The Beholder

When I look at pictures of my daughter I have to make sure my mouth is closed. Otherwise, I’m afraid my heart might fall out and go flopping around all over the desk, and I’d have to swallow it back down again.

I am stunned with love by this child.

I am humbled by her peacefulness and grace. I am mesmerized by her open, consistent delight. I am hypnotized by her falling-deep blue eyes, the color of an autumn storm sea.

I have been changed because of a baby with Down syndrome. I am a different person.

Mirabel, sweet, soft, wise and gentle Mirabel, is a plump snugglecake of True Love. She is an armful, a cheekfull, a deep double-lunged breathfull of Hope and Acceptance, all bundled up in a sixteen pound peach fuzzed giggle.

And it is the same when I peruse your blogs and read the snippets you post and look into the soulful faces of these life-altering little nuggets who are gracing this plant every 770 births or so. Do you feel it, too? It’s the eyes, isn’t it. It’s the tender tolerance behind those almond-shaped eyes. I want to scoop up all these children and nuzzle them for days and days.

You parents out there wouldn’t mind, would you?

I am so grateful to the universe for gracing me with a child to behold with such profound leaps of wonder.

Blessed be.