Imagining
"Mom, how old is my cousin Erick?"
"He is six."
"Now I can imagine Caleb better... I can imagine him liking Pokemon. I can imagine him drawing. Mom, which do you think would be Caleb's favorite color?"
I can imagine my second son, too. I have imagined him hiding behind me at the doctor's office. I have imagined him getting on my lap and asking me to read him a book. I have imagined him holding my hand as we walk.
Here I am in a world I had indeed imagined as if looking in a dim mirror. After all, I have seen my reality play out in other families' lives for years in my role of medical interpreter at a children's hospital. Yet you have to live it to really, really know. And in our case, it turns out this world is also beautiful.
Now I don't have to imagine how much a child with profound mental retardation can alter your world and shake up your ego. I don't have to imagine how, in spite of it all, you would not want him to be different. You would not want to lose who he is. I don't have to imagine that the cliché everybody says when expecting---"as long as the baby is healthy"----is just that, a cliché. Truth is you love them just the same and want them just the same.
Caleb turned 6 years-old recently. It is hard to believe we almost lost our son to apnea when he was only 3 weeks-old. Back then, we couldn't imagine what we have today. We cannot take credit for anything. Caleb is not a warrior, nor are we the most diligent parents. We are simply fortunate, blessed, with good health and resources.
One of the "perks" of our journey is that it opened the door to this whole different world for us as a family. I feel ashamed to say this, but I doubt I would have felt compelled to include children with disabilities at my son's birthday party had he been born healthy.
I had never imagined a party where two girls with Down syndrome would hug and kiss my boy while he slept. I never imagined hearing one of them say, "Caleb, you are so cute." I never imagined a group of typical and disabled children holding the strings of a piñata, forming the petals of a beautiful flower. Truly beauty can come from ashes.
"He is six."
"Now I can imagine Caleb better... I can imagine him liking Pokemon. I can imagine him drawing. Mom, which do you think would be Caleb's favorite color?"
I can imagine my second son, too. I have imagined him hiding behind me at the doctor's office. I have imagined him getting on my lap and asking me to read him a book. I have imagined him holding my hand as we walk.
Here I am in a world I had indeed imagined as if looking in a dim mirror. After all, I have seen my reality play out in other families' lives for years in my role of medical interpreter at a children's hospital. Yet you have to live it to really, really know. And in our case, it turns out this world is also beautiful.
Now I don't have to imagine how much a child with profound mental retardation can alter your world and shake up your ego. I don't have to imagine how, in spite of it all, you would not want him to be different. You would not want to lose who he is. I don't have to imagine that the cliché everybody says when expecting---"as long as the baby is healthy"----is just that, a cliché. Truth is you love them just the same and want them just the same.
Caleb turned 6 years-old recently. It is hard to believe we almost lost our son to apnea when he was only 3 weeks-old. Back then, we couldn't imagine what we have today. We cannot take credit for anything. Caleb is not a warrior, nor are we the most diligent parents. We are simply fortunate, blessed, with good health and resources.
One of the "perks" of our journey is that it opened the door to this whole different world for us as a family. I feel ashamed to say this, but I doubt I would have felt compelled to include children with disabilities at my son's birthday party had he been born healthy.
I had never imagined a party where two girls with Down syndrome would hug and kiss my boy while he slept. I never imagined hearing one of them say, "Caleb, you are so cute." I never imagined a group of typical and disabled children holding the strings of a piñata, forming the petals of a beautiful flower. Truly beauty can come from ashes.
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