Often, I come across things encouraging people to live in the moment, suggesting people don’t dwell on yesterday and insisting we are wasting our energy worrying about the future.

Depending on my mood and what I’ve been through that day, week or month, I either agree or feel completely annoyed at the sentiment. Like every other human emotion, worry is something that ebbs and flows and sometimes there is no stopping the flow.

Now I’m not talking about little worries like whether or not someone will like me or if I look okay.

I’m talking about the life or death worry – the heavy, paralyzing kind of worry. The kind of worry that somehow lingers within you when you have experienced life-altering events.

Ten years ago, I gave birth to a full term, beautiful, little girl who passed away four hours later because she had been deprived of oxygen during labour. One year after that, I watched my newborn boy suffer a brain injury that has changed the course of his life forever. So, I give myself some grace when it comes to the worry that crashes over me occasionally. The worry comes from experiences that shaped who I am today. Experiences that were hard and sad and scary. So sometimes when faced with life, I worry.

I still have to consciously remind myself that the worst isn’t always going to happen!

William won’t aspirate and land in the hospital; William won’t grind his teeth down to his gums because we can’t get the tone under control; my girls won’t resent me for asking them to wait while I meet William’s needs first; I will get my daughters to school safely after a night of little rest; my parents will return home from their travels safely; my daughters will be safe on their adventures; and William will wake up in the morning.

Worry is the shrapnel that embedded in my soul 10 years ago, leaving scars that relentlessly ache as a result of love. They hold memories that can often cause pain throughout my entire being.

Over the years I have fought for a healthy way to live with my scars. I now look to them when I need strength to carry on – I did survive those world-shattering explosions. They are the guide helping me navigate the journey of parenting three beautiful humans in a mindful and present way. They are the reminder that my family needs to live – like really live! They give me the power to celebrate the beautiful opportunities we all have to do the things we love and have worked hard for. They provide a different lens through which I evaluate what is important. And they give me the strength to overcome the fears I face daily while the most important pieces of my heart go out and forge their own paths through life.

I have learned how to wear the shrapnel.

~ Keely

Keely is an author and advocate for children living with disabilities. She lives on Vancouver Island in beautiful British Columbia, with her husband, her son William who has cerebral palsy, her two daughters and several four-legged friends.