For My Students

I return to the classroom tomorrow. Part of the reason I love teaching is because I fall in love with these students of mine and learn from their stories, which are already rich with experience and wisdom in just 16 years of life. It's only fair that I likewise open myself up to them. They know Grant has Down Syndrome, but I haven't yet been in a place to share more with them. They don't need (nor want, I'm sure!) to read a lot of what I have written during this tender time, but I do want to share with them who I am as a mother, writer, and person. They also need to know that like them, I am still learning. 

Here's part of what I plan to say to them on Monday (and if you have been reading this blog (you are so nice!), then a lot of this will look familiar...):


As you all know, Grant was born on Nov. 12 and was diagnosed with Down Syndrome six hours after his birth. Mr. Gahan and I were shocked. Up until that point, the pregnancy had been fairly textbook, so this diagnosis caught us off guard and left us feeling like the floor beneath us had given way. After feeling such joy at the birth of our son, we suddenly were thrust into this whole new world of uncertainty and fear. The questions dogged us: What does this mean for Grant's health and development? How did we not know? What will his life be like? How will this affect Will? What caused this? How are we going to do this?

I will be honest, and this is a little hard for me to share: I also plunged into grief. Our lives and our son suddenly looked very different from what I had been picturing and hoping for for 9 months. I know it might sound strange for me to grieve after having a baby, but I have learned it is actually pretty common among parents who are given an unexpected diagnosis after the birth of their child. While learning about the child that you have been given, you are also mourning the child you expected to have: the subconscious dreams you had for that child, the experiences you thought you would share, the life you hoped he might lead. As a friend told me a few weeks ago, most parents' dreams for their children either change or fade as they get to know their children and what dreams their children have. It's a slow, gradual, subtle process. When the nurse practitioner walked in and told me she suspected Grant might have Down Syndrome, I felt like she had just erased the entire picture of my life that I had unknowingly yet lovingly drawn over the years. I was suddenly looking at a blank canvas. I was scared, I was angry, and I felt very, very alone. The days following Grant's birth, especially the nine days he was in the NICU, were the hardest days of my life. 

But. (and you all know I think "but" is the most powerful word in literature)

Something else was happening. We were being loved. FIERCELY and OVERWHELMINGLY LOVED.  Loved harder and more than I have ever known. 

It started with my parents who didn't leave our sides and managed communication with everyone we didn't have the strength to reach out to on our own. My sister flew in from San Francisco on a moment's notice so she could hold me as I wept in my hospital bed. Mr. Gahan's parents flew in from Texas so they could love on sweet Grant (and me and Mr. Gahan). Emails poured in from friends both old and new, close and casual. My college roommates group texted me constantly, offering words of encouragement for me and Mr. Gahan and words of strength and love for Grant. Mrs. Patterson and your other teachers stepped up to help both of us cover our classes and responsibilities. My mama's incredible circle of friends kicked into immediate action and overwhelmed us with food and gifts and cards. Three meal trains were set up. One of my advisees videotaped himself playing a song on the piano that helped him through challenging times. Three churches delivered prayer shawls, and ministers came to comfort us. And the texts, oh the texts, from friends who refused to give up on us despite the fact that we usually didn't text back, didn't know what to say, didn't really know what life looked like for us anymore. They kept texting, they kept writing, they kept sending us words of encouragement and hope even when they were met with radio silence. But I read every one--and I can easily say that those words are what got me through the really difficult minutes. They still do. I have saved every one.

And I started to feel that if this many people could show up and love love love us this powerfully and selflessly and genuinely and KINDLY, then maybe just maybe our little family, surrounded and supported by this incredible village, could do this. I had a choice: I could stay sad and angry and focused on the picture of the family I expected to have, or I could focus on the joy that permeated my life before Grant and certainly would increase because of him. I needed to stop wondering why or how this happened and instead start loving the heck out of my son.  He is here, he is ours, and he is LOVED. Mr. Gahan and I were determined that our home would be full of happiness and love. Grant deserves that. Will deserves that. We deserve that. Our lives were not over. A new life just might be beginning.

