It's been a day.
I'm worn at the edges. My heart aches with loneliness. I am being slowly pulled under by exhaustion.
I am feeling tugged from all directions. Pulled.
I am worn.
Ragged.
Done.
Laundry. Carpool. Watering the garden. Pulling weeds. Chasing the dog.
There's no me in this day, only...them.
A meeting. A room with three faces. My son sitting next to me, pushing cars as the labels ride over his head on the wall. Projected there in black and white.
Severe delay.
Failure.
Intervention.
Therapy.
All these words. Next to his name.
And him below it. With his eyes. His face. The face that looked up at me just minutes from my body. The face I caressed as he nursed. The eyes I have watched drift shut as I rocked, rocked.
His voice echoes across the sterile table. He says words only I can understand. I translate for him, watching his face.
I look down to hide tears I don't want anyone to see.
They ask- what do you want for him?
What do I see him doing 5 years from now?
And I say- I just want him to be able to speak.
But it's more.
I want him to be UNDERSTOOD.
And how, when the words are not there?
And will he be made fun of....and will he be lonely...and will he be sad. And god forbid any of these things because I WILL MOVE OCEANS TO SAVE HIM FROM THAT. Oceans. Mountains. I will NOT let him be lonely. I will not let him be mocked.
God help me. I will not.
The tears were swift. Hot coursing rivers. I did not let him see. He rode his scooter as I watched his joy and I thought -oh god how long will he feel this way? How long before he knows he is different?
My sweet sweet boy. My big eyed angel.
I put the kids to bed. Lily came out of her room with nonsense. I sent her back, harshly.
God told me to go to her. To make it right.
So I did. And it was back rubs and whispers and talking.
And then...
Mama?
Yes?
I stood up for somebody today.
Tell me.
And she does. Of the boy, the special boy, in her class. The one without many words. The one with big expressive eyes that look at you with such soul. Eyes like that don't need words.
She tells me of the boy who was laughing at her special friend. And how she told him to stop. Because it isn't nice.
My heart turned over. My eyes filled with tears as my heart filled with grace.
Because just as much as I have a sweet quiet special boy, I also have my kind compassionate loving Lily.
And there are many people like my daughter. Who see the soul, not just the body. That hear the unsaid words. That see the human beneath the diagnosis.
That hear the words that cannot come from the lips.
I looked into her eyes, so much like her brothers. And through tears I told her of how beautiful her soul is, how good she is, how treasured by God and by me.
Mama, it was nothing. I will always stand up for my friends.
I kissed her goodnight, whispering in her ear of how proud Jesus is of her amazing heart.
Redemption doesn't always come like lightning from the sky. Comfort is not always engulfing. Sometimes it can be the small voice of one heart, speaking for someone who cannot.
I thank God for the silence, and for the words.
Both have given me more than I could ever say.
