I have chosen gratitude as a word for the year more than once. I have plaques at home and in my office that are planted in my field of vision each day to remind me and to hold me accountable to be grateful…

For what? Grateful for my life and the opportunity to live life each day. To get to know my students and to teach-my lifelong calling. To love my family and to be a part of their lives. To watch my sons become fathers…to watch Diana find her causes in life and listen to what she cares about the most. To spend time with my grandchildren and to step into their lives whenever possible. To know them and be close to them.

To realize in life I have a God-given purpose and calling in my heart…have always had a desire to be a part of something bigger than myself…to make a difference and to be a change agent in small ways that might have significance in a larger forum at some point in time.

Gratitude…has meaning on so very many levels…

This month in my Longwood LIFE novel class we have shared stories of people who worked hard to achieve and who had a huge belief in something they cared about and saw it through…even through failure and perseverance. I’ve read several Reader’s Digest stories about gratitude that are based on hardships that led to triumph and renewed purpose and optimism. We’ve highlighted athletes who failed many times before they found victory. We’ve read about people with disabilities who have worked to strengthen their abilities in order to succeed.

And, we’ve shared our stories and connections to lessons we’ve learned…including greater appreciation for family, because we have also experienced joy and hardship and even loss of someone special to us.

So, that intrinsic and all-knowing sense of gratitude that runs deep into the fibers of our hearts-that catches us-makes our hearts skip a beat-a feeling-a realization-an affirmation-a moment in time where we feel something special while at the same time are processing why it all matters so very much to us. And, in that moment, we capture a glimpse of gratitude.

And for me, I have been thinking about gratitude. I try to hang onto all the meaningful ways I have embraced it and felt it to my core. How it surfaces in subtle ways in the present moment with life in the now and also realizing that the now would have been a missed opportunity had I not also experienced all that came before it.

If I had not given birth to Erin, we would not have not travelled down the road of adoption to find Diana in Ukraine to be her sister. I would not have thought about going to grad school in special education to figure out how to parent a child with a disability. (I loved teaching 8th grade English.) I switched jobs and found my sweet spot in self-contained special education.

I’m grateful…

To have known you, Erin…to have been challenged by you and to have grown as a human being because of your influence on my life.

And I will never, ever stop thinking about you and loving you (and writing about you!). I have moved forward in this life in so many ways and alongside others who have never met you. We are living in the present and are excited for new births in the coming days and celebrations you will miss. But, you will never be forgotten and remain present-always- in my heart…

With gratitude.❤️

In Longwood LIFE today, we talked about taking our students to a Wednesday night basketball game on November 12th…Longwood against JMU. One of our students is an avid JMU fan, and we talked during the day about how much fun it would be to connect his love of JMU to Longwood and how much fun it would be to go to a basketball game after our class day. And, I thought throughout the day, “Thst’s your birthday, Erin.”

So, tonight I am thinking about your birthday, Erin. I haven’t celebrated it with you for 8 years. You would be 27 this November 12th. I have learned over the years to invest my heart and soul in meaningful work and relationships where I feel more of a connection to people who either have a heart that has been touched by someone like you-someone who was challenging and also full of unconditional love-someone who required a commitment from our whole family to care for you and were impacted, each in our own way, from knowing you as we uniquely related to you and carry your memory and influence in our hearts.

I call your brothers, Erin, on their birthdays and tell them about the day they were born. I am thinking tonight about the day you were born. I remember Jack, my father -in-law coming in the front door right as I was having a contraction to take Kyle to school. He chuckled, and I looked at him like, “Don’t you dare laugh at me.” We drove by Fluvanna Middle School where I taught 8th grade English. Students were unloading. I didn’t know Erin would have Down syndrome, but I had a feeling in my heart something would be different this time. I remember thinking as. we drove by the school that we had enough love in our family to handle it.

