'WIL'ingness = Willing to Embrace Extra in Life

 

 

I have a For Sale sign taped to the inside of the passenger window of my truck. Wil was home sick from school with a wheezy cough, so we were headed to the doctor. With his sisters in school, he excitedly opened the passenger door for the coveted front seat. He looked up at the For Sale sign taped to the window. With just enough sunlight to make the sign transparent, he read through the back of it; he said out loud, “Miles.”

“Hey, Mom! I see Wil upside down!” I looked over and saw it.  There it was, plain as day in bold black Sharpie. “Wil” is in fact, the first three letters of the word “Miles” upside down.

And that is pretty much what Wil does to my perspective every single day. What I see as very common-stance and ordinary stands out as something new, creative and fun to Wil. And thankfully he shares his perspective with me so I may too, see that the only thing that’s ordinary in this life is our perspective. He can make magic out of just about anything.

As a 49-year-old adult, I’m prone to routines. Especially being married with 3 kids, a job, volunteer work, and working out, I am consistently fine-tuning and seeking new ways to streamline my schedule so I can do all the things I choose to do in a day. The side effect to this, for me anyway, is I can get task-focused and forget to see what is around me (that may be why I enjoy running and swimming so much, it’s my time to unplug and be in the moment). If I don’t make an intentional choice to be present, I easily become focused on what is ahead over what is right now.

Wil is rarely, if ever, is directly on task. This fact can be quite frustrating if you are in a hurry.  Anyone who has lived or has spent lots of time with a loved one with Down syndrome knows what I mean. Hurry is simply not in the vocabulary. Whenever possible, I always add in a 10-15 minute buffer when we have somewhere to go because there always seems to be a delay of some sort (unless he doesn’t want to be somewhere, then he can find an exit and be gone before you’ve blinked). Wil knows he’s not very fast and it’s even become a bit of a joke around our household. Wil’s very particular about what hat he wears each day. Occasionally, Wil decides to change his hat just as it’s time to go out the door. So I’ll say, “Ok, Wil, go get your hat, quick like a rabbit!” And he’ll laugh and say with very slow, exaggerated steps, “Ok, Mom, sloooooow liiiike a tortoise.” 🙂

At the school circle drop-off, there is a 7-second rule. Kids are supposed to exit the car in 7 seconds and then the driver rolls away so the next car in line can pull up. This keeps the circle moving smoothly and efficiently. Even with our best efforts, 7 seconds is not realistic for us, so most days we park and walk up to the school. Some days Wil wants to be dropped off at circle, so we do the best we can. I know some parents have seen us go around the circle 3 times because Wil isn’t quite ready. We all have our “3 circle days.” Just the other day, he wanted to be dropped off at circle, but “Boys ‘Round Here” came on the radio. He loves that song! It was still playing as we pulled up to the drop-off and there was no way he was getting out until the song was over. So around we went, but the song was still playing on the 2nd round. So I ended up pulling into a parking spot as we jammed to Blake Shelton singing to the end. When the song was over, I rolled back into the circle line and Wil made a successful exit in what I’d guess was maybe 12 seconds. That’s rabbit time for us! That may have been our 3rd time around but Blake Shelton gave both of us a happy lift to the morning.

That’s how it is for us. It takes us a few extra laps around the circle. Someone else’s tortoise pace is our rabbit pace. And we celebrate that. Sometimes I think it would do us all a world of good to take an extra few laps around the circle every once in a while until we felt good about the day ahead. This world moves fast and we all move fast with it. We value the rabbit over the tortoise as the years pass and our lives get busier. We hardly stop to listen to a song all the way to the end, or take time to read a sign in it’s entirety, let alone take a moment to view it upside down.

We zoom through life waiting for life to “happen” to us, rather than “happening” to life by approaching it in a new way. Shifting our view, or taking another circle around can change everything. When Wil looks at something in a new way and shares it with me, I’m always left with a feeling a vitality for life. It’s like this little secret to joy that’s been unlocked right in front of me. All these little pieces of magic, right here, right now, to discover every single day.  I’m thankful for Wil’s reminders of this fact, as many times as I might need them.

