when a therapist beams

I wish for every mother (or father) who finds herself sitting through countless, often discouraging, therapy hours beside her disabled child to have at least one therapist whose face lights up with joy when he/she sees that child. I wish for her heart to hear another person's voice exclaiming that her child is amazing and to have that voice dripping with acknowledgement of how far he's come and how amazingly brave and special he is. 

We have been blessed with a handful of therapists over the years that cared for Trevor deeply. Some still keep in touch. Those blessed few have been such a gift. 

This morning, Trevor's outpatient OT came to pull my nose out of my Kindle so I could "come see how amazing he is!" Her face was glowing; her countenance speaking to my soul that she knows how hard he fights for every gain. 

She'd asked him to build a crash stack out of large foam blocks. Her idea was to have him scooter zoom into the stack and knock it down. He craves that deep pressure feedback and she's great at providing fun opportunities to meet that need. 

Of his own imagination he'd rebuilt a replica of a table top Angry Birds game they'd played together several months ago. For a child with dyspraxia sequencing and repeating patterns are extremely difficult. I remembered watching him really struggle with organizing that table top version. Now, here he was putting the last big block on his super-sized replica which he'd designed all on his own. This was what she'd pulled me out of the room to witness. Because she was amazed. 

She was beaming, in fact. Not at herself, for being such a great therapist, but at HIM. 

He was beaming back. 

The aqua-therapy pool on the floor below us might have been a little extra salty today from the water-works this exchange generated.


And my heart wishes that every mom like me will experience a moment like that along this journey.