To the mom (or dad) that is in the midst of raising a child labeled with “special needs”:
You are a superstar. Somehow, with grace and dignity, you advocate day in and day out without giving up. You may feel like giving up at times, but you don’t.
At some point in time, whether before your child was born or the moment you first laid eyes on them, you made a decision. You vowed, to yourself and to your family, that you would raise your child in the best way that you knew how. You may have had no idea about the struggles they would face in the days, months, and years to come. You didn’t know how they would grow, what their development would be like, or how they would make their way in and through the world we live in. But then again, don’t all moms wonder?
You might have known something more, that made your mom-experience significant. You might have seen, or heard from a doctor, or suspected early on that your child might have more to overcome in his or her lifetime. Naturally, your capacity for worry, anxiety, and fear was expanded. You knew that you loved this little life with all of your heart, yet you had more to think about. A lot more.
Being this child’s mom is a divine calling. Whether you specifically chose, or adopted, this child or he or she was conceived and grew up in your womb, you were designated to a life-long commitment to love.
The thing about love that we so often forget, is that it’s not always fun. It’s not always light-hearted and blissful. The greatest love is one that sacrifices, that gives of oneself with abandon, and forgets about his or her own wants or needs in order to make life better for another. It’s not always pleasant. It’s hard. I can imagine that there are days of pure joy and days overflowing with heartache.
As I write this letter to you, I think about all of the strength you have. An unwavering, admirable strength that makes me want to be like you. You may have told me about how you willingly became a self-appointed specialist on your child’s disability, or about how you endured incredibly difficult decisions about their development, medically. Or how you spent so many sleepless nights caring for them, praying for them, or holding them while they suffered. You have made financial sacrifices. You continue to sit through countless meetings. You have been an advocate, and have determined to always fight for your child.
I don’t know what it’s like to be in your position, though as a special education teacher, I interact with you almost daily. I am not a mom yet, but I am thankful for what I have learned from you. It is true that all children struggle. All children have deficits of some kind… but you, with your strength, have shown me that no matter the odds, life and love can be imparted to young, precious lives by their parents in ways that give hope to others. You are the epitome of what our human spirits are capable of. And so are your children. The world is a better place because of you, and even greater, because of the child that you have provided a life for. They, without even trying, spread blessings from one soul to another each and every moment that they are alive. You are witness to that. Please, tell their story, and goodness gracious give yourself a pat on the back. And maybe a pedicure or a massage or a really long bubble bath. You are a hero: an often unrecognized hero who deserves a medal. Every. single. day.
Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash
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