Dear Mother,
I never wanted to be a mother. I didn’t like baby dolls, I played with barbies and they did important things like date and be prom queen. I grew up with you making pb&j sandwiches for us everyday and only letting us have one ding dong even though the plastic wrap held two. Somehow opening the foil wrapped treat was never as good at school. But you were amazing! You loved taking care of us and we knew it. I don’t think a day went by without you saying you loved me. You constantly wanted to better yourself, either by listening to Dr. Dobson on the radio and making us be quiet for a hour (grrr), or by reading the stack of books permanently at your bedside. You journaled too, pouring out your soul to God. I was scared to ever read them, they seemed sacred somehow.
But I didn’t want that. In my stubbornness and pride I wanted to be different. I loved God, but I was very curious about the other side. When I got married, I knew that I wanted what the world had to offer. I wanted to eat both ding dongs in one sitting and I did. After being married for years, with the right job and right house on the golf course, we realized something was missing. A child, perhaps? One summer on a life changing mission trip to the other side of the world, my husband and I decided that maybe we could do this parenthood thing and 9 months later a son was born. And not in the style I had planned on either, via emergency c-section. I had trouble bonding with him at first. Everyone was so obsessed with how much he looked like his daddy I felt left out.
While I was pregnant, life had started to change in more ways than my ever expanding body. My job was the first to go, which I had put a surprising amount of self-worth in. I was a shining star until I got pregnant. Then we realized that we couldn’t afford to live in my perfect dream home without my income. We moved to a small rental house when our son was 3 months old but God was with us again. The loss seemed minimal most of the time.
I’m still grieving. Not over the house, not over my job, but over the appointment when my friend and doctor told me something was wrong with my son a little over a year ago now. We weren’t able to get to our doctor for 6 months because of insurance mistakes, but he finally insisted we came in regardless. He said that he probably had a syndrome. That he needed surgery on his eyes and maybe his heart, that he was very developmentally delayed and needed therapy. Over the other difficult appointments and surgery the next 10 months held I was in denial anything was wrong. Grief can be funny. Until November when they told me my perfect baby had for sure a rare genetic disorder called William’s Syndrome. My life stopped at those words. My fears of him drinking or doing drugs, having a baby too early in life… suddenly it seemed silly and I desperately hoped I’d ever be able to have those fears. Now I fear that he’ll never be able to have his own baby. or a wife. that he probably will die before I do is a painful reality.
I thank God every day for him. I love being a mommy now and I treasure every moment with him. He is my endorphins and joy, he has knit me and my husband more together than anything ever could. God has brought great joy to my life and my son is a blessing not only to us but to everyone he encounters. His joy and exuberance are NOT normal and I smile a little inside when people that don’t know us well say “why can’t every baby be like him?” He is growing and progressing and I love seeing the dozens of tiny miracles every week that God does in his life. He is happy and healthy, he is not this syndrome’s norm and I make him healthy almond butter and organic jelly sandwiches with joy!
Mom, there is nothing you could have done to prepare me for this pain, but you showed me how to love and surrender to God. I’m sorry I didn’t think what you did was important growing up but I still saw Jesus in your quiet servitude and knew I wanted to know him too. Thank you.
Love,
Heidi