I love showing off the awesome that is Parker. There are days where I could swear this kid glows with his love of life. The joy he radiates is not just contagious, it engulfs you, sweeping you up in a happiness hard to find in this world..
This is one of the reasons I’m often mystified when people who, on meeting Parker for the first time, often look at me and say, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Those words never fail to catch me off guard. I stand there a little confused, waiting for them to tell me what they are so sorry for.
The moment dawns and I realize why they are so sorry. The same little kid who radiates to me everything that’s good in the world, they look at and feel a need to console me for.
How can this be?
Granted, it could be the trach and oxygen bottle they are talking about. Perhaps the local grapevine has provided them with the number of surgeries survived, informed them of the ability to talk that has yet to manifest. Maybe, at a loss for words, these people remember their prayers, pleading for healthy children with nothing ‘different’ about them. Maybe they think my prayers weren’t as strong as theirs, or were left unanswered.
How surprised they would be if they knew how sad I feel for them. Sad they can’t see the beauty and potential found within Parker…. trach, tubes, extra chromosome and all. Sad they didn’t take a moment to bend down and experience Parker’s smile, or notice the intelligence within his baby browns.
How, I wonder, can you be standing so close and yet not be able to feel the greatness of his spirit?
My prayers were answered, I want to tell them. Maybe not in a way I would have ever anticipated, but in a way I would never change.