There is a line in a Counting Crows song that goes;
"We only stay in orbit for a moment of time...."
It has other connotations, about unrequited love, but whenever I hear it, it always makes me realise how short our time is, and that unless we have done something quite remarkable in our lives, and made a difference, that life will go on, just as before, only our nearest and dearest will notice we have gone.
I don't worry about getting older, and I certainly don't obsess about dying, but now and again life slaps me in the face and tells me that I had better start getting things right.
Getting older is fabulous, I enjoy the extra wisdom, and the confidence I have now, after years of hiding behind something or someone. I'm of the opinion that we are all capable of anything, we can achieve all and more that we set out to do, that the only person holding us back is ourselves, which I know has been written already by someone far more literate than I.
If I had had the outlook, and the confidence that I have now, say, twenty years ago, I would have given Bertie a run for his money, and we all know he liked to run with the Punt.
Life for me and mine, has taken some weird and wonderful turns over the last couple of years, new country, new house, new jobs, new friends, new schools, and along with that came bewilderment, fear, frustration, confusion, and 101 questions every day about whether it was the right thing to do, to create such huge changes, remove us all from our comfort zone.
Now, just when I thought we were safe for a while, settled, the slap has stung again.
My beautiful miracle baby, my little fighter, my youngest, the child that shouldn't be here, has autism.
Two summers ago, I stood with my husband at the foot of Croagh Patrick, looking at the summit, we had no doubts about being able for the climb, confident that we would get to the top, but I still found myself wondering if I would be fit enough, how long would it take, and how the hell would we get down with broken legs?
That's how it feels now, standing at the foot of another climb, anyone who has done the 'Reek' will know how steep and rocky it is, and how easy it is to fall. We didn't have to do it, we wanted to, we had good boots on, waterproofs, and prepared for it, not like the girls in flip flops that had to turn back less than half way, or the old dear sat on a rock, smoking a Silk Cut because she hadn't the breath!
This time, we have no choice, getting up this steep 'hill' is the only way to get the little miracle the help that he needs.
I know we don't have to cope alone, there are many more parents in the same situation, willing to help, and give advice, and many wonderful healthcare professionals waiting to take him to the next step, but anyone in this position could be forgiven for feeling that they are totally alone. It will pass, I know, and the practical side of my nature will take over, and I will start getting through the the HSEs' red tape, and start finding the right people to deal with.
But not this week. He's four tomorrow, and he doesn't know it's is birthday.
The view from the top of the Reek is worth every minute of that pain and breathlessness.
Work can wait.