Renewed Dreams
Embracing and celebrating life after grief
My OBGYN orders an emergency sonogram.
He calls me with the results.
Your baby may have a disability.
His body measurements are off.
He compares the shape of my unborn baby’s head to “Charlie Brown.
His arms and legs measure a “bit short.”
He could have a disability, or he could be normal.
Normal? Is that the word he used?
This has to be a mistake.
Why would he tell an expectant mother that?
I think my heart has stopped.
I feel my world start to spin.
I have to sit down.
I gasp. What can I do?
Nothing. There is nothing you can do.
Now I wait.
Each day is an eternity.
Back Pain!
No, wait, it is labor.
My third child is on his way.
I am terrified.
I am not ready to face reality.
I am wheeled to the operating room.
Nurses talk as they push my gurney down the hall.
“Why is a neonatologist in the room?” one asks.
“The doctor is worried the baby may have a disability,” the other explained.
I want to shout at them.
What is wrong with you?
Am I invisible?
I can hear you!
But I am paralyzed with fear.
I say nothing.
Suddenly, he is here.
He cries.
He sounds healthy.
But I am afraid to look at him.
I am telling myself to open my eyes.
I take a deep breath.
There he is.
He looks like a baby.
An adorable, crying little boy.
Thank you, God.
He does not have a disability.
If he did, I would be able to see it.
But I know in my heart there is something wrong.
The doctor keeps him in the nursery all night.
They run many tests.
Where is my son?
I walk down the hall.
He is there on the baby's bed.
I don’t know what to do.
I reach out a shaky hand and lay it on his back.
He sighs. He knows I am his mama.
I see no Charlie Brown head.
His arms and legs are where they are supposed to be.
He looks beautiful.
The doctors are wrong.
But I know in my heart they are not.
I push down my fear.
I pray, and I wait.
I remind myself to breathe.
In and Out, In and Out.
That’s it, you are okay.
Sadly, the news is confirmed.
My son has Down syndrome.
No, that can’t be right!
He looks fine.
But I know it is true.
What am I supposed to do now?
I am just a woman, a regular mom.
I am not a special needs mom.
I am not qualified.
I am so afraid I will fail.
I pray and ask for strength.
God answers my prayer.
Even though I doubt my strength,
I must become what he needs.
He relies on me.
I will never let him down.
I must fight for his rights.
I rise to the occasion.
I take him to his doctor.
We attend all of his therapies.
I become his cheerleader.
I help him communicate.
We learn sign language.
He struggles with his speech.
People cannot understand.
They look to me to translate.
I am his mom.
I have to know what he is saying.
The pressure is real.
My son gives me verbal clues.
Together, we figure it out.
He helps me to decipher his words.
Victory is had by all.
I raised my son in my home for 25 years.
Now, he lives in a group home community close by.
He is loved and cared for by many.
I know living with his mama forever was not the best choice for my son.
To me, he is still my little boy, but he is a grown-up now.
He spends weekends with me often.
We FaceTime every day, sometimes twice.
My son is a wonderful man.
He encapsulates unconditional love and limitless joy.
He has a significant impact on everyone he meets.
Because he is here, the world is better.
My role as his mom is a privilege.
He is the gift I never knew I needed.
I am his champion, and he is mine.
Lord, thank you for entrusting me with this precious being.
I am forever blessed to be his mama.