When Erin arrived within a few hours after we arrived at Martha Jefferson Hospital in Charlottesville, I noticed she had a significant tongue thrust, something different from my other babies, but she also looked like our other babies. Dr. Marotta came back in the room and took my hand and said he thought Erin had Down syndrome. Rob went to the Mudhouse Coffee Shop that afternoon on the Downtown Mall to research Down syndrome on their computer. He came back with lots of information about characteristics and prognoses for children with Down syndrome. Dr. Marotta came back to my room, put his hand on my shoulder, and told me, “Just be her mother.” That was all I needed to know in those early days.

Later on, Erin, when you were a year old, I took a special education course on collaboration to recertify my teaching license. I was an elementary/middle school general educator of 17 years. I got VHS lecture tapes in the mail and watched them while I painted my middle and high school sons’ bedrooms one summer. I listened to lectures and painted harder as I realized what I was learning about children with disabilities was empowering. I thought about how knowledge is power.

My next step was to apply to grad school at Longwood in special education. My entrance essay was about how I needed to learn how to parent a child with a disability differently. Erin was my 4th birth child. I worked with children in general education and gifted education. I needed a new skill set to raise Erin.

You changed me, Erin…

I went to school part-time over some years. I also got an ASD certificate with extra classes. I taught in the ASD certificate program for some years as an adjunct at Longwood. I ended my career in Fluvanna County in a self-contained special education classroom and never planned to leave public school. My sweet spot was this job, and my Erin was in my classroom before she became ill. I never intended to leave that classroom.

Then came more degree pathways and a chance to come to Longwood…

I am grateful to have found a purpose and life beyond your life, Erin, that has and will sustain me in the coming years. I have always told my students that everything that had happened to them and all their life experiences poured into their future. How true that had been for my life. I take you, Erin, into my interactions with our Lifers and into my classroom teaching with preservice special education teachers in subtle and bold ways.

I’ve always believed that everything we experience in life changes us and can make us better people. You have made me better, Erin.

But, I still miss you and feel you-draw you close to my heart when I need you. Like today.

Today, I felt you in all your silliness. I heard your voice in my mind and drew you close to my heart. I take your determination with me each day, but today I felt you…and it was wonderful.

Happy early birthday.🎉 🎂❤️

Grief is like mixing ingredients for baking cookies for me. There’s the intent to bake something for an occasion that’s festive or a celebration like a birthday or holiday party. My focus is on the end result of seeing the cookies at the event and thinking of other details of the party or the people who will be there to enjoy being together-all while going through the process of mixing ingredients and baking. Yet, I’ll be caught off guard unexpectedly by an object used to mix or an ingredient or package that sparks a memory of doing that activity with my Erin.

Tonight that activity is taking down the Christmas tree at the start of a new year. The Christmas season is over, and so many ornaments have significance for Erin as well as the other children in our family-new children- including a picture of scared Lucy with Santa and the boys’ favorite Marvel characters, as well as a wren bird for our free-spirited blonde, Wren. They mark new memories of the children in the present while also savoring memories of our Erin, who was always a child throughout her 18 years with us. Packing away symbols of her favorite things in life that brought her joy jolt my heart as an unexpected ingredient in the moment-her Disney princesses, Curious George, Alvin and the Chipmunks, the bird with feathers that would remind her not to be afraid of feathers because it was her name.

These tasks of packing away the season mix into important preparations of what’s next in a new year and drive me to look ahead. Yet, each year takes me further away from the last time I looked into Erin’s eyes and wondered what she was thinking about..or the last time I heard her laugh or heard her voice. And, I never want to forget what that sounded like or how I felt looking into her face while trying to read where she was inside of herself in the moment.

