“Small Victories Each Day “

Living with Mogad as an adult has been a journey I never expected. In 2009, when I had my first episode of optic neuritis, I lost my vision for the first time. It was terrifying, but eventually, some of my sight returned—never fully, but enough to let me keep teaching, to keep living the life I loved. For almost twenty years, I was a teacher, always on the move, always helping others. My classroom was my world, and I thrived on the energy and connection with my students. I was the strong bone in my family, my kids,  But in 2023, everything changed. My second episode of optic neuritis struck my right eye, and this time, the vision loss was permanent, and now I am   diagnosed with eye atrophy this  was a heavy blow. Suddenly, the world looked different—colors faded, details blurred, and I found myself depending on others for even the simplest things, like picking out my clothes. The loss of feeling in my hands made it hard to hold onto anything; I dropped and broke things c...

There was a time, not so long ago, when I believed my relationship with my daughter was healing. Just a month ago, I felt hope flicker inside me—a sense that maybe, just maybe, we could return to the closeness we once shared. I felt needed again, proud to be her mother, and loved in a way that filled the emptiness I’d carried for so long. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to believe that the end of my loneliness was near. But everything changed again, suddenly and without warning. She took my precious little one—my grandchild, the child who had given me purpose and light through the darkest times. The emptiness returned, sharper than before. I miss my children. I miss the life I once had. No one prepares you for this as a mother. No one tells you how hard it is to let your children go, or how it feels when you’re left behind, wondering what if I did something wrong. I think back to the days when my daughter’s voice was strong, when I believed I was raising someone who would stand up...

To my precious grandchild, There are moments with you that are forever etched in my heart. I will never forget the faces you made when you tried new foods for the first time—your little nose wrinkling, your eyes wide with curiosity or surprise, and sometimes a giggle bubbling up when you tasted something sweet. Those moments made me laugh and filled me with a happiness I never knew before. Watching you play in the water, seeing the pure joy on your face, reminded me of how simple happiness can be. The way you splashed and squealed, the sunlight dancing on your skin, made the world feel lighter and brighter. And when I played my old music playlist, the songs from my own past, you would calm down and listen, as if you understood every note. It was as if the music created a bridge between our generations, and I loved seeing you find comfort in the melodies I have cherished for so long. There were long nights when you needed me, and I held you close, rocking you gently. I didn’t care about...

He had it—yes, he truly had it. She was there, heart open, soul bared, giving herself in a way she never had before. He felt her presence, her warmth, her unwavering devotion, and yet, somehow, he let her slip away. Was it fear that held him back? A lack of courage, or perhaps love, or even passion? He never found the answer. All he knew was that now, in the quiet moments, he missed her with a longing that gnawed at his insides. When she was close, he took her for granted. He believed she would always be there, waiting, loving, forgiving. He postponed the little things, the gestures that mattered: “We’ll go later,” he’d say. “See you soon.” “We’ll do it another time.” But one day, there was no more ‘later.’ She grew tired of waiting for the love she deserved, for the gentle words and the soul-deep caresses that never came. She gathered her strength, picked up the pieces of her hope, and left. He watched her go, pride masking the ache in his chest. He told himself, “Let her go. I’ll f...