Reading a passage on a special needs social media page, I came across a sentence about our kids’ first friends being their therapists. Tears immediately flowed with that sentence. Have you ever found your emotions processing words faster than your intellect? My heart felt the words before their literal meaning reached my brain.
Then when my brain kicked in, I thought, “here I am, 13 years into this journey, fully embracing this journey, and still find myself crying at the drop of a hat over an early memory.” No matter where you are in your journey of acceptance, even if you have come full circle, you never, ever forget your early days of passage into what you now embrace.
In the early days, I didn’t know many people who knew what this life was. That is likely true for many. Those around you either don’t know what to say, or try to console you. So, those first steps are full of so many questions, but you are unsure where to direct them at that point. The therapists, for many of us, are those first people to ask real questions of. The therapists, for many of us, are our first solid signs of hope. The therapists, for many of us, give us more than words. They give with their actions.
Wil’s first therapists were on the side of acceptance I valiantly wanted to find my way to. In the way they were there for Wil, they were also opening the passage to me. I could ask very real and upfront questions, and they responded with very real and upfront answers. They were people in the know. And they cared. I may not have been there of my choosing, but they were there because this was their chosen life’s work. That is some powerful stuff.
Wil’s therapists moved Wil’s limbs and motivated Wil to learn in their knowing ways. I watched the ease in which they did this. Then I would try. I immediately failed. What looked so easy for them was so very new to me. They patiently showed me again and again. And again and again. In the process, I learned the beauty of patience–that not all things come when we want them, but in their own time. As Wil was learning, though he took many trys, there would be small advances. Advances I never would have noticed if I already knew what to do. I learned there is beauty in the space between the advances. I learned there is never an ordinary moment. What we call ordinary means we are glancing over too quickly. I learned that not everything that comes to us is natural–we need to go through the process to acquire our second nature.
I learned my second nature through Wil’s therapists. I learned patience through Wil’s therapists. I learned to pay attention to the space between the advances with Wil’s therapists. I crossed the bridge to acceptance by the leading hands of the therapists.
Though I have come full circle to acceptance, within that circle there are still the broken parts I pieced together to create the whole. The emotions my heart registers before my brain, never forgot those broken parts. They are the building blocks that I ever so learningly, patiently, lovingly and dedicately worked to link together with the leading and helping hands of Wil’s first therapists, Wil’s first friends, on this journey.
Thank you, always for helping put those pieces together Wil’s very first therapists:
Theresa, Janet, Cathy & Shelly
Stories of Wil, my son, who has Down syndrome 