So, I welcome the moments that unexpectedly jolt my memory and bring her close to me in the mixing of the new life with the old where I remember her joy in the anticipation of the holidays as if it was always her very first Christmas. May I always find her and that joy in this holiday, see her sense of excited anticipation in my mind, and take something I have learned from her and that I need in the present into my new year-whether it is her determination or stubbornness or her ability to find joy within herself and in being at home and with those she has loved in life.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my life trying to live up to expectations, things I’ve been taught from childhood. I’ve grown into myself through pursuing my ambitions in education with a lot of support along the way from my family and inspired by my life experiences in parenting children with special needs. I couldn’t stop taking classes in degrees that would lead to answers of how to parent, teach, and advocate for children with special needs, I have experienced the loss of a child and have been challenged under the surface each and every day of my adult life since I was 22 years old to build a marriage and family that wasn’t typical according to my upbringing but so vital to my circumstances in the present and in my everyday filled with all the typical, life-breathing parts of life: a marriage, a growing family, children. We grew into a strong and loving family as parents who navigated love and commitment in ways most couples would never consider or accept. Yet, everything that everyone observed about us and anyone inspired by our family and relationships-our love for our family, children, and each other was all stronger for our reality. And for me, I didn’t navigate my life behind the scenes alone. My truth, my reality after growing up in a nuclear family like the Cleavers, turned upside down in some ways, while as parents and family, we grew with incredible strength and as people and in our perspectives, not by choice, but because it was our reality in the times in which we lived. Love and a dependence on not doctrine but a simple faith in God to just be there in the present was the basis of my everyday. That’s what I brought to the table of all I invested in my family and youth work. My truth is in the goodness of a simple faith in my God. Knowing His presence was and still is there underneath the surface and in my heart, which is what I shared in subtle ways, I hope, in how I have lived my life. It is what has always been so real to me. So, now you know why I needed Him so much.

What is it about the moon? I’ve seen it my whole life, but now I earnestly search the sky for it at night-to get a glimpse of it-watching for its fullness. I walk miles around my wooded neighborhood to catch a photo opportunity preferably through tree branches and patiently waiting as clouds drift across its face just at the right moment to capture its beauty.

Why? Because there was this one night in Fork Union soon after Erin died when Diana and I were standing outside in our yard on the campus of Fork Union Military Academy across from the pond and under the stars looking up at the moon where Diana asked, “I wonder what Erin sees from her side of the moon?”

And, since that time I have yearned to catch a glimpse of the moon and especially as it evolves into its fullness and beauty as each and every month moves into the next phase-watching as it evolves into each passing month and year without my Erin on this earth. I look to the skies and know she is whole on the other side of each moon, sunrise, and sunset…happy and complete.

And, I am forever changed and am a better human because of her-privileged to have known her, to have raised her and cared for her- to have comforted her and to have loved her with all I am capable of investing inside of myself on this earth.

And. so looking at the moon each night, for me, is a constant reminder it’s a privilege to love a human who could totally change your life, challenge you, push you out of your comfort zone, transform your entire purpose in life by just being born into your family.

Thank you for being born into our family, Erin Lee Feathers, and for sticking around and creating havoc and for making us laugh, for teaching us to love unconditionally and to be more tolerant-for 18 years, for changing us for the better…

I wouldn’t change a minute of it.

I consider myself a cheerful person. I am not one to cry easily and prefer not to cry. I don’t know why I feel this way, but it’s as if to let my tears fall is a sign of sadness or weakness. And that would be a bad thing? Would it set me back if I let myself stop and process once more not having my Erin with me in this life? Except that during this Christmas holiday, at unexpected moments, something has happened more than once that brought my Erin close-really close-I saw or heard something typical of the season that caused a memory of the time of life that included her or a memory of just her to surface in full color and detail.

And at that moment everything stopped inside of me and waited and watched that memory draw me closer, desperately not wanting to miss it. During those moments of remembering her silly faces and mannerisms, the sound of her voice, the presence of her next to me within familiar surroundings, I felt my own feelings for her in the way I used to feel during her life on earth on any given day at any random moment. And it felt wonderfully comforting and welcomingly whole as warm tears fell out of recognition of those feelings I felt for her each day of her 18 years of life in all the ways she made our family complete while also turning many days upside down by just being Erin. Reminding me of the ways that she has left her mark on all of our hearts and that have made us more perceptive, more tolerant, more loyal, and more appreciative of our own individual uniqueness within our family.