It was nearly 8AM and my son was busting at the seams. The dog was wagging around picking up on his energy. A quick glance out the window and I could tell it was not frigid cold. The trees barely swayed indicating the lack of wind, and no frost had accumulated on the ground. My weather app showed it to be 29 degrees; downright balmy for this time of year.
“How about taking Woody for a field walk, Wil?” Woody was definitely on board. Hearing the word “walk” he did a little jump and his tail went into hyper-sonic mode.
“Yes!” Wil said and ran off to pick out which hat he would wear. Always the most important accessory, according to him. Wil chose his warm Red Wings hat signed by Luke Glendening. We zipped up coats, pulled on gloves and boots, and still in pjs underneath, we flew out the back door.
Woody ran ahead with his head down sniffing all the animal scents along the way. Wil and I made our way down the flattened part of the field.
“Dad cut this part.” he said.
“Yes, he did back in the fall. Now that it’s winter, the grass doesn’t grow so he doesn’t have to cut it. Feel the frozen parts under your feet?” He responded by making big stomps on the ground. As Wil has Down syndrome, and it has taken him time to learn to talk, and to express his emotions, I truly enjoy listening to his thoughts. Each word of a sentence is like a little gift.
Woody cut over to the adjoining field so we cut across the brush to follow him. In that area is a big pile of large tree limbs that was used by the county to divide our property from the county’s. Wil wanted to climb the branches so we stopped there. He put his leg up on the branch and tried to hoist himself up.
“Uh! I caaaaaaaaaan do it!” he said as he pulled with his arms on a higher tree limb and pushed down with his foot. He pulled and pushed and then he plopped down on the ground.
“Uh! That is hard work!”
“It is, try again and I can help you just a little.” We tried again and he made it up on the first limb. The height scared him and he immediately asked to come back down.
“Let’s walk, Mom.”
So off we went until we came to some of the trees his sisters like to climb. He made the same attempt there with the same results. I tried again to help him by pushing up on his leg, but as soon as he reached the bottom branch of the tree he became scared of the height and asked me to stop and let him down. He sees the things his sisters do and wants to do them so badly. He watches his sisters climb trees and jump off the dock to swim at my parent’s lake. One time at the lake he did not have his swim suit, and my mom gave him one of sister’s just so he would have something on. He was so excited as he thought it would magically make him swim like his sister, Katherine. Wil ran out to the dock full of energy and hope. As soon as he reached the dock, he realized that the powers he had imagined had vanished.
These experiences give me a twinge of sadness for him. But that doesn’t last long because Wil doesn’t stay in that place like I do. Wil has already moved on. When he realized Katherine’s suit lost its powers, he went down the steps of the dock into the shallow part of the lake, right next to the seawall that he can grab hold of when the waves come in from a boat. He splashes, laughs, stands on one leg and says, “Look at me Mom!” I wave back and smile, and say, “Wow! Great balancing, buddy!”
So today after his tree climbing attempt, though I’m sure he felt disappointment, he didn’t linger in those emotions. He was already off in search of the biggest branches that had fallen to the ground. He struck gold. He lifted it up, grunting to exaggerate it’s weight. He held it up proudly and said, “Mom, look!”
“Wow, that is huge! Look how strong you are!” And soon he dropped that one and went in search of another. This fun adventure went on for the next half hour.
I watched as he crouched down, lifted up yet another branch to show me, then he dropped it and quickly searched for another. I thought of his low muscle tone and how beneficial this was to him. Not to mention all the sensory input. Oh, that special needs mom brain is always kicking in!
But it wasn’t just Wil benefitting, I was too. I breathed in the fresh, crisp air and enjoyed this moment for what it was; simple, beautiful, perfect. There is little that compares to the gifts nature gives by purely being what it is.
As far as Wil has come, I realized how far I have come right along with him. This road to acceptance is not a point to point destination. It’s a continuous road. Sure I can say I accept Down syndrome fully, but it’s not that simple. If acceptance is accepting a person completely as they are, then it can not be a static thing. We are always evolving, so our level of acceptance must be too.
Today when I felt a pang of sadness for Wil when he could not climb the tree like his sisters, I won’t see it the same way next tomorrow. We will both have moved on to a new adventure and we will again circle back to that tree for another attempt but at a different level. Each time he will be a step closer. One of these days he will climb that tree, and we will celebrate it all the more for the adventure it took to get there. And with each attempt I will have learned something new right along with him.
As Wil hoisted up the biggest branch yet, he exaggeratedly grunted and then giggled as he wobbled from foot to foot showing off his latest find.
“Take a picture of this one, Mom!” It was barely 9AM and we already were experiencing the greatest of adventures right in our very own back yard.

