This weekend while we were in Orlando, there was a Women's retreat held at the home of James and Lynette Crocker. Of course, since I was away, I could not attend, but my Mom, Mary and Lenita did. The speaker, Cathy Parker, at one point spoke about how God is with you no matter what you are going through and read the following letter. Mary immediately thought of me and asked the lady to send it to me. I got it today. Wow, it describes things perfectly, and personally I am very thankful that I "never made it to Italy, but instead "landed in Holland" because even though I would love for Connor to not have to go through any more surgeries or pain or teasing that I am sure he will someday endure, I would never trade him or his issues for anything because he has taught me SOOOO much and I have learned to be more patient, accept change and not have to have everything be planned out and perfect, have learned to trust and rely more on God and His will and plans and it has drawn me closer to my husband, family, church and friends. I personally think "living in Holland" is wonderful.
This is from the Dear Abby column in The Greenville News, October 2, 2000
Welcome to Holland
An essay written by Emily Perl Kingsley, a mother whose child had Down Syndrome
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try to help people who have not shared the 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 guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. Michelangelo’s “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 flight attendant comes 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.”
But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. 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 that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from 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.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. 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.
This is from the Dear Abby column in The Greenville News, October 2, 2000
Welcome to Holland
An essay written by Emily Perl Kingsley, a mother whose child had Down Syndrome
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability—to try to help people who have not shared the 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 guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. Michelangelo’s “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 flight attendant comes 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.”
But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. 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 that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from 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.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever go away, because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. 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.
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