We love her just the same.

I know I always write about sad stuff, so I am trying to turn a new leaf. I was mopping cafeteria floors the other day, which is always prime time for thinking and pondering life's important moments. Which in turn is suitable fodder for blog entries. I was thinking about my life before I was acquainted with the special needs community, and my life after. The difference, the sameness. The difference is that I am 100 times the person and Catholic. I have been a pro-lifer for many many years, despite secular education's best efforts to make me otherwise (into which I will not delve because I made a committment to have a happy blog post). Because of the special needs community, I am even more so, since I have a better understanding of "quality of life." Before, I may have thought quality of life meant whether or not a person can do things, especially the things I find fun like running and hiking or learning new research or going to wrestling tournaments. I learned that quality of life is in our relationships, being with the people we love, being loved by them, and loving God. The "activities" are the side show. Enjoyable or exhilarating, yes, but not really necessary for a "quality" life. I know a young man who has been blind and wheelchair-bound since birth. His parents treated him "like any other child" and expected him to try and do, and make the most of gifts he had. They love him unconditionally. And despite the fact that he could be so limited (at least by society's standards), he is happy. His parents are happy. He has used the gifts he has, which are many, and does good with them. I have met many many families who have children with Down syndrome as well. We love our children because of who they are, not how complete they are. I don't think I could have grasped that before I had Angela. I recall talking to a priest when Angela was first born, and he was saying how he supposed she could attend Mass if she could "not disturb others." Huh? At first I was thinking, is he for real?! But then realizing that he had no idea what a person with DS is like, I didn't get too bent out of shape... But I knew at that moment that, frankly, few care about people with special needs if it doesn't affect them; therefore, few care to educate themselves. I know because I was one of them. I was SO one of them. I would not have dug into every piece of literature I could get my hands on to read about DS if I didn't have a daughter with it. I wouldn't strike up a conversation with an adult with DS out of the blue. Anything other than "normal" was not important. The difference. When Angela was itty-bitty I had to take her for a hip x-ray because the Dr. thought she had a "hip click." I was unconcerned, as was the other Dr. who gave her the once-over and said, "It won't hurt to check it but I doubt they'll find anything." But I marched her dutifully in for her x-ray and I was sitting in the crowded waiting room with her all bundled up in her car seat. In the melee came a harried-looking older gentleman, pushing his daughter in a wheelchair. He was looking all around for a place to park her; I motioned for him to come over by me and I moved Ang's car seat over so he could park the wheelchair close to me. He walked up to sign in and I sized up his beautiful little girl. She looked to be about 8-10, thin as a rail, with what I suspected to be CP or some similar diagnosis. Her hypertonia was excessive, and she had a hard time moving her head around. She had a little homemade shawl around her. When Dad came back and wearily sat in his seat beside me, he arranged his daughter and tucked her shawl more tightly around her. She could not talk other than slight murmurs. I said to him, "Is this your daughter?" as I reached out and held her hand and said "Hello! Aren't you just a beautiful girl!" and continued to hold her hand because it was icy cold. Dad went on to explain to me that she was in for a back x-ray because her scoliosis was starting to cause problems and they would likely be fusing her back at some point. She was however, very thin, and they would undoubtedly want her put on weight if she was to have a surgery like that...which inevitably meant a feeding tube. It was so obvious this Dad was exhausted; he didn't want her to have back surgery, and he didn't want her to have to rely on a feeding tube. He just wanted her to be happy and feel good and be well, so he was doing whatever it took. It hit me right then and there, she was his Angela; he loved her so much, and would do anything for her. To the outside world looking in, that precious girl was so broken...but to Dad she was his girl. I knew then and there it's just what we do, the people to whom God gives these precious people. We just love them, without strings attached. If there is sameness, it's in the imperceptable yet awesome responsibility we have daily in raising children. Whether they have a "diagnosis" or not. So our hopes and dreams for Angela are similar to our hopes and dreams for Maria, or John. We want them to avoid sin, obey the commandments, follow Christ in His Church. Be good examples to others. Be brave and courageous. Stand up for people who can't do it themselves. Work and pray. When our Lord told us to have faith "like little children," there is a reason for that. You don't have to be highly educated or rich to be good. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.