safe to fail ... safe to find their own best way ... safe to learn themselves ... and then to learn what helps them best ... and then ... to be respected for their ... expertise ...

None of it is simple ... and yet ... does anything else make more sense ... I learned these things from my kids themselves ...

And now you ... you who learn every day from your students ... who have learned every day of their lives from your children ... you are the one who gives your child-man all his strength, all his ability to believe in his being loved. From you he has learned to reach for the candle, to carry it himself, to seek his light ... and allow it to help him find his way ...

You are his mother ... his Athena ... his Boadicea ... his font of life ... his hope ... his prayer ...

He has looked into your eyes and has seen the greatest gift of all, Vanessa. He has seen your love.

While you care for him ... know there are many here who care for you.

Your voice is so incredibly strong and clear, Vanessa. I hope that by this time and from now on, you feel your voice is being heard. I hope that with all my love.

Idiots who make idiotic comments (as nameless Facebook person) tell us more about themselves than about what or who they are commenting on because they do not understand that what or who. (They probably don't understand themselves either.)

And civil servants? Well, sometimes the best we can hope for is that they're civil.

"i walk
and i know my gaze must be desperate, i walk, holding myself in, as if about to fall apart, realizing how frail i am, as if made of ash and smoke, as if a mere gust will blow me away"

So we all are, of course, frail and evanescent, dust or ash. But you know what's real--what's really, really real? The love you feel for him. And that ain't frail, baby.

Blessed are the true innocents, for they teach us the power of innocence.

I have searched myself for a comment and find none so please just know I am here and I am reading...

And more particularly, a mother is not a mother who doesn't fight. The greatest warriors of all.