walking a tightrope
Three-hundred and sixty-five days,
Of constantly walking a tightrope.
The slightest breeze faltering my equilibrium.
And I knew just how far the ground was,
And how much it hurt on impact.
The balance is between this intense optimism –
An excitement even,
To see Isaac develop,
I’m filled with energy,
Hungry for the knowledge to help him,
Driven by his engagement to sessions,
Passionate to bring him the best opportunity possible.
And pure and utter despair –
Completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of the task ahead of me,
Fearful of him not developing,
Of the worst image I have in my mind,
Feeling so sorry for him,
Knowing the battle he faces has only just begun,
Petrified of his future,
What other people will think of him,
How they will treat him.
And straight out destroyed by this journey my life had taken.
I didn’t want this to be happening I whispered late at night,
As the darkness takes its strongest hold,
And reduces me to a sobbing mess.
I woke by sunlight,
Knowing it my reality,
Shake my head of the night before,
And let actions take over thought.
The blessing in disguise being,
So much had to be done,
All the time,
Around the clock.
After all he is still a baby.
And just like that I’m once more filled with purpose,
Willing to tackle the day,
Without falling to the rock bottom of ground.
Day three-hundred and sixty-six,
Here we come.