There are some that do not and as much as we cling to fervent hope, we can’t inspire the manifestation of development and independence. Wishes don’t always come true and sometimes, we are left with little people who grow taller and leaner, but seem locked in time. All babies are babies and the differences aren’t quite as startling then, variances in physical development not noticed by the average naked eye. As the years pass, the divide widens and mothers like myself longingly watch the peers of our children that seem only to be treading water.

Tiny bits of progress always but never a real chance to catch up as others gain language and motion and comprehension at the speed of light compared to my precious son. I know life is not a race and I’m not trying to win but it is awfully tough to ignore that we’re not even keeping up. It’s harder that I ever realized. Truthfully, those thoughts had hardly been a blip on my radar before Amos. I did feel the tinge of guilt when we would encounter a child with special needs while my own children were running wild and talking up a storm. The moment passed quickly though and I went on about my normal life.

Normal life. I don’t even know what that is anymore. What should I have done? What do I want someone to do? Is there anything that could make the passage of time easier or less painful? Truthfully, I don’t think so. It may be time that is needed but the idea of more time lapsing frightens me even more, as it alludes to the expanse beyond the differences on the playground. Play dates and the activities outside of school and those once little children becoming inquisitive beings independent of their mothers as they traipse about our small town or our county fair. Where does that leave my Amos? Where does it leave me?

Heartbroken. It is all I can do to allow my mind to go to this deep dark place but if I do not, I may be caught unaware. That would be worse, can you see that? If I can have some semblance of a plan, my mind tells my heart that I can cope. It may be a lie but it is all I have in this instant. Life didn’t prepare me for this, this grief that unlike death, travels and morphs over time, a struggle that has no end. In this moment, I need no words, no reassurance, false or true, no overt kindness or faux praise. I will accept your company though and drink in the silence. I want you to know that your friendship is enough to sustain me. If I cry, cry with me, if I get angry, raise your fists, if I seem hopeful, share my dreams and if I am quiet, breathe in the silence with your whole heart.

I hope Amos will have friends like I do. My friends envelope me in their love and normalcy, teasing and empathetic tears. They love me with no strings attached and are willing to take the whole package with all its’ complicated layers. Love has a way of reaching beyond what makes sense and for that I am so thankful. Amos is loved for being Amos and I have no doubt to believe that his same young friends will embrace him as their mothers have embraced me. And with that thought, all is right in the world and the joy returns.