So, during this Christmas season when my memories of Erin surface at the sound of a favorite Christmas song, while enjoying my colorful tree full of ornaments she loved, when sipping a frosty at Wendy’s, or while reminiscing with dear friends and family; I take that moment to stop, to bring her memory forward in my mind, to see her more clearly as I knew her, and to feel her with all the love I feel for her still…

And, I let the warm tears fall.

It’s been a long time since I blogged, and I’m wondering what has happened in the pause. Once, so consumed with coping day-to-day with constant thoughts of your absence, dear Erin, and now what has happened? I’ve been living on beyond our life together-That’s what’s happened.

Sure, there are seasons that flood my senses and memories of you-that stir my emotions to my core. I am blessed now to know a student in Longwood LIFE who is not at all like you, but whom I understand completely BECAUSE of you. When she looks directly into my eyes in hopes to communicate where she is inside of herself-I get it- because I knew you. I think of you in all the seasons and celebrations-birthdays, beach trips, Halloween, Christmas-did I say birthdays? Anything family.

When I see your brothers and in all of my everyday life with Diana, I see glimpses of how we are changed and more human-more loving-because of your influence. We were blindsided so often in your lifetime. Anyone who knew you became a part of your network-you were always complicated-but we all fell into your humor and learned to see the world through your eyes.

Now, we have moved forward in life-new jobs, marriages, new babies who will never have known you in life but who will come to know about you from our stories and explanations of the impact of YOU in our lives and who will alongside us learn to know your legacy and how our family is different-changed-better-because of our struggles, joys, and laughter with you in our lives.

No, Miss Erin, we will never be the same or ever forget the impact of you-your name-your unique sayings and phrases (“hushabye your tootsie mouth!”). Your dismissive side glances. Sometimes, we talk to each other in your “language” and laugh. We do it perfectly and with your inflection. Oh, how we cherished our life with you, Erin, and how we also struggled to keep you in sync and connected to us all.

We-all Feathers-would say we are a different breed because of knowing you. You touched our typical family and turned us upside down, and now-we are all changed-in ways we are only beginning to understand-because of you. Thanks for blessing our lives and bringing us even closer in life.

Was just thinking about you today. It was so good to feel you close to my heart. Thanks for that.❤️

So, I have five children. People I meet ask me how many children I have. I pause, Choke a little. Do they mean right now? Children who are here now? Thinking of questions that follow. Where do they live? What are they doing now?

On Mother’s Day week, I ask myself that question nearly everyday. Everyday, I feel the loss of the one just a little bit. It never goes away and surfaces on special holidays and birthdays – especially hers. And, when the kids are all together on occasions now that they are grown, I briefly look for her amongst them in my memories. So, I say it…

“I had five children. Four birth children and one adopted child. My Erin died at 18 after a long illness.” What is a true celebration of my life’s most significant contribution – being a mom to 5 (yes, five) children, the very core of my joy in life, is tainted by the “telling” of my story of losing a child. Yet, let me tell you how I lived through raising five children; how we lived each day when they were growing up.

My ultimate joy of years of seeing them connect, irritate, annoy, rawly love in the most basic and heartfelt way – truly love each other. Day and night on ordinary days with mundane routines. Predicting responses to typical and very functional daily interactions. Yet, reacting to each other as if everything in our house was normal, just like any family. Didn’t matter that we bantered in repetitive and sometimes nonsensical phrases. Where frustration during evenings where boys were studying for tests…sweaty and taking showers after lacrosse games…while Erin was yelling the same phrase, “Erin, stop yelling!” again and again…or, singing her favorite Hannah Montana songs into her microphone connected to her karaoke machine at the top of her lungs. Even stressful situations could be turned into fun and laughter as boys in gym shorts with soaking wet hair skipped downstairs at night to watch shows, do homework, make popcorn (yes, and fight). Relax into the normalcy of a Feathers’s household evening. Feeling secure…soothing…a solace that centered us each and every day.

