We, lovingly, call Jack “The Beast” sometimes. We don’t mean it in a derogatory way at all. Just in a way that we all know is true— he’s kinda Beastly (he’s a growler…loves to growl all the time when we’re out. Growls at old ladies, at kids, at dogs…). Sometimes he’s “Beastly” or “My Beasty Boy”… you get the picture.
You see, I can see the Beauty in My Beast.
You see a kid that growls and is grumpy. I see a kid who growls because he’s sick of people staring at him, and who hasn’t slept more than 4 hours a night in his life.
You see the mask and the wheelchair. I see protection.
You see a shaved head. I see the way we make sure he doesn’t pull all his hair out.
You see a 5-year old in a diaper. I thank God that he’s made it to 5.
Once upon a time, I was bitter and sad. I despised the situation we were in. I hated doctors and therapies–and the other moms who wanted to be buddy-buddy with me in the waiting room.
I was scared.
The world would be such a better place if we could all stand back and see the Beauty that is in the Beast. Look past disabilities and scars and noises…look in to those loving eyes and see the world the way My Beasty does.
He loves everyone. He doesn’t know a stranger. He blows kisses to the manager of the deli at the grocery store. He shrieks with delight each and every time his Grandma walks through the door (as if he hasn’t seen her in YEARS!).
I’m learning. Slowly.