Firemen fight fires.
They show up, hose in hand, ready to save and protect.
Sometimes, they put out the fire, the family cheering in the background, thanking them for their bravery.
They are heroes.
But sometimes, sometimes, they show up and the fire is out of control and they must stay back and watch it burn, knowing there are people inside. Knowing they have all the right tools if they could only get close enough. Knowing if they don't everyone inside will die.
They are helpless.
And even worse, sometimes they show up, their only mission to check the scene so the coroner can recover the bodies.
They are tired, broken, nothing that they imagined when they began the journey to be a hero.
No matter the task, success or failure, they are still firemen.
In parenting a child with mental illness, sometimes I come up with clever solutions to get us through the crisis.
Sometimes I must sit back and watch my child suffer, waiting for the moment I can intervene and help her, knowing this new burst of flames may be the one that consumes her.
And sometimes, I just have to step aside while others clean up the aftermath of the monsters that were bigger than me or any tool I had.
Either way, I am still a Mama. It's just that sometimes Mama's are not bigger than monsters.
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