Scars

“Mommy, why do I have a scar?” It’s a circumstance that we’ve talked about over and over again before. You already know all about your cleft lip and palate and the surgeries you’ve needed to have them corrected so that you can eat and speak more easily. But hearing you ask this question again on the way home from school  the other day made tiny little alarm bells go off in my head. Even though you didn’t admit that anyone had said anything to you, or God forbid made fun of you, I still had a gut feeling that you had endured something that day. I knew these days would come eventually, especially as you got older and entered further into the jungles of elementary school and beyond. Ok, so now what?

We talked (yet again) about your clefts and surgeries. We talked about how scary some of the procedures were and how each of your scars represents a time when you had to be really brave. We talked about how scars are actually little badges of courage because each scar has a story behind it. How lots of people have scars but that different people may or may not want to talk about how they got them. However if they do decide to open up, they just might have very interesting stories. Stories about their own challenges and times when they needed to be brave, just like you.  

We sat in the car in our driveway and you climbed up into the front seat with me. I began hiking up my shirt, showing you the scar on my stomach from gallbladder surgery, the scar on the side of my breast from when I had a birthmark removed, even the scar on my knee from softball. You pointed yours out too and we compared scars a bit, sharing our stories. We talked about the other people that we know who have scars. Daddy even has a big scar all the way across his head from when he had his brain tumor removed. He’s got one of the greatest stories and in fact, his scar story led us to you. I wouldn’t change that for the world. Neither would Daddy. I told you that we (and anyone who has a scar) are actually a part of the “Cool Scars Club”. You grinned. We did a fist bump. I think you liked that idea.

You seemed appeased by our little conversation in the car. I felt a little better. But the rest of the night I kept thinking “I hope I handled it ok” and “time will tell”. Geesh. I feel like I say that a lot as a parent..."time will tell." Since there are no hard and fast rules, us parents are all just winging it really. Doing our best and holding our breath. I guess I’ll just continue putting deposits into your “therapy fund”, just in case. Ha.

Love you,

Mama (aka just another member of the “Cool Scars Club”)