In Your Eyes

Photo: April 2006, by Yolanda Williams
Journaling: July 2006

In your eyes, I see the past. I see the beautiful blue eyes and long lashes that are shared by so many in my family. I see the joy that your daddy and I felt when we learned we would have twin boys. But I also see my sadness in realizing you will never know your brother, that you will never get the real experience of being a twin. In your eyes, I see the baby that depended on me for his every need. I see the baby that I prayed over, the baby I begged God to let live. And in your eyes, I see that God has answered my prayer.

In your eyes, I see the present. I see the baby that has become a little boy who doesn’t need his mother quite so much—a little boy whose independence is emerging with each passing day. I see a happy and friendly child who greets everyone with a smile and a big “HEY!” I see a little boy who loves to play with his ball and definitely loves his cars. A little boy who begs to be read to, and enjoys every story no matter how many times he’s heard it. I see the child who loves music, loves to tap along with the beat and wave his hand to all songs. I see you taking in everything in your environment and I see a very smart little guy who isn’t about to let his disabilities slow him down.

In your eyes, I see the future. I see me regretfully letting go—letting you become your own person. I see a young man who is intelligent and independent, able to take care of himself. I maybe even see you rebelling against me at times. I see you reaching goals and conquering the world. And in your eyes, I see you loving life and living it to the fullest.