Don't you Dare

I woke up on the 16th of July with a new song in my heart, literally.  I'm a composer, and before I left the hospital with Sam, I knew there would be a song to be written someday.  That Monday morning, it started to surface.  With it came a new sense of calm and peace - a giddiness and excitement a long time coming.  I was in such a mood that Ella said "mom, you're acting weird today."  I now call it the day the clouds lifted.  It only took 109 days of gray attitude, but the sun was finally shining.  Am I still scared as hell about Sam's future?  Yes, I will always be scared.  Do I still wish with every ounce of who I am that he hadn't been dealt this hand?  Of course.  But am I sad anymore?  Heck no.  Have I finally embraced what could be the best thing that's ever happened to me?  Yes, finally.

I brought Sam along to our hometown kickball night that week, and I remember sitting in a camp chair with him on my lap.  He was in one of the best moods ever and was chattering up a storm with me.  I talked back to him and we had ourselves a great conversation.   Children came running over to say hello to "baby Samuel" and pet his fuzzy little head.  I've wondered when the day will come that the other kids start asking questions.  The day is here.  The days like this will continue.  "Why does his tongue hang out all the time?"  "Why does Sam need a teacher?"  "How come he can't sit up?"  "Why are his eyes funny looking?"

Unfortunately, when Sam was born, I think we received more "I'm sorry to hear that" comments than the standby "congratulations".   I got so tired of hearing the word "sorry" that I wanted to puke.  I didn't want to be the center of people's pity.  I didn't want to be felt sorry for.  I didn't know exactly what it was that I wanted at that time, but I knew it wasn't sympathy.

I've since discovered what I want.  I want to share him.  I want to share his love with the world.  I want you to know how unbelievably lucky I am to be his mother.  If you could just once, be the one to peel him from slumber in the mornings and see him crack his eyes open, take one look at you and offer up the most beautiful smile ever, you would understand.

The questions, the comments,...it's in my nature now to stand up and defend, and I suppose it will always be that way.  But I want to share something with you that I find so remarkably beautiful, I can hardly comprehend that it was my child who did this...

"Dear Sam and Amanda,
This is a little late in arriving but the message is the same.  Thank you, Amanda, for trusting me to hold Sam during worship services.  I felt so very privileged to hold God's precious gift in my arms.  Thank you, Sam, for being so good and for providing me one of the best worship experiences I have had.  I just held you, felt your heart beating, listened to you breathing and listened quietly to the entire service. I didn't worry about the words and notes to the songs, listened to the liturgy, and sermon and just felt the worship.  It was truly a beautiful experience.  Thank you both for providing me that and any time again."

I am the organist at my church, and on the Sundays that Kevin doesn't attend services with us, members of the congregation literally argue over who gets to hold Sam.  I overhead the woman who wrote the note above say to her daughter in law "it's MY turn, you got him last week."  I love it.  They're fighting over my baby.  I know he's always in good arms while we're there and I'm so thankful to be a part of loving church family who welcomes and accepts Sam for all that he brings.

Sam is four months old today.  I have no idea where the time has gone.  I'm in a place where I am thankful for the emotions I've experienced, because I have discovered a person inside of me I never knew existed.  I'm proud that my strength has been tested, because now I can truly believe that what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger and that it's true that we're only given as much as we can handle.  The clouds are gone, the sun is shining and I am happy.  I am proud.  I am thankful.

So go ahead, ask all the questions you'd like.  Go ahead and make comments, good or bad, about my child.  Be ignorant or be accepting.  Be cold or be loving.  Disregard or believe in Sam.  But whatever you do, don't you DARE feel sorry for us.  We have been given a gift, and if you'd like, I'll let you take a peek inside and experience a little bit of Sam's love.