| And the pain of
that will never, ever, ever, ever go away...
because the loss of that dream is a very very
significant loss. But... if you spend your
life mourning the fact that you didn't get to
Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very
special, the very lovely things ... about
Holland.
I DREAMED
by
Amy W. Opalk
I
dreamed he'd be born beautiful and healthy.
He was.
I
dreamed he'd tell me that he loves me.
He tells me every day.
I
dreamed he'd be bright and funny.
He is - his humor is wonderful.
I
dreamed he'd ride a bike, catch a ball and
wrestle with his big brother.
He does and his brother loves it.
I
dreamed he'd have big birthday parties with lots
of friends and cake and presents.
He's had six.
I
dreamed he'd one day get on a bus and go to
kindergarten.
He did it yesterday - my heart full of love and
my eyes full of tears.
I
dreamed he'd make us proud.
He has and he's inspired us.
Dean
has Down Syndrome.
I never dreamed that.
The
Twelve Days of Christmas
On the
first day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
a child with a disability.
On the
second day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to
me: a heart full of love for my child with a
disability.
On the
third day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
an ache in my heart and a heart full of love for
my child with a disability.
On the
fourth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to
me: a tear in my eyes, an ache in my heart and a
heart full of love for my child with a
disability.
On the
fifth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
an unsuspected strength for the tear in my eyes
and the ache in my heart and my heart full of
love for my child with a disability.
On the
sixth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
a ray of hope, an unsuspected strength for the
tear in my eyes and the ache in my heart and my
heart full of love for my child with a
disability.
On the
seventh day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to
me: a sense of humor, a ray of hope, an
unsuspected strength for the tear in my eyes and
the ache in my heart and my heart full of love
for my child with a disability.
On the
eighth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to
me: supportive friends, a sense of humor, a ray
of hope, an unsuspected strength for the tear in
my eyes and the ache in my heart and my heart
full of love for my child with a disability.
On the
ninth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
remarkable doctors & therapists, supportive
friends, a sense of humor, a ray of hope, an
unsuspected strength for the tear in my eyes and
the ache in heart and my heart full of love for
my child with a disability.
On the
tenth day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to me:
an appreciation of small accomplishments,
remarkable doctors & therapists, supportive
friends, a sense of humor, a ray of hope, an
unsuspected strength for the tear in my eyes and
the ache in my heart and my heart full of love
for my child with a disability.
On the
eleventh day of Christmas, the good Lord gave to
me: a sense of pride, an appreciation of small
accomplishments, remarkable doctors &
therapists, supportive friends, a sense of humor,
a ray of hope, an unsuspected strength for the
tear in my eyes and the ache in my heart and my
heart full of love for my child with a
disability.
On the twelfth day of
Christmas, the good Lord said to me: Reach out
and share your sense of pride, your appreciation
of small accomplishments, your remarkable doctors
& therapists, your supportive friends, your
sense of humor, your ray of hope, your
unsuspected strength for the tear in your eyes
and the ache in your heart and your heart full of
love for your child with a disability.
Beatitudes of
theExceptional Child
Blessed are you who
take time to listen to defective speech, for you
help us to know that if we persevere, we can be
understood.
Blessed are you who
walk with us in public places and ignore the
stares of strangers, for in your companionship we
find havens of relaxation.
Blessed are you that
never bids us "hurry up" and more
blessed are you that do not snatch our task from
our hands to do them for us, for often we need
time rather than help.
Blessed are you who
stand beside us as we enter new ventures, for our
failures will be outweighed by times we surprise
ourselves and you.
Blessed are you who ask
for our help, for our greatest need is to be
needed.
Blessed are you when by
all these things you assure us that the thing
that makes us individuals, is not our peculiar
muscles, nor our wounded nerves system, but is
the God-given self that no infirmity can confine.
Blessed are those who
realize that I am human and don't expect me to be
saintly just because I am disabled.
Blessed are those who
pick things up with out being asked.
Blessed are those who
understand that sometimes I am weak and not just
lazy.
Blessed are those who
forget my disability of the body and see the
shape of my soul.
Blessed are those who
see me as a whole person and not as a
"half" and one of God's mistakes.