My kids are who they are because of how they impacted each other under the same roof-to a great extent. The parents (we) have something to do with that, but the impact of what happens under one roof on a daily basis cannot be replaced or embellished by any well-meaning attempts to replace the blueprint created by years and evenings of popcorn, watching shows, playing games, mundane talks, doing chores, asking questions, (picking on each other), smelling fresh sheets (or slightly smelly sheets), hearing the heat pump kick in, the house settling, feeling the comfort of sleeping under the same roof-when the wind blew and rain pellets pounded on the roof, toilets flushed, and teeth brushed-all familiar sounds as breathing slowed and sleep arose across our household each and every night.

Even the two foster sons-teenagers-and their older sister. The years we spent getting up at 5:30AM to go to cross country practice or hearing their laughter together late at night-feeling relaxed and safe sitting at the kitchen table-cooking food and laughing -creating their own normalcy.

It was knowing-and feeling-the family secure and tucked in for the night. Under the same roof. Lights dimmed. Soft sounds of TVs and music from darkened rooms. It made me breathe a sigh of relief and comfort knowing we were safe and secure and ready to rest after another day.

Each day-a celebration in some small way. Rising in the morning. Waking up the kids. Though hectic, sometimes feeling frazzled, yet subtly smiling inside knowing the investment of children-being a mom-living each day in the present moment-with my kids-was indeed-living my best life.

Those mundane and repetitious memories coupled with seeing my kids as adults…parents…professionals…means everything…brings more satisfaction than anything else life can offer.

When they reach out, my heart skips a beat. Whatever they need or whatever affirmation they are seeking. I love just answering the call. When they include me in the group text, I can’t wait to hear what happens next. Even in their new seasons of life (and mine-ours), I still feel that everyday connection and familiarity through their voices and descriptions of their everydayness. And each responds to mine in much the same way encompassing my everyday sidekick Diana who is ever present in my daily routines of walking, swimming, socializing, and working. She is now the one who carefully charts our daily schedule-enmeshing mine with hers. Even allowing me at this point to interrupt hers to travel to see siblings (grandsons) more often.

It’s within the new normalcy of having the one (Diana) as my constant in my daily life that helps me cope with my losses. It is not that she wasn’t there before, because she was; nor that she’s here now in a new way, because she isn’t. It’s just I’ve needed her to stick a bit closer and enjoyed her quite a bit more within a new space she’s created for herself as she’s emerging into adulthood. An everyday space that is truly delightful and full of surprisingly witty and wise conversation. I often think about what a gift she is to our family and what we would have missed-all of us-had we not found her.

So, when I hear someone in the kitchen or on the phone say, “Hey, Mom”…That’s a Mother’s Day. That subtle excitement to hear their voices. That feeling of pride in being close to them now. Even the realization that the one I lost in life is still engrained in my heart and memories to the point I can still hear her voice when I think of her.

I’d do anything for any of them. Yet, for the exception of Diana, none of them need me in the everyday way they once did. I actually love being on the side of enjoying the present moments of friendship that have evolved in adulthood and being an extension of their lives with an open door to visit whenever we can. That’s a Mother’s Day…when we’re in their homes, driving to the store, or sitting by the fire watching a movie late at night talking and catching up.

So, Mother’s Day is any day and every day. It’s watching from the wings of my kids’ lives. It’s cheering them on or just listening and saying nothing at all. It’s being asked to help facilitate something in their lives (like babysitting). It’s just being connected even when not physically present…across the miles…forever tucked in hearts…whenever the one-whichever one-comes to mind.

