I saw you in the school pickup line yesterday. I heard you praying, “please let it have been a good day” for your son. I watched as you tried to read his face and his teacher’s face as she brought him to the car.
I saw you glance longingly at the typical kids on the playground as you left, while hoping no one noticed the tears you were fighting to hide.
I was in the room when he had his latest seizure and watched you hold his head up off the bathroom floor as his body wriggled uncontrollably. When you whispered in his ear that you were there and you wouldn’t leave him until he was OK, I whispered the same in your ear.
You didn’t hear me because you were focused on him in that moment, but I meant it.
I was there in Wal-Mart when he got sensory overload and had a meltdown right in the middle of the aisle. I was cheering you on in the way you responded.
I saw you when that friend handed you that article with the latest “miracle cure” for autism, I admired your restraint and kindness in how you responded. I know deep down in your flesh you just wanted to slap her silly and stuff the article in her mouth.
Tonight, a bunch of your old friends are having a Mom’s Night Out. They are going to a movie and then for coffee. Then they will put a bunch of staged and contrived pictures on Facebook. I saw that you weren’t invited. You couldn’t have gone anyway but you still yearned to be invited. You longed to be included even though you wouldn’t be able to get away from your child’s needs. I know you still grieve the life you expected and so desired sometimes.
I see how lonely and alone you feel. I see every tear that you cry. I even capture them in a bottle. Every one of them.
I see how your old friends have abandoned you, and sometimes you wonder if your own family grasps what your life is truly like. You crave a place where you feel like you belong. A place of acceptance, unconditional love and sheer happiness.
I know of just such a place. I can’t wait to show it to you someday and explore it together with you.
I see how it crushes your spirit to watch the difficulties your son endures every day. Every seizure, every missed milestone, every hospital visit, every stare, and every time the other kids ignore your son. I see everything.
You long to have your son wrap his arms around your neck and say, “I love you Mom!” I know how hard it is for you to have never heard those words.
What you don’t realize is that your son’s spirit talks to me every night in a way only the two of you can understand. And he tells me every night how much he loves you and how thankful he is that you are his mom. We speak a language not of this world.
HE KNOWS, MOM. AND SO DO I.
I know you doubt. I know you wonder if I even really exist, and if so, do I even care. I see you mom and I I need you to know some truths.
I chose you and I cherish you. And even though others may leave you or turn their backs on you, I never will. I’ll never leave you to fight these battles alone, and I’ll never stop loving you.
I watched you again today, mom. I watched you lay down you own needs, your own desires, and your own life for that child. I watched you give sacrificially until there was nothing left in you to give. I heard every sigh and every moan as your weary body wore out and your spirit was drained. You need a break so bad but that's not going to happen.
I SEE EVERYTHING MOM.
By the way, that son of yours is fearfully and wonderfully made just the way he is. I ought to know, I was there when he was knit together in your womb. My eyes saw his unformed body. You were made for him just as he was made for you. I did that.
Some day in an instant I’m going to take away all your sorrow, all your pain, and all your trouble. It will happen at the very same time I wipe away seizures, autism, epilepsy, Downs, and every other disability.
“Well done, mom. I love you dearly. Don’t ever doubt or question it. I do see you.”
-- Your Father
-- Jeff Davidson
