I've recently expanded my list of online journals that I read on a regular basis. I have quite an eclectic collection of journals I read... Some are great, some are interesting and some are just guilty pleasures, not really having any understanding what draws me to them, other than they are so messed up, I can hardly stop reading them...
One, very popular one I've started reading recently is : lantern waste written by Tesserae. She's a great writer, and from what I've read on her site, she's been through more in her lifetime, and survived, than most people would be able to handle in ten lifetimes... But, she seems like she has an incredibly strong spirit.
See, she has a little girl too. And she recently wrote about her concerns for her development. And, I, of course, felt compelled to write to her. As, I have similar concerns about Savannah's future.
She posted an incredible and touching metaphor that was shared with her about having a child with a disability. And, it touched me as well... saying what I couldn't about the experience of having a premature child. This is what she posted:
Welcome to Holland
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 guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michaelangelo 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 am supposed to be in Italy. All my life I have 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 guidebooks. 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 here for a while and you catch your breath, you a look around 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.
-- written by Emily Perl Kingsley, 1987
I've grown to feel differently about the circumstances surrounding Savannah's birth, since I started writing this journal. I'm still sad about some things. But, reading this beautifully written metaphor, has put words to things I've felt for a while too.
The events of the past year have been difficult, but not impossible. I'm a better and much stronger person than I was a year ago. And, I love Savannah more each and every day I've known her.
And, while it would be nice to know what it's like to be in Italy, most people will never know how beautiful and wonderful things are in Holland too. Mostly, I'm sure they are just different. Neither better, or worse.
Someday, I might have a chance to see what Italy is like too, but for now... I'm going to enjoy the gorgeous tulips in Holland.