A position of privilege-to honor like none other-both chosen and acquired-on any day-

It’s just “Mom”.

My father-in-law has always been ever present in my adult life. Not in bold ways, never demanding attention, or directing special attention, or the director of special family events, birthday parties or holiday gatherings. I remember one summer afternoon riding down Teepee Town Road in Fork Union in the car with Rob and his brother, Scott, going to the Drive-In during my college days while dating Rob, talking about Jack Feathers, the dad of 4 sons. A lifetime member of fire and rescue in Fluvanna County. Plaques displayed in our entrance to our house when squads arrive to transport him now to Southside Hospital. Young men, volunteers, pause, and ask, and admire this 87-year-old man. A cardiac tech, a math teacher and Assistant Dean of Fork Union Military Academy. A grandfather to my children. A man who (as Scott Feathers described on that hot summer day) says, “I love you” by bringing the ambulance to every FUMA football game where his boys were playing. Holding a new grandson or granddaughter in his arms-speechless-rocking-no words-just strength in his arms-and a smile. Showing up to hold a hand of Erin in the hospital, sitting for hours beside her bed while intubated. Showing up with a dolly to cart boxes of medical supplies to our garage from his sunroom in the pouring rain to save me time and effort in setting up her dialysis when she was very sick. Just doing it and not even knocking at the door.

Telling me to keep writing stories about our lives in my blog with tears in his eyes. “Write about Erin and me,” he says. Reminding me to include in my stories how she loved her Pap-Pap. “Be sure to include how I rocked her to sleep. Tell about how she always wanted half of my sandwich at Sal’s Pizza on nights you had class at Longwood, and we would babysit.” Erin would say, “Mom, Go Longwood.” She demanded that I go to class, so she could have Pap-Pap and Grandma all to herself along with Diana to go out to eat and have a special grandparent evening.

Jack, my father-in-law, a man of few words, cried over the death of a pet. He never demanded accolades or attention for himself. Dearly loved by grandsons and granddaughters-Sons. Is deeper and more feeling than he was raised to ever reveal. Doesn’t ever give a hug, but never turns one down.

Thank you, Jack, for being the concrete between the bricks in our family. Donna, Grandma, Mee-maw was in the forefront. But, you, Sir, seemed to be in the distance. The background . Yet, you always showed up when needed. Once, Erin put her hand and face through a glass back door of our next door neighbor, Jenny’s house. I yelled for you to “Run!!” to help us, from our back porch. You patiently came across the yard and walked me through the steps of what to do next. You took us to the hospital in the ambulance, and two hours later in the hallway of the emergency room turned to me and said,

“I couldn’t run.”

You had just had knee surgery. You couldn’t run. I said, “I know you couldn’t run!”

That’s the beauty of Jack Feathers with his family-always ready to extend grace and assistance. He tutored Daniel in Geometry leaning against the kitchen sink while drinking black coffee numerous evenings still dressed in his FUMA uniform. He stuck his head in my summer school 7th grade English classroom with a nod of approval when summer school director. He held each of our babies on the front porch of our FUMA house while I washed supper dishes and fixed a pot of coffee. He showed up to work alongside grandsons when extra work details were required. He talked about low blood pressure and taking off fluid on numerous late nights with me when I would stop by after night classes at Longwood during the days when I was figuring out peritoneal dialysis with Erin.

Always extending grace within a rough exterior. Always present. He showed up.

Always.

So, now, Jack Feathers, as you are entering the world of assisted living and thinking, “Are people still thinking about me?”

Oh , yeah! Not a chance you are not missed and thought of in all the small and significant moments of our everyday lives together. And, you are not rid of us anytime soon. We love you and know that each day we look forward to slipping just down the road to steal a glimpse of you-to catch a bit of your wisdom-to rest assured you are not through with us yet. We will fly across the country for you to meet your new great granddaughter, if you cannot come to hold her in Colorado. We will figure out how to navigate these new days of living apart from each other but being still enmeshed with our everyday outings and activities of our daily lives.

