A Mother’s number one job is Not to ”secure your own mask before securing the mask of your child.”
Job numero uno is to take a round from a rifle for your kid. Like it or not, Moms, we are their saviors. As I’ve said before, I wanted to save my seven-and-a-half son, Ryan, from the fire. Not only did I not save him, I never got to him. I ran.
Ryan burned to death.
No mother could fail more completely. And I will never get over it however old I get. I hear what you’re saying:
‘‘It was an accident, Dawn.”’
“You did the best you could, Dawn.”
”Ryan is better off, Dawn.”
“Imagine all the future problems God protected Ryan from, Dawn!”
Is that all you got? Fuggedaboutit! There is nothing you can say that I haven’t heard already. And this tragedy cannot be understood unless you are a member of a very small sorority of mothers whose young child died violently. (It’s the Sorority nobody rushes!)
It has taken me seventeen years (6,205 nights) to say what I’ve said to you today. What have I learned?
God is the President of our Sorority.