It's an honour
We stopped in a pub for lunch yesterday next to a sweeping stretch of beach. A man appeared next to us at the table. He knelt down to say hello to Coraline who was sat on her mat on the floor and, whilst looking at her, he said, “my brother has Down’s Syndrome and he’s 50, and my son too, he’s ten. It’s an honour”. He put his hand on my back and, like that, was gone, back to his table.
That felt like a significant interaction, in its shortness and in the words he used.
We have met a few people on our week away with whom we’ve had conversations, short or long, like this one. They have approached us. Parents of children with additional needs. Each one has left us with a different piece of their experience, and a feeling of warmth. Others have highlighted what they have fought for and been vigilant about, and the need to be on top of details. It’s about all those sides and about balance. You need to think in both ways; the beauty and the realism.
I think that meeting this man, as the last word of our holiday, brought it full circle, and brought it back to that point.
I once read that wherever you are, whoever you speak to, whatever conversation you overhear, it is meant for you.