Blessed are those who
love me just as I am without wondering what I
might have been like.
WHAT YOU SHOULD KNOW
ABOUT MY CHILD
Remember
that he is, first of all, my child.
Let me see him smiling in his sleep and let me
think about how handsome he is
and not about how delayed that smile was in
coming.
Help me not lose sight of my son in the shadow of
his limitations
I know that you care for my child and that you
work hard with him.
I need your expertise to help him become all that
he is capable of being.
You need my help in understanding who he really
is
and in following through at home with things that
are important.
Remember, though, that you send him home at night
and have weekends off and paid vacations.
Let me have the luxury of having a vacation,
sometimes physically,
sometimes just emotionally, for a day, a week, a
month, without your judging me.
I will be there for him when you are long gone.
I love my child with an intensity that you can
only imagine.
If on a given day I am tired or cross with him,
listen to me,
lighten my burden, but do not judge me.
Celebrate
with me, rejoice in who he is and who he will
become but forgive me if from time to time I shed
a tear for who he might have been.
Author
Unknown
Insights by: Mary
Wilt
I cried at your
birth Unable to "see" The way that you
were
Just the way you
"should be".
The pain in my
heart Was a cold, heavy stone.
I regretted your
life, And lamented my own.
Still, I held you
close. Let your warmth touch my heart.
Let your love
filter in.And the stone fell apart.
Through warm,
healing tears I've watched as you've grown,
And the strength of
your spirit Has sheltered my own.
Now I see that your
Maker Intended your birth,
That He knows all
His children, And gives them all worth.
And now I can
"see" Your beautiful face.
And there's not a
feature I'd gladly erase.
For Emily, from
Mommy April, 1991
Just
thought we might be able to apply this to our
lives. Winning isn't about always finishing
first.
In Brooklyn, New York,
Chush is a school that caters to learning
disabled children. Some children remain in Chush
for their entire
school career, while others can be mainstreamed
into conventional schools.
At a Chush
fund-raising dinner, the father of a Chush child
delivered a speech that would never be forgotten
by all who attended.
After extolling the
school and its dedicated staff, he cried out,
"Where is the perfection in my son, Shay?
Everything God does is done with perfection. But
my child cannot understand things as other
children do. My child cannot remember facts and
figures as other children do. Where is God's
perfection?
The audience was
shocked by the question, pained by the father's
anguish and stilled by the piercing query.
"I believe," the father answered,
"that when God brings a child like this into
the world, the perfection that he seeks is in the
way people react to this child."
He then told the
following story about his son Shay: One
afternoon, Shay and his father walked past a park
where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball.
Shay asked, "Do you think they will let me
play?"
Shay's father knew
that his son was not at all athletic and that
most boys would not want him on their team. But
Shay's father understood that if his son was
chosen to play it would give him a comfortable
sense of belonging.
Shay's father
approached one of the boys in the field and asked
if Shay could play. The boy looked around for
guidance from his team-mates. Getting none, he
took matters into his own hands and said "We
are losing by six runs and the game is in the
eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and
we'll try to put him up to bat in the ninth
inning."
Shay's father was
ecstatic as Shay smiled broadly. Shay was told to
put on a glove and go out to play short center
field. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's
team scored a few runs but was still behind by
three.
In the bottom of the
ninth inning, Shay's team scored again and now
with Two outs and the bases loaded with the
potential winning run on base.
Shay was scheduled to
be up. Would the team actually let. Shay bat at
this juncture and give away their chance to win
the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.
Everyone knew that it
was all but impossible because Shay didn't even
know how to hold the bat properly, let alone hit
with it. However as Shay stepped up to the plate,
the pitcher moved a few steps to lob the ball in
softly so Shay should at least be able to make
contact.
The first pitch came
and Shay swung clumsily and missed. One of Shay's
team-mates came up to Shay and together they held
the bat and faced the pitcher waiting for the
next pitch. The pitcher again took a few steps
forward to toss the ball softly toward Shay. As
the pitch came in, Shay and his teammate swung at
the ball and together they hit a slow ground ball
to the pitcher.
The pitcher picked up
the soft grounder and could easily have thrown
the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have
been out and that would have ended the game.
