I see you in the middle of the day, tired. Your hair pulled back in a
ponytail and a stain on your shirt. You sacrifice so much for your
child. You are beautiful.
I see you at the ballpark, cheering
and encouraging the kids playing in the Little League. Yet, I know while
you cheer your heart aches, wishing that your son could play ball too,
not in a special league, but here, running and moving his body like
those kids rather than spending his days in a wheelchair. You are
courageous.
I see at the
therapy office programming your child’s speech device, entering phrases
and words to help her communicate with others. You lean over to your
spouse with a grin and push a button, I hear the computer’s voice say,
“I farted.” You are funny.
I see you at the support group. New
parents are visiting with their baby, they seem scared, nervous, and
they are trying to deal with the diagnosis. You approach them, ask
questions, affirm their feelings, and assure them it won’t always be
easy, but it will be good. You are compassionate.
I see you
walking into the school for the third time this school year. A binder
full of notes, lists, and goals. Your don’t feel your child’s team is
following the IEP, and you won’t give up inclusion for your child. You
will do whatever it takes to provide the services that your child needs.
You are resilient.
I see you at the hospital, a place you are
too familiar with. Tubes, machines, tests, and specialists. Your child’s
feeding tube is the least of your concerns. You are brave.
I
see you at the restaurant, with a menu in your hand. But the noise is
too much for your child, the smells and unfamiliarity overwhelm him.
Soon, he is yelling and screaming. While people stare, you exit the
place and get into your car as quickly as you can. You are flexible.
I see you at church asking one of the new moms if you can bring her a
meal on Tuesday afternoon. You have so much on your plate, but you also
remember how hard the first few weeks are after a baby comes home. You
are generous.
I see you at social gatherings where well meaning
people ask ignorant questions about your child or her disability, they
make hurtful comments, or fail to recognize that your child is a child
first. You don’t get angry, you don’t yell. Instead, you smile, answer
their questions politely, and you educate them in a gentle manner and
thank them for their concerns. You are gracious.
I see you out
there in the world, living a selfless life. You give so much, you feel
so deeply, and you love so abundantly. You are admirable.
These
qualities you display are precious gifts you give to your child and to
those around you, they don’t go unnoticed…I see you.
By: Ellen Stumbo
http://www.ellenstumbo.com/
Noah's Miracle by Stacy Warden is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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