{Just a little disclaimer: This post is from my journal, written quite a while ago. Since then I have come forward with our little “secret” and have been blessed beyond measure at the out pouring of love and support we have received in our new community.}

I love this time of day, when little children are in the sunny outdoor air, playing games and making up their own rules to them. Recess. Once a week we attend a home school co-op, and after lunch the children get to go outside and shake off their wiggles. I love to go outside and monitor recess. Something about those little ones laughing and playing like kids should does my heart good.

Today a few other mom’s join my duty and we had some time to chat, another thing that does my heart good: fellowship with other women. On this day, the conversation starts out with how busy our children keep us, but enjoying it because we all know the time is short.  One woman shares that her husband wants to have another child soon, so that they will enter into their mid life years empty nesters and ready to embrace their new freedom after raising their brood. My husband and I used to always talk about those years when it would just be us……but those hopes, dreams and plans have all been shattered.

And my heart skips a beat.

They don’t know about me. It isn’t that I keep it a secret really, but we are new to this town. We are meeting new people everyday and  on some days I just don’t have the energy to tell the story. Some days I just can’t handle the shock from others when I tell them my husband is terminal. “What is ALS?” They ask. And when I tell them that it will take away my husbands’ ability to move, to talk, to walk, to eat, and eventually breathe, there is always an awkward moment. I don’t blame them. How do you process such information? I don’t know, I am living it and still haven’t quite figured that out.

I have found in our new town that sometimes it feels good just to be a normal mom. It may be selfish of me, I don’t know. But I don’t want to share my secret…just yet. Already I am painfully aware that I am not like the other moms. Their future dreams and plans are spread out before them still, but mine have been stolen. The reminder breaks my heart.

I take a moment to chase a ball that has escaped from the children. When I bend down, for a moment, I can hide the tears welling up in my eyes. By the time I stand, I can swallow the knot in my throat that is threatening to choke me. No,  I am not like the other moms.

I rejoin the conversation. They have switched topics now.  I am safe again. My secret is hidden just a little while longer. But for now, I pretend that I am just like them. I smile and join the conversation.

These little moments are too familiar to me now. I never quite know when they will arrive, and I am learning how to navigate this maze of disease and find my way through. My Savior guides me, holds my hand and carries me when I am weak. Even though I know this truth, and embrace it, I see the hard road ahead of us, and it scares me.

Sometimes I am certain I can feel His broken heart and taste His tears, because I know He too, walked a hard road. It’s overwhelming. Right now, I am still in my Gethsemane, asking if this cup can be taken from me.    And while I am there, I cling a little longer to the world where I used to fit in.

And on this day, I can hear Him speak to me so softly I almost miss it: No, you are not like the other moms. And cause of that, you are becoming more like Me.