 

Acceptance…I’ve never seen so much masked fear surrounding another subject.
If there is acceptance, there is no need to cure or fix it, because it is recognized as full and pure as it already is.
That is exactly how I see Down syndrome. Full and pure as it has been created.
Down syndrome is not a disease. It is not something to be cured or treated.
I understand having a struggle with this. Having an extra chromosome results in certain differences than those of us with 46 chromosomes. We want to fix anything we do not understand. We all come to our fears from our own directions. Our varied backgrounds, teachings, experiences. We all have our own stories and our own vantage points. That is why where we are in acceptance is not to be judged. It is a journey we travel to in our own way and our own time. I look at the journey to acceptance as this large funnel. Acceptance is at the apex, and we all wind our way in from somewhere in the outskirts. Some of us are wayyyyy out there with a longer winding road to make our way in, and some are much closer. But acceptance is located one point, one place. It does not vary. It simply and powerfully “is.” And that point, that apex of acceptance, I believe, is love. Pure, absolute, unadultrated love. All the milestones, the comparisons, the fixes and cures fade away. Right in this point, Down syndrome is accepted for the beautiful, perfect chromosomal creation that it is.
Let me be clear that acceptance is much different than complacency. Where complacency stops, gives up, or doesn’t care, acceptance infinitely gives and gives and gives. Milestones and markers are important. They have their place. They are a measurement of progress. We all need that in our lives. But what we have to be very careful of is the comparison of milestones or trying to “cure” Down syndrome. Our children are perfect just as they are. They have gifts of their own as we all do. When Wil started to walk, he was about 2 years old. We did all the things we were supposed to do. Checked off all the boxes and followed all the physical therapists suggestions. Even so, Wil did a few things out of order. Such as, when holding on to railings, he could place one foot directly in front of the other on a balance beam before he could walk unaided. Apparently this one foot in front of the other type of walking is supposed to develop after a child learns to walk independently. But he learned to walk and soon he was off running. With love, encouragement and the therapist’s expertise Wil walked when he was supposed to walk. We tried rushing potty training with him and that was a huge disaster. So, again, following the rules, checking the boxes, Wil was officially potty trained at age 4. Meanwhile, Wil’s friends with and without Down syndrome were meeting their milestones when they were supposed to. It was really important for me to stay true to Wil and his progress without comparison of others. This was a large learning step to full acceptance. There was a lot of noise from the outside on certain pills he should take or things he should do. One story I’ve shared before that always makes me giggle is how it was suggested to my parents by a friend that I didn’t have time to potty train Wil so they should do it for me. My parents kindly took Wil for a weekend while my husband and his sisters went on a camping trip up north. My mom called that night and said, “Uncle!!” We both had a good laugh. Wil is ready when he’s ready. It’s great to encourage our kids, but true acceptance is allowing them to get there when they are ready with all the supports available around them.
I shockingly still hear things like, “He doesn’t look like he has Down syndrome.” Like that’s supposed to be some kind of compliment. I love Wil and Down syndrome is part of him. I don’t want to cure or change Wil’s Down syndrome. I have absolute, full acceptance of who he is and part of that is having 47 chromosomes. When I hear talk of trying to cure or change this I immediately feel anger. But I’ve matured (sort of) over the years and I take a deep breath when I feel that anger. I investigate that feeling and remind myself that everyone has their own journey to full acceptance. That many people still live in fear of what these 47 chromosomes mean. They want to fix or change it as if something is wrong. But nothing is wrong. It’s exactly as it should be. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, it simply is a different way of life. And really, don’t we all have our own different ways of life? So now when I catch myself feeling that anger, I visualize that big, funnel winding it’s way to acceptance. I visualize this person winding their way on their journey, and I send them blessings in my mind. It’s not an easy journey, and we are all in our own places on it. If I truly want love for our kids, I need to share the love for who they are, not anger because someone is in a different place than me. I can’t fight fear with fear. But I can make great gains with sending love because that is the essence, the apex, the meaning of acceptance. The more I accept and share the love for the life we live, the more I can invite others into this beautiful world of acceptance where we are all created exactly as we should be.