You are a part of us -not even a chance you will escape us. We will show up as you have always done for us in each and every occasion in our daily lives, for a cup of coffee on the front porch, to fix something in the house, to rock a baby so I could go to class, when requested or needed or called upon.

Are we still thinking about you? Oh, yeah. Not a doubt. We are. We’re right here. We still need you. Even though you need more than we are able to give.

You’re not going anywhere-not a chance-and we are going to make the most of the life we have together!

So, in case you’re wondering if we are still thinking of you?

See you on Tuesday evening after work?

When I am with my grown children, I see glimpses of Erin in the way they interact with each other and the grandsons. There is an ease with all of them – the father, mother, uncles, aunts – a total acceptance of whatever happens, including the brief outbursts, which reflect the normalcy of life with toddlers and kindergartners. It could have evolved naturally with each new stage, yet it’s endearing to see a level of ease and acceptance of working through age-appropriate, typical behaviors with kids.

The sons have seen this before and lived it. And, there are the endearing qualities of our adult daughter, Diana, who holds her own with the brothers. Honestly, they did not always “read” her as well as they do now. It was a process, one in which they navigated cautiously and respectfully, with questions and discussions about expectations of interactions and even simple greetings.

They came home from college to visit and invaded her routine and personal space. They were all jokesters and teasers by nature, but worked hard to enter her good graces, reach a level of her acceptance as brothers, and see her relax, wrapping her arm around their necks and hugging them. They struggled, waffling between expecting her to be polite and speak to them, to trying to understand her assertiveness, while acknowledging her insecurities and challenges. Rallying for her acceptance…and affection. They dearly loved her.

Erin had been easier. She was young at heart. Always a child. Delighted in insulting them. They fed into her antics and enjoyed her shocking responses to their teasing and prompting to hand it back. Whatever witty insult was delivered was received with a knowing understanding and agreement between bantering parties. Lots of laughter ensued…rings in my ears to this day…sheer joy exchanged in the challenge extended between brothers and sister to “one-up” each other until it got too loud or someone caved. Mostly, the mere act of roasting each other was a pure act of love not atypical to a Feathers taking on a Feathers through time. Always in jest and with deep affection. Always having each other’s back. A Feathers sibling is always present for another. A phone call away. Jump on a plane. Loyal and accepting.

And, it is the same with Diana after living with Erin. Since the brothers first encountered Erin when she was born, a sister when they were in elementary, middle, and early high school, and then added another sister, Diana, through adoption Two sisters with Down left questions for them, such as, “Will they ever drive a car?” “Will Erin ever have a purposeful conversation (i.e exchanges without prompting instead of one-sided)?” Why won’t Diana speak to us when we first come home?” (She had to warm up. Their presence invaded her personal space.)

And, all of a sudden, becoming more sensitive to peers who used the “R” word in multiple contexts on occasion and finding their voice to say, “Hey, Dude, don’t say that.”

These girls changed their lives and perspectives FOREVER in adding a new lens on life to our home and family. Our normal competitive family turned upside down when these girls made their appearance and demanded our attention.

So, when we gather now as family, it is especially endearing to witness the deep devotion expressed among siblings and with respect to the unique ways each brother connects to Diana in conversation, in their natural engagement – smiling, talking, laughing, connecting…loving her.

And, I love these boys even more because they rallied as elementary, middle school, high school, and college students to do whatever it took to support and love their sisters. They pitched in and helped. They corralled and persevered through times we needed them.

I know that in those glimpses now of affection and affirmation of their sister, Diana, and seeing how they just know how to talk to her, bring her out of her cocoon, and make her laugh…I know how very much they have been touched in this life for the better by knowing and living life with sisters with Down syndrome.