I was ready for the wave of emotion that would likely overtake me when my three oldest children and I ventured to see the story of Finding Dory. It did not disappoint and I if I did not have nerves of steel, I would have been a puddle. Not to mention that I was distracted by the fact that my oldest son looked embarrassed to be with me after a girl citing, a blessing in disguise as I likely would have slid out of my seat on a wave of hysterical tears. I didn’t though; instead, I was directed to pull out my phone to scribble down the quotes from two parents that I wished were my friends. How did they know just what to say?

Don’t ever be sorry.

Wow. I wish I could document the look in their eyes as they told their precious Dory to never apologize. It was a lightning bolt to my heart and though light years away for me, my own worry set in. As much as I long for my Amos to speak, to hear an apology may be unbearable. Thank you for the reminder to always tread lightly so that my precious child doesn’t feel a need to feel or tell me he is sorry. Never ever ever.

It’s your destiny.

Of course it is. Absolutely. Having a child with special needs has been so wonderful that I can’t credit an accident or worse, a mistake for producing a child that lives vicariously and is loved, as much as our Amos, our treasure and golden ticket to life and its’ mysteries finally uncovered through his arrival.

What is so great about plans?

Plans, shmans. Plans are boring and I was boring. I didn’t know it but it is true. My life was simple enough to complain over laundry and cooking and though I still do lament the necessary evils, I have been provided the gift of real and truth that brings humor to the mundane. Life is short and the best laid plans are laid to rest. That’s what they say and I think they’re right except they forgot to tell us that the alternative plans would always be better and more fulfilling than our planned meager ones.

Rescue, rehabilitation and release.

What an analogy in a simple motto of two loving parents. Rescue is obvious and not in a helpless sort of way, almost ironic perhaps? Who rescues whom in this glimpse of symbolism. Rehabilitation. Again, applied not for our special children but us, the world and environment at hand. Release is to relinquish, relinquish my darling son to the wide world and release the fears that cloak him, spawned from his mama and papa bears.

It really is quite a view.

Yes, the view is spectacular and still I doubt that all those on the outskirts are convinced beyond a reasonable doubt. Could I have been convinced before I had my own Dory? A glimpse into a life that has offered meaning and depth in a way that doesn’t make sense, defies the rules, overthrows our natural inclinations of success. The view is real and resembles the closest thing I know to describe as hindsight, a glimpse of the future and far away lands, lovely in a nutshell.

You can do what ever you put your mind to.

Your mind, not our mind. Again, I am reduced to nothingness as I consider my thoughts, feelings, words, fears, and wishes; mine, mine, mine. They center around me and my mind and yet in one sentence, I get it. What does my son want to do? What will be his goals? What will he wish to accomplish? Yes, I believe he will do whatever he sets his mind to and suddenly my universe is right side up again. Or at least, it should be.

Thank you to the parents for sharing their secrets; they have helped this mama far more than I would have imagined. Lovely joy always and thankfulness.