As I drove home from an early morning workout today, and reached the winding, open country roads near my home, I was struck by a feeling of light-hearted, yet subdued euphoria. It was a very peaceful feeling. I investigated that feeling. Of course, working out always gives me a wonderful lift, but there was a peacefulness about this feeling that was different from an endorphin rush. Before me, across the wide-open fields, the sky was a big, blank canvas of white. It was a misty morning and there was not one ounce of blue in the sky. The clouds had completely melded together and blended softly into the rising mist from the ground. It was a subtle yet serenely beautiful sight.
We all hark for sunny days. Bright, warm rays breaking through fluffy cloud pillows, warming our shoulders, lifting our spirits, and beckoning us all out to play! Strangers say hello to one another on the street, everything feels a little better and a little brighter for the gift of the sun.
These feelings don’t easily rise to the surface on a cloud-covered misty day. Yet this morning, I was hit with the subdued beauty of it all. Of the greatness and vastness of the white space before me. A space where all color stems from. A space where all is possible in this vastness.
When I arrived home, I vowed to keep this special kind of light I felt within me. It’s funny when you change your perspective on things, how everything around you changes. I had some breakfast and then went to take a shower. My shower curtain has a watercolor picture of the Tree of Life. It’s a very colorful shower curtain and I chose it for that reason. Knowing this curtain would be one of the first things I saw every day, I knew the bright colors and the symbolic meaning would be an immediate spirit lifter. Today, however, when I placed my hand on the shower curtain to pull it back to step in the shower, I noticed not the colors, but the white space the colors were painted upon. The white seemed almost inconceivably bright. I then noticed all the little details in a single, purple-pink petal on the tree. In all the time I had this curtain, I saw only all the colors together, but today noticing the white, it brought out even more detail and brightness in the colors.
The lightness of the clouds and the mist added a lifting calmness to my morning, and it will last further into this day and beyond. As winter makes its way, and the days of sun fall fewer and far between, I will draw back on my memory of this morning and bring it back. I will fill my heart with this subdued, yet powerful calmness. Not every day needs to be cheery and bright to be deemed good and heart-warming.
What I before easily saw as dull and grey, I now see as a vast, open backdrop that makes sunny, colorful days shine with even more detail. Days like today are perfect for quiet, serene reflection. For appreciating these background days of life that are like big, blank open canvases upon which to write our own beautifully colored and detailed stories.

A lot of people are stuggling out there, and that’s even as life is supposedly getting easier. Heck, we don’t even have to leave our car to get a cup of coffee, or to pick up groceries. In many ways, this is a blessing. We have many things to do that take priority and hold more value. Let’s save our energy for what matters. And with young kids, it can be downright exhausting to grocery shop, especially in the winter getting everyone geared up.
However, there are aspects of modern conveniences that takes away something. Our connection with others. I remember when I had 3 young kids under 3 years of age at the grocery store. I was standing in the checkout, the kids almost at their limits. I was keeping them occupied as the woman in line ahead of me was getting the last of her items bagged. As she put the last bag in her cart, I inched forward with my cart, Wil in the child seat and the twins on either side of me. I was still talking, singing, cajoling. She walked up to me, looked me right in the eye and said, “Mom, you are doing a great job.” I surprised myself by tearing up. It was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment. I realized I was running 110% on damage control. Add in that I was still navigating my way through figuring out therapies for Wil and how this whole Down sydnrome thing works (I tell you, you question yourself so much when navigating something so new like this: is there a therapy, a specialist, a learning tool I could be missing? Am I doing enough, will I ever be doing enough?). So those words she shared with me went really deep.
She shared that her kids were all in their 20s now, but she remembered well that time when they were little. I promised myself that I would pass on her words to another mom just as she did to me. I would try to remember well these days, so I can share a much needed kind word with another mom. And as time has passed, I’ve done so, this woman never leaving my memory.
I’m thankful for the conveniences we have today. I could have stayed home, and had extra energy in my day to spend on other priorities. And that would have been beneficial in many ways. But that said, let us never forget the value of one-on-one connection. To make this world better, to help allieviate some of the suffering, we must truly connect with one another. There is a specificity to that connection, even with just a few words, which runs deep.
In this world of conveniences, let us not forget how powerful an open-hearted face-to-face encounter can be.

