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By John Cox
It’s those last few months before your child is born that the dreams go into
high gear. You imagine the engineer, ballerina or lawyer your child will
grow up to be. As the delivery date draws near, these thought gather
momentum, fed by parents, friends and co-workers, until you almost expect to
see your child born 18 years old, highly educated and physically attractive.
It’s humbling how dreams that build you over so many years can blow away
like so much air from a balloon. In the time it takes for a doctor to say,
“Oh no,” dreams can turn to nightmares and hopes to fears. Long-held
thoughts of perfection melt away into shore-term prayers and frantic
thoughts: Will the baby be all right? What will we tell our parents? How did
this happen? Why us? In a matter of moments, you have traded bar exams for
brain scans, ballet shoes for blood tests, rock-solid normality for
groundbreaking lunacy.
I watched helplessly as my baby was poked and prodded by strangers who did
not have the time to answer my questions or allay my fears. I coped with a
day-to-day roller coaster ride of good news, then bad; hopeful signs, then
puzzling questions. I found myself unable to dream, unable to see past the
next doctor’s visit or test – each time hoping that someone would be able to
determine what was wrong or what would happen in the future. Instead, my
frustration deepened as each test revealed only the need for more. Worse
still, no prognosis for the future was forthcoming – everyone finally said
that only time would tell.
Very slowly, I realized that I would never know exactly what was going to
happen until it did. At first, I was angry; I wanted answers. But it dawned
on me one day that I was really no different than any other father. No
doctor or specialist can tell any of us how bright or physically capable our
children are going to be. The most that all parents can do is to make the
best of what is given to us. This new realization liberated my wife and me.
We began to look toward the future again, and started doing things that
would give us and our child choices.
New Dreams
I began to dream again. These were not the same dreams as before, but they
were just as important. I dreamed of my daughter’s first steps, and when
they came, no parent was ever prouder. My wife and I dreamed of including
her in a regular classroom at school, and after many battles, her first
regular education teacher assured us that this was where she belonged.
I continue to dream of the future, of my daughter working, building
meaningful relationships, and accomplishing great things for herself and
others. I know that she will never be a lawyer, doctor or ballerina, yet I
dream about what she can become, cherishing each step she takes along the
way.
All children are a gift to their parents, grandparents, teachers and
everyone who comes into contact with them. And they all teach us something
that we would not have learned without them. For me, it was to slow down so
I could take pleasure in the details of my children’s lives. I learned to
take an active part in all my children’s activities and cherish each of
their accomplishments. I am richer for the experience of having a child with
a disability. I would not wish it away.
A few years ago, I wondered what my daughter would have been like if she had
not been born with a disability. I grieved for the loss of my “normal” life,
somehow assuming that the one I had embarked on would not be as fulfilling.
I don’t think that way anymore. I am proud of my daughter’s accomplishments,
and like any father, I am looking forward to future accomplishments as well.
I should not have worried as much as I did. Looking back, I see now that few
others have been as blessed as I.
Reprinted with permission from Exceptional Parent Magazine (previously
published in “Fathers’ Voices,” Exceptional Parent magazine, April, 1994.) Copyright, all rights reserved by EP. Access or subscribe to the EP
magazine at www.eparent.com
or call
1-800 EPARENT.
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There is an
energy in us which makes things happen when the paths of other persons touch
ours.
from the Monks of Weston Priory
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