I am the child who cannot talk. You often pity me, I see it in your eyes. You wonder how much I am aware of -- I see that as well. I am aware of much, whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of love and desire, or if you are just doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times. I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated. I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me.I do not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards -- great strides in development that you can credit yourself; I do not give you understanding as you know it. What I give you is so much more valuable -- I give you instead opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine; the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities; the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible. I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder, seeking answers to your many questions with no answers. I am the child who cannot talk.I am the child who cannot walk. The world seems to pass me by. You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other children. There is much you take for granted. I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom, oh I've dropped my fork again. I am dependent on you in these ways. My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune, your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself. Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them. I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent. I give you awareness. I am the child who cannot walk.I am the child who is mentally impaired. I don't learn easily, if you judge me by the world's measuring stick, what I do know is infinite joy in simple things. I am not burdened as you are with the strife's and conflicts of a more complicated life. My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child, to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love. I give you the gift of simplicity. I am the child who is mentally impaired.I am the disabled child. I am your teacher. If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life. I will give you and teach you unconditional love. I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you. I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted. I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams. I teach you giving. Most of all I teach you hope and faith. I am the disabled child.
I remember when you were born, 4 very short years ago. School wasn't even in your dad and I's minds. It's almost as if we forgot that when you have a child, part of them growing up is sending them off to school. You would think this would have crossed my mind being an Elementary Ed Grad, but we were so caught up in the now, and making sure we took our lives day by day, that no, school never came up. We decided to keep you home for your first year of preschool, due to your Cystic Fibrosis and learning delays. We wanted to strengthen your immune system an extra year, keep working on home therapies to help your brain development, speech, and muscle movement. You also had a very special friend at home to learn and grow with you; your baby sister Ivie. The last year you two have taught each other so much, she has pushed you, and you have pushed her. I'm so thankful we kept you home for that extra year! We have found a great preschool for you! It's called the Monroe Ear
How beautiful Lindsey!
ReplyDeleteBecoming a Mommy is so funny. I have many moments where I cry for my children; their struggles or pain, my hopes for them as they grow, my fears for them. And then you have friends with children, and the whole world of Mommy-love opens up to you. Every child on the news, every little baby in the PICU, each child of a friend's.....ends up with some of your Mommy-love, too. My heart can break for children I've never met, my arms ache to hold babies who are hurting, and stories like this make my cry just like I do for my own kidlets. <3 This is so beautifully written: you have such a gift for words. God knew what he was doing when He gave Zoie a Mommy who could give us a glimpse into her world. Tears, tears, tears! :)
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