by Emily Perl Kingsley
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 guide books and make wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo 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'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy.”
The important thing is they haven't taken you to a horrible, d
isgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. 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 there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around … and you begin to notice Holland has windmills … and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going to 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.”
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.