…if you’d told me I’d have a child in a wheelchair one day, I’d have fallen to the floor.
(I was just worried about her posture.)
If you’d told me that her face would be almost unrecognizably altered, I would have screamed in horror.
(I got upset about a zit.)
If you’d told me that I wouldn’t know her voice, I would have wept inconsolably.
(I nagged her to speak more softly and slowly.)
If you’d told me that she wouldn’t be able to take care of herself, I would have stared at you in disbelief.
(I fussed at her about doing too much for other people.)
I’m elated if she can stand for a minute.
I’m thrilled if the corners of her mouth aren’t chapped and torn.
I’m ecstatic when I don’t have to ask her to repeat herself on the phone.
I’m overjoyed if she can pull her son into her lap with one arm.
(Well, not absolutely everything. The most important things are not.)
But you know what I mean.