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Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Siblings...part 6?
A few months back I worked on a series of posts about siblings of children with disabilities. It isn't uncommon for people to ask us or our older children for any words of wisdom regarding raising with/growing up as such siblings. It always makes me a little nervous because no two kids are alike and no two families are alike, yet I understand wanting to glean anything from someone who has traveled a similar path.
Recently my middle daughter was assigned an essay to write reflecting on something that happened repeatedly in her life. I asked her to let me read it sometime. She left the essay on my pillow a few nights ago. It was perfect timing...I TOTALLY needed that laugh! She gave me permission to share it as I think it proves that each child has their own unique perception AND times that feel like such failure can be used by God to mold our typical children into the persons He can use for His plans.
Enjoy. I hope you can enjoy a laugh and some encouragement:
baby sisters smack the rock-hard pavement. The world was frozen in what they call an out-of-body
experience. As my mind prepared for what to do next, I found myself alone.
Everyone had deserted the scene in fear of the pain, the first drop of red, gooey blood. I reached inside, and found the EMT, the hero. Brielle does not run. She does not leave the helpless.
Recently my middle daughter was assigned an essay to write reflecting on something that happened repeatedly in her life. I asked her to let me read it sometime. She left the essay on my pillow a few nights ago. It was perfect timing...I TOTALLY needed that laugh! She gave me permission to share it as I think it proves that each child has their own unique perception AND times that feel like such failure can be used by God to mold our typical children into the persons He can use for His plans.
Enjoy. I hope you can enjoy a laugh and some encouragement:
Becoming
a Hero
It always starts with a crash; then comes the screeching;
my heart drops to my feet as I make the mad-dash to the sound. I never have to
guess who has fallen because there always seems to be one lucky winner: my
younger, handicapped sister Candace. Perhaps she is not the winner though; it
is me. I get to be the savior; I get to be the greatest sister on the planet; I
get to be the hero swooping in comforting and protecting the helpless.
The first time I got to be the hero was at the age of six
when playing was an everyday occurrence. Nothing really mattered, and the word
anxiety was Greek to my childhood self. This day was one of those careless days;
although, it was a bit more exciting because the cool, older cousins were over
for the day.
After pondering for hours, we all decided that the best
way to spend our day was to place the two toddler girls, who could not walk,
into the amazing, red, Radio Flyer wagon. The only problem with this seemingly
awesome pastime was that going in a circle, making only left turns, for two
hours could get monotonous, so we picked up the speed. As we cheered my cousin on in his own version of NASCAR, speed was exponentially gained. One wheel skidded off the ground; then, the
second. The Radio Flyer was actually flying, but not in an amazing NASA kind of
way.
Crash.
Blood curdling screams. My little six-year-old heart fell as I watched both of my
precious, baby sisters smack the rock-hard pavement. The world was frozen in what they call an out-of-body
experience. As my mind prepared for what to do next, I found myself alone.
Everyone had deserted the scene in fear of the pain, the first drop of red, gooey blood. I reached inside, and found the EMT, the hero. Brielle does not run. She does not leave the helpless.
I scurried as fast as my little legs could move me over
to the wagon. As I tried to successfully pick up Candace and Ciara at the same
time, the voice of a policeman boomed, "Is everything okay?" He was a
hero in my eyes. His occupation was to save people; I wanted to save people. As
he helped me scoop up the two, little blond girls I felt star-struck; I knew what
I wanted to be as an adult: a police officer.
The next time I heard the crash and screaming was on a
sidewalk in the middle of Washington D.C. The trees were lined with fresh, pink
flowers floating to the ground. As I gazed at the beauty, my mother
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