Yesterday morning Wil was a tough one. Would not get out of bed, would not get dressed, would not eat, would not decide on lunch, would not brush his teeth, would not would not would not would not would not.
The twins needed to get to school, and Wil was still sitting on the floor in his pjs absolutely resolute to do nothing but that. And I believed him. Whoever is able crack the code on the Down syndrome brand of stubborness will win the Nobel Peace Prize some day.
I weighed the checks and balances. Force Wil, and it only goes downhill from here. Give him some space and time, and he’d be good to go. Fortunately I didn’t have to get right to work so I told him he could go to school late today. A slower morning would result in a much more productive day overall. And the twins could enjoy a pleasant ride to school. It worked like a charm. After dropping the twins off at school, he relaxed, got dressed, ate breakfast, and even packed a whole extra backpack full of toys to bring with him. He got to school 45 minutes late but made it through the entire day.
This morning I prayed would be a better morning, as I was working and Katherine and Elizabeth would be on “Wil duty” as we like to call it.   As I left work and headed for home, I got a call from Katherine. Uh-oh.
“Mom, Wil wants to be dressy today. Like coat and tie dressy.”
I was so thrilled that he actually got out of bed and wanted to get dressed for them I said, “Great! Compared to yesterday, this is what I call success.”
“But, Mom, is that really appropriate for school?”
“Going through what we did yesterday, if he wanted to splash glitter all over his outfit I’d ask what color.”
“Haha, ok, Mom. I’ll see what I can do. See you soon, bye.”
When I got home, they were all standing at the door, backpacks on and ready to go! Oh, how something so seemingly simple can bring the greatest joy of relief. I could see the girls had talked Wil down to a buttoned collared shirt and grey pants. Off we went, Monster Mash playing, and we all sang right along, but when we pulled up the the girls’ school, they turned down the music and stopped singing because you know, it’s not cool when you are 13. But, as a mom of 13 year olds, it’s so fun to embarrass them (and I think they secretly like it) so was tempted to blast it again as they stepped out the car door. But they were awesome rockstars that morning, so I decided to save embarrassing them for another day.
Katherine and Elizabeth are so good at rolling with these unpredictable changes in behavior. I asked them if it’s hard for them sometimes. They both said no, it’s just Wil. That’s how Wil is. There are good days, not-so-good days, and Wil days. 
I sometimes hesitate to share the challenging times. Because there are many. I want minds to open to Down syndrome, not close down even more than they already are. But life is big. Life can not simply be categorized as all good or all not-so-good. Each of us has our own brand of Wil days. Days that may not be specifically common to others, but they are common in that these days are specifically challenging for us in our own personal lives. Life is full of ups, downs, unpredictable changes and various little speed bumps in-between. And it’s navigating all of these places, figuring it out, even on the days when you don’t think you have any extra patience in you, you know you have find it. Because if you force it, or shy away from it, you won’t make it through the day. But getting through those places, bit by bit, are how simple moments in life shine. Like seeing my kids all at the ready, smiling in their backpacks after I know it was not a perfectly smooth morning. And when you are sitting in the car singing Monster Mash with those same kids, even though it can be really hard, you feel like you are the luckiest person in the world and would rather be no where else in the world than where you are right now.

October is Down Syndrome Awareness Month:
In seeking inclusion for our kids, the focus is quite frequently on limits. Whether it be overcoming pre-conceived notions, or adaptation in the education system, we live in a day-to-day focused world where our individual strengths and weaknesses are highlighted. While this is important, there is another level to inclusion. A level above limits. In fact, in this place no limits exist. It is a place of giving of ourselves. Giving of ourselves with no strings attached. Giving because we love. Giving because we care. When we give freely of our own choice, the level of our giving is infinite. This type of giving raises us and those around us to a higher plane. A level above limits, pre-conceived notions, and individuality. A place we are all one. When I am witness to this, it is truly a spiritual experience. My guess is you have felt this in your own life too. There is no need to adapt, question, overcome, because in this plane we are all completely free as we are. There is no need for inclusion because we truly already are all one.

Do you know what I think about Down syndrome?
Down syndrome is dancing to a tune that you may not hear but feel deep down in your soul. Down syndrome is remembering how deep belly laughs are some of this earth’s best medicine. Down syndrome reminds us that being in a hurry is overrated and there is always time for a hug. Down syndrome should have it’s own termed category in stubbornness. Down syndrome is a reminder that some of life’s challenges are also life’s greatest blessings. Down syndrome reminds us that we may not forget, but we have the capacity to forgive. Down syndrome unites strangers turning them into fast friends. Down syndrome is challenging, beautiful, joyful, present, giving and free.

