The Extraordinary Will Take Care of Itself

Yo. What up.

Needless to say, it's been awhile. So sorry. Been a little busy insane around here, but now we are on spring break and man is it glorious. This little family needed some dirt-digging, House of Cards- watching, gumbo-making, nap-taking, trail-running, relaxed grading, house-cleaning, boy-snuggling time. 

I have been feeling and thinking a lot lately, too. This roller-coaster of a parenting ride just keeps on going. And while I had a tough moment in church the other day watching several families each with multiple healthy kids have their youngest baptized, I also feel so incredibly devoted to and blessed by my boys. As I watched these other little ones be baptized, I held Will and Grant close, knowing that they are my two greatest gifts. And while Grant's birth and diagnosis sent us into a tailspin, I have no doubt in my mind that he was meant to be ours. He's beautiful and happy and strong and perfect. I love him with a fierce and unwavering and proud devotion. 

World Down Syndrome Day was March 21 (it's always 3/21 because Down Syndrome is a result of three copies of the 21st chromosome), and while I tried to face it head-on by posting a picture and note on FB, I have to admit that I didn't love this day--until I got home to Grant. When I walked in the door and saw his sweet smile respond to mine, I was reminded that this journey is going to be amazing because it will be ours. All day long I had been reading posts and articles about DS Day, reading people's stories and watching videos only to feel once again thrust into the scary unknown. What will Grant be able to do and when? What will his future look like? Will he be accepted for who he is, which is exactly who he was meant to be? Will people look at Grant and mainly see the DS--or will he be loved and celebrated for all of his other beautiful qualities? Ah, the questions can get you.

But.

I am now beyond excited to live our way into the answers. We're going to learn and love and laugh our way through this life together. Whereas five months ago I wanted to run away due to all of the uncertainty and fear, now I don't want to miss a thing. I'm a lot more aware of my lack of control but also a lot more aware of my purpose in life. It's a good trade-off.

There are also a lot of questions I no longer ask myself: Why us? (Why not?). How do we do this? (Love the heck out of each other and trust it will all turn out beautifully.) Will we be happy? (We might be happier than ever right now.) What will Grant's future look like? (Who knows? But we will work hard to try to give him every opportunity to be happy and fulfilled.) How will this affect Will? (Will loves Grant so much it's adorable. I hear from other parents that this love between siblings only intensifies. As long as our family loves each other, I have a feeling Will will be a-ok.)

I also used to be upset about the fact that our family would be "different." And then--of course--we had a series of speakers and discussions at school about difference: how thinking differently leads to breakthroughs and progress, how working differently leads to better learning and preparation, how celebrating each other's differences is a whole lot more interesting and fun than focusing only on our similarities. One right after the other...it was amazing. We are ALL different. I am different, Clay is different, Will is different, Grant is different, each of my students is different from the others. This difference doesn't have to be bad, but for some reason we often see it as such.

I was self-conscious over the holidays about our holiday card. I looked through the Minted and Shutterfly ads we got in the mail and threw them down, complaining, "None of them have children with disabilities in them." This year, I have a feeling I will send our card out with hope that we might show people, "Hey, we might not look like the 'typical' family, but different is BEAUTIFUL. And we are so, so happy."

Several people have asked me lately, "So, do you feel like you are on the other side of all this?"

Yes. I do. There are flashes of sadness, but they are quickly kicked out the door by Grant's smiles and coos, Will's laugh, an unexpected card from a friend, an inspiring quote, a story on the news that either reminds me we are ultimately so lucky or that people are ultimately so good. 

Mostly, there is finally peace. While I do wish I could have changed some things about the way we found out about Grant's diagnosis (for example, I wish I hadn't been told by a stranger when I was completely alone in the hospital), I am ultimately thankful I didn't know before he was born. Perhaps it all worked out the way it should have. So many people make the decision not to continue the pregnancy after a T21 diagnosis. While I respect other people's decisions, I know that, for us, that decision would have haunted us forever. We would never have known Grant's smile, never have known all of the lessons he would teach us, never have known the impact he would have on other people. We would have chosen not to believe--and I think we would always wonder what could have been. Most importantly, Grant would never have known life, and while this life might be difficult for him at times, we know without a doubt that his life is worth it. He is meant to be here.  And knowing throughout the pregnancy might have helped make the first few months of Grant's life less of a shocking, grieving time, but I think I would also have worried my way through the pregnancy--and not had a really cute baby to hold to help soothe my fears.

There are really only two questions that matter to me now:

1.) Grant needs you to believe in him. Can you believe? Oh yes. I believe. I really believe.

2.) Grant needs you to love him. Can you love him? More than life itself. I love him with all of my growing heart. 

Love has a way of sneaking in the backyard and planting a garden. Before you know it, beauty and life are growing everywhere. We're excited for Spring :)

Make The Ordinary Come Alive

by William Martin

Do not ask your children

to strive for extraordinary lives.

Such striving may seem admirable,

but it is a way of foolishness.

Help them instead to find the wonder

and the marvel of an ordinary life.

Show them the joy of tasting

tomatoes, apples, and pears.

Show them how to cry

when pets and people die.

Show them the infinite pleasure

in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.

The extraordinary will take care of itself.