I Am the Child

I Am the Child


I am the child who cannot talk.
You often pity me, I see it in your eyes.
You wonder how much I am aware of - I see that as well.
I am aware of much - whether you are happy or sad or fearful,
patient or impatient, full of love and desire,
or if you are just doing your duty by me.
I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater,
for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.
You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times.
I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated.
I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me.
I do not give you rewards as defined by the world's standards -
great strides in development that you can credit yourself.
I do not give you understanding as you know it.
What I give you is so much more valuable - I give you instead opportunities.
Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine;
the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities;
the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible.
I drive you further than you would ever go on your own,
working harder, seeking answers to your many questions with no answers.
I am the child who cannot talk.
I am the child who cannot walk.
The world seems to pass me by.
You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair,
to run and play like other children.
There is much you take for granted.
I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom, oh I've dropped my fork again.
I am dependant on you in these ways.
My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune,
your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself.
Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them.
I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright,
to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent.
I give you awareness.
I am the child who cannot walk.
I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I don't learn easily, if you judge me by the world's measuring stick,
what I do know is infinite joy in simple things.
I am not burdened as you are with the strifes and conflicts of a more complicated life.
My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child,
to teach you how much your arms around me mean,
to give you love.
I give you the gift of simplicity.
I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I am the disabled child.
I am your teacher.
If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life.
I will give you and teach you unconditional love.
I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you.
I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted.
I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams.
I teach you giving.
Most of all I teach you hope and faith.
I am the disabled child.

- Author Unknown

Comments

Joanne said…
What a beautiful piece this is Shannon. Thanks for posting it!

I also just wanted to let you know today how much I enjoy coming to this blog. A few posts back you had mentioned this being your safe place, a place where you can write what you are feeling freely. Since you posted that I sarted to think about how many other individuals find this a safe place for them as well. You help to remind us all that there is so much in this world to cherish. When I come here it brings back memories of when Sasha was younger, and it also reminds me that there are other Moms out there on this same journey known as Sanfilippo. I guess I just wanted to thank for you that! Joanne, Sasha's Mom
Lindsey Yeskoo said…
Hello again, after a very long time. We are also with State, posted in Toronto, and our MLD daughter Emily is about to turn 17 in a few weeks. Amazing to see your site again, and read a bit of catch-up. Your children are LOVELY. And what a poem you have posted! Hadn't run across that one yet... but oh, how I know Emily would identify with its sentiments. Thank you so much for sharing. Would you mind very much if some day I posted it on our own caringbridge for Emily? Hope I get to meet you some day. We shall be moving back next year...
Gratefully, Lindsey Yeskoo
Shannon said…
Hi Lindsey. I remember you and your weeks daughter Emily. I am glad you enjoyed this poem. Feel free to share it. It was sent to me by another mom. I would love the opportunity to meet you. That is the beautiful thing about living in DC. Everyone comes back through at some point.

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