A mother worries over her children. And I think when a mother has a child with a disability, she may worry a little more over that particular child than the others. At least I know I have done that now and then. Sometimes it is justifiably so, sometimes not. The past few weeks have been a little bit like that for me. Kindergarten is starting for Henry, and I, like many mothers of children starting kindergarten, am a fretful mess of tangled up concerns and fear and protectiveness and what-ifs for that little boy.
And so I worry. And then something happens to remind me that this little boy is…well…Henry.
Last week, while we were out in the wilderness we went up to the lake to swim. There were a few other families there, too. William and Henry were throwing the frisbee in the water, and a couple of little girls came over to join in…girls that we didn’t know. William bugged outta there pretty quickly.
But Henry…have I mentioned how charming Henry can be? Henry played with the girls. He had the frisbee, and he ran around taunting them with “come on girls, try to get me!” He held the frisbee out of their reach and laughed his laugh (which totally makes me laugh while I’m writing this). And the three girls were all running after him, squealing and laughing and trying to get my Henry. He didn’t know them. He couldn’t hear them. But no matter. He was comfortable. He was so confident. He was happy.
And there it was…the lesson.
I. Will. Worry.
And then I will look up and see Henry. I will see him make friends. I will see him be the center of attention. I will hear his laughter.
And I will wonder what on Earth I was worried about.