On the day of Wil’s birth, the nurse said he was “floppy” which is a soft marker for Down syndrome. He melted into my chest. The soft, defined curve of his eyes warmed my heart like I’d known this love forever. At the same time, the shape of his eyes sent a hard marker of knowing deep into my gut. I wouldn’t let the knowing climb up to be processed by my rationale. I held it down like a child with hands clamped over her ears, singing, “la-la-la-la.”
We all have dreams for our children. Even if our children do not step into those dreams. Even if we don’t really expect them to. It’s natural to form a moving picture view of the future ahead. Our dreams point the way. When I could no longer hold down the knowing of Wil’s diagnosis, confirmed by a doctor’s solemn nod, I found myself staring into a blank future. In what direction do I go? It was a stand-still in time.
I stared into Wil’s eyes and wondered at the seeming randomness of it all. Though I received many words of consolation and many words of encouragement, I felt directionless. I had no reference point. I was lost even though people all around me shouted directions.
My first step was to call a trusted friend, Beckie Brewis. She ran the First Steps Parents as Teachers program which Katherine and Elizabeth were enrolled in. She was also the Early On service coordinator (a program for children with special needs ages 0-5). She put me in touch with therapists for Wil. He soon started speech, physical and occupational therapy. Beckie and Wil’s therapists not only helped him take his first steps into speaking, walking and picking up Cheerios, they also helped me take my first steps into this life too.
When Wil first learned to walk, his physical therapist, Shelly, helped him up onto a balance beam. Shelly held one of Wil’s hands and I held the other. On a balance beam the only reference point is forward, or you fall off. “Look how he does that,” Shelly said as Wil advanced along the beam. “He doesn’t know how to walk on his own yet, but he is now able to place one foot in front of the other.”
Today Wil and I run like airplanes – our arms out wide, we dip, we skip, we circle, we jump, we zig, we zag, all through the landscape. Our path may seem directionless to some, but we know where we are going because our grounding is solid. Imprinted in the earth are our footprints, one in front of the other, the path of trusted friends alongside steadying our gait.
Learning to walk through the blank space was how I learned to fly. You can’t spread your wings standing still with your hands clamped over your ears. The knowing that I once held down is now the air that lights my wings….arms out wide, ears open, eyes curved to the sky, la-la-la-la onward we go.
Photo: Beckie and Wil
