Tuesday, August 30, 2011
This I See
In her words, "Devastated."
This was circa 1975 and the technology was not as advanced, so my lenses looked like coke bottles, and continued until high school when I was given contacts. I don't remember that early glasses time, but the way I looked at the world changed. I could see. The colors, details, and shapes.
My father's time to choke up came later when I said, "Dad, did you know the grass is green and so are trees?" It gripped him because he didn't know I couldn't see.
So when the doctor informed me that Sarah was very far-sighted and her eyes were working very hard to focus, my heart plummeted. I was thrown for a loop, socked in the stomach. Similar to my mother's reaction. I didn't cry, but was silent the entire way home. It's not the wearing of glasses, but the fact that I didn't know she was having trouble seeing. I didn't know she was struggling. I didn't know, and feel I've failed her. (Irrational, I know. But, I'm a mom.)
We're working a few hours at a time, and soon she'll be wearing the finger-smudged specs full-time.
I wonder what she would have said (if she had her words) the first time she put them on. What does she see differently?
Andy went to her IEP meeting yesterday, and there was one transportation issue that was our only concern. Before the meeting, we were notified that Sarah could attend the school Addy and Austin attend or another school in the same district. Our hearts and prayers were praying for the first option all week long.
When I walked into the door after school, Andy said, "You are not going to like what I'm going to tell you." Then, I knew. She would be attending the other school. He shared with me the entire process, how everyone at the table wanted her to attend her home school, but the transportation routes are complicated and we need her to be picked up at her daycare. So, the other option it is.
I wallowed for an evening. Wondering, why? This school is our family. We skyped into classrooms while in Ukraine. They followed our process. Staff and teachers alike knew of our Sarah. When she walked through their doors after she was home, there were tears. Tears to see the miracle she is. She was home. Even the kids' classmates know of Sarah, and give her shout-outs in the hallways. Our home and family, and we wanted Sarah to be a part of that preschool.
But, today I know she is to shine her light in a new place. Her daycare has seen what a miracle she is and what she can do. Every day, she receives shout-outs as she walks the halls to her room. She is loved.
And she will be loved in her new school. Tomorrow, she begins the next chapter in her story.
Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful, for beauty is God's handwriting.
Ralph Waldo Emerson