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Ever since we returned from Trevor's Boston BEAM things have been kinda crazy.
The results have warrented a multitude of candid phone conversations. With doctors. Therapists. Family. Friends. The people that set up special tests like extended EEGs & 3T MRIs & such.
I swear there's an imprint of my little purple (because that's Bristel's fave color) cell on the side of my head.
The thing is...
I hadn't realized that Toby's been eaves dropping. He always seems to be engaged in something else. Baseball cards. Play station. Swimming. Shooting hoops. Other stuff.
I should have gotten a clue. He's been extra sweet to Trevy lately. Playing with him by choice...and not because mommy's yappin' at him to do so. And then yesterday when his meal-time grace included helping Trevor & all the other babies to not be sick anymore.
My heart melted. But then eating & conversation resumed and all was forgotten.
Until this morning. I was busy picking up around the house...cup of coffee glued to my hand. I popped into the room where the kids were playing. Only they weren't. Bristel was sucking her thumb & rubbing her silkie blankie on the couch. Toby was wearing his best Teacher Face and telling her all about how sick Trevor is & how we have to be careful & how he his brain doesn't receive messages right & how he's having drop seizures & a bunch of other stuff that he'd overheard me candidly speaking about with Trevor's doctors. And daddy.
I stood there amazed that he'd been listening to everything. Everything!
I've already confessed that I mull a lot. But I feel things deeply too. I'm a feeler.
Drat my Italian blood!
And even though I try to protect Toby & Bristel from the sadness that sometimes swallows me whole...there are times when I just can't. There are times when my heart sneaks up and chokes me without warning. And I melt into a puddle on the floor.
At the same time I have never been a believer in over-protecting my children from life.
I want them to live out loud. With joy. With sadness. With stress. With courage. Life.
But...
... I don't want Toby worrying about his baby brother like that. So sadly.
So I called him over and we chatted for awhile. I asked him questions. He poured his little seven year old heart out. I had no idea he could feel things so deeply. Like mommy does. I snuggled him up. So thankful that my cuddles still comfort him. And I told him that yes...sometimes mommy is sad too. But that I'm not afraid. And that even though the doctors are worried...and the tests are scary...it doesn't mean everything is sad. Those things are not the Author of Trevy's future. But I couldn't promise him something that I'm not certain of...that Trevor will overcome every challenge. We just don't have that promise. But...I told him...even if Trevy isn't *perfect* here...someday he will be. Even if Trevy never finds his voice here...someday he'll tell us every thought he'd ever had. And our job...right now...is just to love him. To pieces.
And then all snuggled up together...we prayed. We thanked God for our sweet baby monkey. And asked Him to protect the other babies in the world.
The results have warrented a multitude of candid phone conversations. With doctors. Therapists. Family. Friends. The people that set up special tests like extended EEGs & 3T MRIs & such.
I swear there's an imprint of my little purple (because that's Bristel's fave color) cell on the side of my head.
The thing is...
I hadn't realized that Toby's been eaves dropping. He always seems to be engaged in something else. Baseball cards. Play station. Swimming. Shooting hoops. Other stuff.
I should have gotten a clue. He's been extra sweet to Trevy lately. Playing with him by choice...and not because mommy's yappin' at him to do so. And then yesterday when his meal-time grace included helping Trevor & all the other babies to not be sick anymore.
My heart melted. But then eating & conversation resumed and all was forgotten.
Until this morning. I was busy picking up around the house...cup of coffee glued to my hand. I popped into the room where the kids were playing. Only they weren't. Bristel was sucking her thumb & rubbing her silkie blankie on the couch. Toby was wearing his best Teacher Face and telling her all about how sick Trevor is & how we have to be careful & how he his brain doesn't receive messages right & how he's having drop seizures & a bunch of other stuff that he'd overheard me candidly speaking about with Trevor's doctors. And daddy.
I stood there amazed that he'd been listening to everything. Everything!
I've already confessed that I mull a lot. But I feel things deeply too. I'm a feeler.
Drat my Italian blood!
And even though I try to protect Toby & Bristel from the sadness that sometimes swallows me whole...there are times when I just can't. There are times when my heart sneaks up and chokes me without warning. And I melt into a puddle on the floor.
At the same time I have never been a believer in over-protecting my children from life.
I want them to live out loud. With joy. With sadness. With stress. With courage. Life.
But...
... I don't want Toby worrying about his baby brother like that. So sadly.
So I called him over and we chatted for awhile. I asked him questions. He poured his little seven year old heart out. I had no idea he could feel things so deeply. Like mommy does. I snuggled him up. So thankful that my cuddles still comfort him. And I told him that yes...sometimes mommy is sad too. But that I'm not afraid. And that even though the doctors are worried...and the tests are scary...it doesn't mean everything is sad. Those things are not the Author of Trevy's future. But I couldn't promise him something that I'm not certain of...that Trevor will overcome every challenge. We just don't have that promise. But...I told him...even if Trevy isn't *perfect* here...someday he will be. Even if Trevy never finds his voice here...someday he'll tell us every thought he'd ever had. And our job...right now...is just to love him. To pieces.
And then all snuggled up together...we prayed. We thanked God for our sweet baby monkey. And asked Him to protect the other babies in the world.
And to fill all of our homes with faith...hope...and love...
Comments
Just like Toby, we are creating a generation of kids that will look at others and NOT see their disabilities but see a little girl or little boy who are still "perfect", just as they are.
Give that boy a squeeze and I am going to go wipe my tears now.
When my daughter started kindergarten and needed to receive speech and OT help, they placed her in an integrated classroom with kids that had mental and physical disabilities. With this experience, when my daugther sees people out in public with these conditions, she doesn't stare...she says hi and asks how they are doing and tells them anything they will listen to. I can always see the smile in their faces and the appreciation that someone cares enough to talk to them and not be afraid.
Oh how much our own children teach us!!!
i'm all choked up now - u are one awesome mama! :0)
...danielle
Thanks for sharing. I love the pic of you too at the end.
I love that pic too! We have the same face...just different coloring. I love that. Although...not to self...no more make up free pix next to smooth skinned little kids! Very aging! *grin*
...danielle
Thanks!
...danielle