[This post is best read with heart-pounding rock n roll playing]
Without my wife, I’d be somewhere in downtown L.A. pushing a shopping cart, I.V. pole secured by a couple of old belts, loyal dog at my side. The Wandering Cystic would be my name and I’d be . . . S-O-L. My daughter, hair “unbrushed” for the last year, would eat creamed corn from a rusty can.
Today, I thank my wife for being a great mother, a partner in fighting cystic fibrosis, and the magician who brushes our daughter’s hair. Love, baby, love.
Let’s not overlook the wife – or girlfriend – and the mother and their importance and bravery in the fight against this menacing disease.
We’re talking about strong women who have answered the call with “There is nothing in life you can burden me with that I cannot handle – Nothing.” They are the hero of the movie who, when knocked to the dirt, gets up again, wipes away the blood, and asks, “Is that it? Is that your best punch?” as they crack their necks and go to town on the villain. And,unlike guys, they clean up the mess when they’re done.
They are inspiration; they are strength; they are the baddest cats on the planet and you’d best not mess with them, CF.
When I stand in the Colosseum staring at the hulking form of cystic fibrosis retreating, thinking I scared it away, it will be no surprise that it’s really afraid of my wife, chainsaw in hand, standing next to me. And next to her a mother in Texas, with a wound that won’t heal, waiting to unload a cannon of hurt; and next to them, mothers with CF and mothers with CF children ready to take a shot. The line is long, my friends. The line is really long.
Your day is coming, cystic fibrosis. Your day is coming. Do you hear them, CF? – these strong women. They are going make sure your beating comes sooner rather than later. And this time there won’t be anything left to clean up.
Happy Mother’s Day.