There is this interesting dichotomy in raising kids with special needs. You want so much for your child. You find resources or you work to create them. You reach out to support groups and find friends that understand this new life you have been given. You do all you can to ensure the most opportunities for your child. As your child gets older, you can see easily some milestones ahead they will reach, others are still fuzzy, and some you can see are highly unlikely. The interesting dichotomy is coming to terms with this. You fight so hard to garner acceptance and yet, when you see certain milestones will not be attainable, you find yourself ok with that too.

It’s not a complacency thing. It’s not a resignation thing. It’s a full acceptance thing. It’s a getting to know your child thing. Of course, we can not predict the future for any of our children, but so many more questions surround our children with special needs. There are so many questions in the beginning. Will my child walk and if he does, when will he? Will my child talk and if he does when will he? And if he doesn’t what avenues will we take? Will his health issues affect his daily life? Will he be in a mainstream school? Will the school administration work with his needs or will it be an uphill battle every day? Will he need resource room time? If so, how much? Every day is a new learning experience mainly by trial and error. But then things happen like your child says one word. One whole word. One word you worked on with the speech therapist and didn’t know when or if it would come. And then it does. Of course, you hope this means two words are coming. So you work with the speech therapists on how to encourage two words together. Sometimes what worked to encourage that one word to be spoken doesn’t work to encourage two words together. So you change your process and your patience must be increased whether you want it to or not. You used to be a “planner” by nature. Now you have learned to live “day-by-day.” What looks good on paper does not always replay as perfectly in real life living. You learn to adjust, modify, and rearrange. Processes reveal their outcomes in their own time. But eventually those two words do come, and it is like the clouds parted and angels started singing. Happy tears sting your eyes, you hug your child and your child is looking at you like, “Hey, didn’t I just put a lot of effort into saying ‘Want Goldfish’? Can we get on that please, I’m hungry!”

Now, Wil talks in big, full sentences. Some are abbreviated, but most of his sentences start with a capital letter, have the correct noun, conjunction and verb, and end with a period. He’s been talking to me in big sentences for awhile now, so you would think the angel chorus would have stopped by now but I still thrill at the sound of it. I believe it’s because of the process it took to get here, and starting at a point where I couldn’t be promised if he would talk.

It’s the same when Wil rides his recumbent bike with ease, reads pages in a book, or writes a short paragraph. We went through oodles of bikes to find the right one for Wil. Training wheels, smaller bikes, a tricycle, and finally we struck gold with a recumbent bike. I can hear the angels sing just above the squeals of his tires every time he peels around a corner in our driveway with the look of thrill in his eyes. Reading and writing have been tireless acts of patience on some days, and full of ease on others. When Wil wants to do something, he is the easiest kid in the world. But try to force anything, and you better call it a day right then and there. A friend’s husband who is a psychologist who works with kids with Down syndrome said, “There is stubborn and then there is Down syndrome stubborn. I was told that when I was studying my degree and thought, how could there be much of a difference? Then I got my first job and realized what they meant.” We both had a good laugh over that. All of Wil’s achievements were the end result of a process lived through day-by-day. Trial and error. Learning new ways, tweaking the old, and sometimes it was good, old luck. A celebration of one extra word, one hot rod turn in the driveway, one favorite book read, one dedicated paragraph about his favorite toy truck are so extraordinary in their own right for the journey to achieve them.

Yesterday, Wil needed to sign a form for school. He’s been writing his first and last name for awhile now, so when I asked him to sign the form he asked me, “First and last name, Mom?”
“Yes, right here on this line.” I handed him a pen.
“Wil Taylor,” he said as he wrote out the letters. Then he looked up at me with a big, proud smile. Those poor angels must be really tired of me by now

They say it’s not the destination but the journey. I believe that to be true. I also believe that is why this special needs journey feels in a way like a dichotomy. You have to really reach out so many times to clear the way for your child. To pave a path so no one stands in their way with pre-conceived notions to impede their process. This is very important. But yet, once you start making your way, it’s the little stops along the way that are so spectacular and miraculous. Even though there are certain things Wil may never do because of his extra chromosome, I want to make it very clear that acceptance of this is not a complacency thing. It’s not a resignation thing. What the entirety of this experience is –challenges, stops, starts, joys, thrills and all– is nothing less than a gift from heaven. I know that to be true because every day, even multiple times a day, those angels never fail to appear to sing Wil’s praises right along with me.