Welcome to Holland

 Y'all, I'm struggling. I've been struggling. I have good and bad days and I understand this is the journey, but I'm ready for some kind of destination. Some kind of relief. Some kind of a feeling like I can let out the breath I've been holding for so long. To feel the weight drop off my shoulders, to not fee like I'm just surviving and getting through the day. 

Back when Henry was still a baby, but we knew that things were going to be different, no idea just how different, but different, our neighbor shared something with me that I appreciate more than she'll know. She has her own struggles with an autistic son and understands the worry, wonder and all the things. 

She sent me a poem that is so true and incredibly accurate in the dreams I had for motherhood. A family. Life. No one thinks they'll have a child with medical issues or special needs. No one even dreams of it, but it happens and your whole perspective on life changes. In the short term, for me, more on the negative spectrum. It's an adjustment. Your expectations are shattered. Your dreams and no longer a reality. But in the long run, it can be the most amazing thing. You see the world differently. Your heart and mind changes in ways you never thought possible. The small milestones, smiles, laughs, snuggles. Knowing that you are the only one who can truly comfort your child. That you are his safe haven and he doesn't need fancy things and expensive toys, he needs you. He needs you to advocate for him, to be his best friend, to learn and know what he needs... I know that Henry has changed me and I know as he grows it'll only get better, but right now, right now it's hard. It's quick sand. It's survival. Some days the love I have for him is overwhelming. The desire for him to be happy, healthy, and independent. It hurts. My heart hurts for him and it overflows for him. I'm pretty sure all you mama's out there can relate whether your child is extra like mine or not. 

I go back and read this poem every once in a while. It reminds me that it's ok that I'm sad about what could have been, but just because it didn't happen the way I had hoped does not mean for a second that it can't be just as good or even better. I know that Henry is going to changes lives. He already has. He's destined for good things and I am going to be next to him making sure he gets there. Giving him what he needs to thrive and achieve his purpose. I have no idea what the looks like, but I'm here for it and I am excited to be in Holland. 

Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley 

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.