Mother at the swings

I read a quote in a book awhile back that said...

"When your child has cancer, strangers try and help, when your child has a disability, friends and family turn the other direction in the grocery store ."


So true. The numbers are growing in a rapid rate. I've seen friends, family from my side, family from his side, all see us out and about, then their face changes and they quickly turn and walk away, hoping we don't see them.Not caring, not wanting to see us, talk to us or see our beautiful children. All because they are afraid. Afraid of what? I guess feeling awkward...I'm not really sure. It's sad, it's pathetic and it's upsetting.

The insert below came from an article a friend shared with me. This particular part hit home with me. Not all of it holds true in my case and I do not share all of the same feelings, but it's too beautiful to not put in full. "The rocks, wanna be theres and gingerbread men", I find especially fitting when it comes to matters like the above mentioned.

"Potential support people came divided, according to the handouts, into the following categories: the rocks, the wanna-be-theres, and the gingerbread men. It warned us that people we might think were "rocks" could unexpectedly turn out to be "gingerbread men." Just like the story, they run, run as fast as they can from you when they hear of your baby's birth.

I quickly found that the guide was right, that I was supported by only one or two rocks, and that the rest of my friends and family members had become gingerbread men. As Evan's disabilities became more obvious, after he left the hospital and in the time that followed, I found new rocks and said goodbye to the gingerbread men. And I found a new category for the characters in the social worker's handout: the mother at the swings.

The mother at the swings wants to know. It's why she makes her observations, and why she pretends there is nothing different, nothing dissimilar about her child and mine. All kids love to swing. The mother at the swings would like for me to tell her what it's like, how my son is different, and how he is the same. She wants to know about the cane he uses, and the challenges of having a non-verbal child, and how I manage to understand my son and communicate. She'd like to ask, What does his future look like? And How are you with all this?

She wants to know but she doesn't know how to ask. And so she tells me that all kids love to swing.

It has taken me years to know what to say to the mother at the swings, and how to say it. To reveal the truth, graciously. To let her in and help her understand. To tell her that yes, all children love to swing, and my son loves to swing and the reasons are both the same and different. That it's hard to watch her daughter, with her indelible eye contact and winning smile, and not mourn for what my son can't do. That some days my grief over my son is stronger than my love.

It has taken me even longer to appreciate the mother at the swings, to know that she and I have more in common than I once thought. To know that her curiosity is a mother's curiosity, one borne out of love and tenderness and a desire to understand a child, my son, one who happens to be different. That her compassion and thoughtfulness mean she will take the knowledge I share and use it to understand other mothers like myself, some of whom could be her neighbor, her cousin, her sister, her friend. And, finally, that she wants to know so that she can teach her own child, who also loves to swing, how to embrace and treasure what makes us different. And the same."The full article can be found here.
Mother At the Swings


Thank you our Rocks.