When. That was my favorite question in the beginning. Even if it is not always specifically answerable, the question of when held a note of hope. When promises it will happen, it is only the timeline that is unclear.
On one occasion I asked the question, Will he? I was met with a long pause. Will, like when, is also not specifically answerable. But, unlike the question of when, will promises no hope. The question of will hangs on the edge of a cliff, it is random, free falling. To start with, there are already too many unanswered questions. Even the slightest flash of light, a word of hope, is strength to step forward to, even if blindly at first.
There may be no such thing as a bad question. But there is such a thing as better questions. I learned that quickly. When you are living in a place of question marks, don’t ask for more question marks. Ask questions that have a hint of hope. You don’t have to see the light, only to know that it is there. That there is a chance. That there is an opportunity. That there is something to step toward to. That is enough.
I didn’t know if Wil would talk. Nobody knew. At first I asked will he talk. No one can say, was the answer. Then I quickly learned to rephrase that as When. No one could answer either, but the latter moved us in a forward direction. When is progressive. When looks ahead. Will just wonders.
Wil’s first words were a thrill. Like any baby, he babbled. Like any mother, I heard decipherable words in his babble. The question was, when would two words come? Two words were much greater than one. Two words meant comprehension. Two words meant that three words would come. Three words meant that sentences would come. Three words meant that he could communicate with others. Three words meant four and five word sentences to come. Four and five words meant a complete sentence. Complete sentences meant he could make conversation. Making conversation meant making friends. Making friends meant the ability to have a social life. Having a social life meant having an enriching life. Having an enriching and full life meant the ability to have a job and succeed in adulthood. Not if, but when. Hope. Forward progress.
“Goldfish, Mom.” Not just “Goldfish” but “Goldfish, Mom.” Then, “Goldfish, Mom,” expanded to “I want Goldfish, Mom.” I couldn’t wait to share with Matt, “Wil said, I WANT Goldfish. Not just Goldfish, but I WANT Goldfish.” The flash of light was so bright I could hardly see. Not if, but when. Hope. Forward progress.
Soon, “Light” turned into “Turn off the light.” “Go to the store” turned into “I go to the store” and then into “I am going to the store.”
Wil talks in complete sentences now, but I continue to thrill at the formation of any new addition of a word. I have new questions of whens now, but the present whens continue to hold their hope, their strength and their promise of forward progress. Our first questions of when are our building blocks for the promise of new hopes and dreams.
Wil looked up at the sunset and pointed, “Mom, look! The sunset is beautiful.”
“Yes it is, Wil.” Almost as beautiful as your words used to show it to me. I will never forget to be thankful for those words, because I remember when.