Instead, the pitcher
took the ball and threw it on a high arc to right
field, far beyond reach of the first baseman.
Everyone started yelling, "Shay, run to
first. Run to first." Never in his life had
Shay run to first. He scampered down the
baseline, wide-eyed and startled. By the time he
reached first base, the right fielder had the
ball.
He could have thrown
the ball to the second baseman who would tag out
Shay, who was still running. But the right
fielder understood what the pitcher's intentions
were, so he threw the ball high and far over the
third baseman's head.
Everyone yelled,
"Run to second, run to second." Shay
ran towards second base as the runners ahead of
him deliriously circled the bases towards home.
As Shay reached second
base, the opposing short stop ran to him, turned
him in the direction of third base and shouted,
"Run to third." As Shay rounded third,
the boys from both teams ran behind him
screaming, "Shay run home." Shay ran
home, stepped on home plate and all 18 boys
lifted him on their shoulders and made him the
hero, as he had just hit a "grand slam"
and won the game for his team.
That day," said
the father softly with tears now rolling down his
face, "those 18 boys reached their level of
God's perfection."
Phillip's Egg
Phillip
was born with Downs Syndrome. He was a pleasant
child....happy it seemed, but increasingly aware
of the difference between himself and other
children. Phillip went to Sunday School
failthfully every week. He was in the third grade
class with nine other 8-year olds. And Phillip,
with his differences, was not readily accepted.
But his teacher was senesitive to Phillip and he
helped this group of eight-year olds to love each
other as best they could, under the
circumstances. They learned, they laughed, they
played together. And they really care about one
another even though eight-year olds don't say
they care about one another out loud.
But
don't forget. There was an exception to all of
this. Phillip was not really a part of the group.
Phillip choose, nor did he want to be different.
He just was. And that was the way things were.
His
teacher had a marvelous idea for his class the
Sunday after Easter. You know those things that
pantyhose come in? The containers that look like
great big eggs? The teacher collected ten of
them. The children loved it when he brought them
into the room and gave one to each child. It was
a beautiful spring day, and the assignment was
for each child to go outside, find a symbol for
new life, put it into the egg, and bring it back
to the classroom. They would then open and share
their new life symbols and surprises, one by one.
It
was glorious. It was confusing. It was wild. They
ran all around the grounds, gathering their
symbols, and returned to the classroom.
They
put all the eggs on a table, and then the teacher
began to open them. All the children gathered
around the table. He opened one and there was a
flower, and they ooh-ed and aah-ed. He opened
another and there was a little butterfly.
"Beautiful!" the girls all said, since
it is hard for eight-year old boys to say
"beautiful." He opened another and
there was a rock. And as third graders will, some
laughed and some said, "That's crazy! How's
a rock supposed to be like new life?" But
the smart little boy who put it in there spoke
up: "That's mine. And I knew all of you
would get flowers and buds and leaves and
butterflies and stuff like that, so I got a rock
because I wanted to be different. And, for me,
that's new life." They all laughed.
The
teacher said something about the wisdom of
eight-year olds and opened the next one. There
was nothing inside. The children, as eight-year
olds will, said "That's not fair. That's
stupid! Somebody didn't do it right."
Then
the teacher felt a tug on his shirt, and he
looked down. "It's mine," Phillip said.
"It's mine." And the children said,
"You don't ever do things right, Phillip.
There's nothing there!"
"I
did so do it right!" Phillip said. "I
did do it right. The tomb is empty!"
There
was silence, a very full silence. And for you
people who don't believe in miracles, I want to
tell you that one happened that day. From that
time on, it was different. Phillip suddenly
became a part of that group of eight-year old
children. They took him in. He was set free from
the tomb of his differentness.
Phillip
died last summer. His family had known since the
time he was born that he wouldn't live out a full
life span. Many other things were wrong with his
little body. And so, late last July, with an
infection that most normal children could have
quickly shrugged off, Phillip died.
At
his memorial service, nine eight-year olds
marched up to the altar, not with flowers to
cover over the stark reality of death....but nine
eight-year olds, along with their Sunday School
teacher, marched right up to that altar, and laid
on it an empty egg....an empty, old discarded
pantyhose egg.
And
the tomb is empty!
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