Dear Past Me,
You’re about to receive news that, deep down, you’ve been preparing for. Ever since that early ultrasound revealed soft markers for Down syndrome, you’ve feared this moment—the call that will leave you on the cold tiled floor of your new, still-unpacked rental.
As you cry and struggle to articulate your feelings to your mom, your mind will race back to every negative thought you’ve ever had about Down syndrome. You’ll remember the 8-year-old girl who was scared of a teenage boy in a pool, an embarrassing college moment when a friend jokingly said you looked like you had “downs,” and the time you told your mother-in-law you could never be a mom to a child with special needs.
But guess what? Now you are that mom. It may feel like your world is unraveling, but unbeknownst to you, the baby growing inside you is actually piecing your life back together. Those parts of yourself that you dislike will be transformed through this experience.
Soon, you’ll meet a doctor who will tell you that your son’s greatest aspiration in life is to mop floors at a fast-food restaurant. You’ll believe him for a time. You’ll grieve more deeply than you thought possible, finding yourself on the shower floor some nights, with mornings bringing the painful realization that it’s not a dream. The sunlight streaming through your windows will only deepen your sorrow.
But then, a part of you will begin to resurface—a part you’ll learn to cherish. Sure, you might not be able to apply your journalism skills in this small town, but you can use them to carve a new path for yourself. You’ll discover the importance of school inclusion and find out about college programs for young adults with Down syndrome. A fellow mom will introduce you to the Down Syndrome Diagnosis Network, an organization dedicated to changing the diagnosis experience.
I hate watching you suffer, but I wouldn’t take that pain away from you if I could. This hurt will propel you into new passions. Once, you told others’ stories; now you have your own to share. It will resonate with thousands who look to you for inspiration and hope. This journey will lead you into advocacy—volunteering, taking courses on disabilities, and writing to make a difference for families like yours.
I wouldn’t wish that pain away because your son is unique, and without his extra chromosome, he wouldn’t be who he is meant to be. Similarly, you won’t become the person you’re meant to be without him.
Most of your worries—how this will affect your daughter, whether you can still travel, or if you can do this without family support—are unfounded. Yes, it won’t always be easy. Life will become busier with appointments, and you’ll be stretched thin, but it will be for your son’s benefit. Remember to ask for help when you need it; this chaos will ultimately refine you.
On New Year’s Eve, you’ll welcome that almond-eyed boy into the world. His gaze will pierce your soul, transforming it forever. On that day, there will be two births: your son’s and a rebirth of yourself.
Your journey is not an end; it’s the beginning of something beautiful.
With love,
You—Three Years Later