A Moment Matters

When Wil was a baby and I went to our first Down Syndrome Support Team meeting I walked in wide-eyed, nervous, overwhelmed by it all. I saw parents easily chatting, welcoming, kind, so, well, normal.

These parents shared stories with me. They were a soothing tonic. When everything felt so untypical, listening to their stories in everyday voices, made me feel right at home. Many parents said in their own words, “You are in for a great journey. It will be challenging yes, but you will also be very thankful. Its hard to understand this right now, but you will.”

I didn’t understand, so therefore, remembered this. And then the answers started to come. Not as a big epiphany, but in bits and pieces; in seemingly typical moments. Moments that if these parents were to explain, would not hold the significance they do today.

These moments are in the way your child figures out a way to find his favorite song on Spotify, and plays it over and over and over and over to the point you think you can hear it no more. But later, in the car, when that same song comes on the radio, you find yourself smiling.

These moments are in the way your child steps out of the car on a cold morning, and never forgets to stop and watch his breath.

These moments are in the way your child never, ever stops singing. There is always music that lives inside of him.

These moments are in the way when he wants you to join him, he says, “Mom, sing” and even if you make up a song, he will sing it with you.

These moments are in the way your child flashes that smile and a bad day simply doesn’t stand a chance.

These moments, as simple as they may seem, hold great significance in the way live them. This is what I did not understand at one time, but now I do.
My friends were right. Yes, I am so very thankful.



Last night reading Wil his bedtime story, he put his hand in mine. I remembered back when Wil was first born and the doctor told me he suspected Wil had Down syndrome. When I asked how he could tell so quickly, one characteristic the doctor noted was Wil’s short, stubby fingers. At the time my brain rejected everything the doctor said. I didn’t want to believe any of it. My beliefs were based in fear.
I have been holding Wil’s hand in mine for over 10 years now, and I always feel a huge surge of love when those sweet, short fingers give my hand a squeeze. It’s quite amazing in this life that our deepest fear can turn into our greatest love.