vow to thee

Having a child with a disability can make you a different person. For me, the
experience has helped me to grasp the vast enormousness of unconditional
love. I have learned to appreciate the beauty and opportunity that each
moment holds. Let me explain....

Take this illustration from nature. A parent who has a child without a disability
is like someone who lives in a place that has predictable, gentle
rainshowers. I say this because their child will leap over the hurdles of
developmental milestones so effortlessly, with grace and ease, that they
won't even be hurdles at all. So this parent can sit back, relax, and enjoy
each soft, gentle shower that comes with regularity. They can recline as they
listen to the soft pitter patter of the droplets. This parent can relax enough
that they almost could fall asleep in their contentment. They have no
concerns about a drought. They know there will be another soothing shower
just when it is needed. This parent knows rain.

But the parent of a child with a disability, such as Down syndrome, is like
someone who lives in a region where rainfall is not predictable at all. I say
this because this parent will have to exhert effort to help their child clamber
over the hurdles of developmental milestones, trying to match the
predictable pattern of the other parent's child as closely as possible, even
though the match will never be 'perfect'. This parent knows dryspells. This
parent knows drought. This parent learns how to wait and how to pray for the
rain. You are this parent.

So, when the rain eventually comes after long awaited expectancy, it comes
with a ferocious intensity. It begins with a low rumbling of thunder off in the
distance that shakes the earth as it approaches. Your pulse quickens, your
heart pounds, and your mind races as you think "Here it comes! Here it
comes!" This is not the parent that sits back, relaxing, ready to enjoy the
rain. This is you, the parent of a child with a disability. You rush outside to
the wraparound porch and sprint from one end of it to the other, desiring to
view the oncoming storm from different angles, not wanting to miss even a
single detail. The wind whips into a feverish fury and lightning flashes to
illuminate this remarkable and spectacular event.

Finally, the rain clouds let loose- and not with a gentle pitter patter. It is an
overwhelming, all encompassing experience as the rain comes down in
multitudes of colossal drops. Because you, the parent, had to will this
rainstorm into existence, you press your body against the porch railing to
feel the drops smash against your face. You let the rain drench you hair,
without caring what anybody thinks, and you let it saturate your entire being.
You are this parent. This parent knows RAIN.

Can you see the difference? Both parents know rain, but their experiences
are unequivocal. The parent of the child with a disability learns to live with an
intensity that results in a life of enhanced appreciation. I think it brings forth
a passionate sense of committment that spills over from your love for your
child with a disability into other areas of your life. You learn how to see
beauty in what others consider not beautiful. You learn to have hope where
others say there is none. You learn that the blessings far, far, far outweigh
the 'burdens' and you count it all joy.

The final poem in my Poetry Corner is actually the first verse of a hymn
entitled "I Vow To Thee, My Country" by Cecil Rice. (Because it so captures
my love for my son, I substitute the word 'beloved' for 'my country'.....)