Grant stayed in the NICU for 9 days, mainly because his oxygen levels were low. Also unbeknownst to us before his birth, Grant has three holes in his heart. They were too small to detect on an ultrasound, so this news was hard to digest as well. For days, Clay and I couldn't hold him, and then we could hold him as long as we were careful of all the wires, and then on Nov. 21, they disconnected all the wires and told us we could take him home. He had a special car seat to help support his breathing, and this whole Down Syndrome landscape was before us, but he was coming home to us. We just wanted him home. And we wanted Will to finally meet his little brother. 

I honestly expected this maternity leave to be a period of great joy and thanksgiving in my life. As I told many of you, I was excited to read the entire Harry Potter series and bring our son to school to visit you all regularly. I expected to be much more visible, much more involved. As you all know, life doesn't always go as planned. Instead of bringing him in here to share him with you, I retreated and regrouped. I read everything I could about Down Syndrome, met with Grant's different doctors and therapists, and talked with other mamas who have children with Down Syndrome. I got overwhelmed. One day I asked another mother of a child with DS what I should be doing right now to help Grant. She smiled and said, "Read to him. Read as much as you can."

Yes.

I could do that. 

Together, Grant and I have read collections of essays, memoirs, bestsellers, books on faith, short story collections, and magazines. He stares up at my lips as the words of other worlds roll off my tongue, and magically we are both transported away from cardiologists and therapists and into spaces of inspiration and imagination. In this bleak midwinter, I fell back in love with reading. And as I read, I fell more and more in love with my son. We became a team during these tender moments, and I became more and more determined that I would be the best mama in the world to him. 


I also wrote. I have never felt things as deeply, been more aware of the beauty and pain around us every day, and been more inspired than I have these three months. Writing helped me process all this, and in words I found understanding and comfort. I have once again been reminded that writing can be a transformative force--for both the writer and the reader. No matter what else happens to you in life, no one can take away your voice.

I tell you all this for several reasons:

1. I want you to know me as a person, not just your teacher. I want to know you all as people, not just English students. There is more to you than what you read and write, and I am better for knowing as much of your story as you are willing to share with me and with us. I want to share who I am with you all because I think life can be hard and confusing and a lot. But I also think we can help each other through it if we are real with each other and love each other.

2. I need you to know that each and every one of you is a precious gift. Your parents love you so much. Your teachers love you so much. And I know that high school relationships can be confusing and painful sometimes, but your friends love you so much. You need to know that you are loved.

3. You need to know that loving other people, especially when they really need someone because life has been hard and dealt them a tough hand, is really, really important. Be there for people. When in doubt about what to do or how to respond, LOVE. Make it your default. Life is too hard already for us to be mean to each other.

4. I am happy to be back here. I believe more than ever in the power of reading and writing, and I adore you all. This is way more than just a job for me. I feel called and privileged to be with you every day. And as I work hard at home to help both my sons learn to read and speak, I am going to work my butt off here to help you all grow as students, thinkers, readers, and writers. Every class, every day is important. What you say and what you write and what you do MATTERS.

5. These past three months changed my life story. Part of the reason I am in front of you today is because I want to know your story--and I want to help you understand and tell it.

6. This one is personal. There are a lot of people in this world who deal with intellectual and physical challenges every day--and they did NOTHING to deserve or cause it. The reality is that Grant is going to have to work so much harder than Will to achieve the same milestones--and this is all because of a genetic fluke, an extra chromosome. I am asking you now to be cheerleaders not bullies. Help make this world a place where Grant feels accepted for who he is, where people give him opportunities to shine, where difference is celebrated not shunned, where he won't be made fun of, where we are kind to each other. No matter what you do with your one wild and precious life, you will have big and small opportunities to help or hurt people. I pray that you will choose to help.