What the Little Hands Taught Me—Afterword version 2

Introduction

If you had finally overcome the storms in your heart and were just starting to believe that you could live peacefully from now on, only for a new trial to visit you—how would you feel?
I felt so frustrated that I wanted to cry.
“Why me again?”
The moment I thought that, a voice blaming myself echoed in my heart.

It was right after a new life was born.
That tiny being in my arms was not saying anything, just trying to live quietly.
But my heart was somewhere far away, unable to even grasp the preciousness of that life.

This essay is a quiet record of how I, who faced such “weakness,” eventually realized “true strength.”
Please let me share with you the important things that those little hands taught me.

I still remember that moment vividly.
Before we could even feel relieved after hearing the first cry, we were called to another room.

A small, quiet room.
“There is a possibility of Down syndrome,” the doctor said.

The moment I heard those words, my mind went blank.
The painful past came rushing back all at once.
A life that had experienced depression and battled cancer.
I thought I had finally found peace, so why was another trial visiting me?

To be honest, at that moment, there was a part of me that thought,
“Why me?”
Even thinking that turned into guilt, and unable to think of anything, I just sat there in a daze.

But—as time passed, I suddenly realized something.
I was only thinking about myself.

This child is the one suffering the most.

Why couldn't I think of this child first, who was born so small and knowing nothing, yet trying so hard to live?
When I touched those little hands, I cried at their warmth.
I felt ashamed and pathetic for my own small resolve and my immaturity in not yet being a parent.
But at the same time, I thought,
“Thank you for being born.”

This child taught me.
The strength as a person, the resolve as a parent, and the weight and preciousness of living.
It is not because of “Down syndrome.”
The fact that this child is living as this child.

That alone is enough of a miracle and a treasure.

The little hand holding mine.

The sensation of it gripping back tightly felt like it was saying, “It’s okay,” and it saved me many times.
Perhaps it was always me who was being saved.

Afterword

The feeling of blaming myself for that time still hasn't disappeared.
But that is precisely why I can now cherish this life from the bottom of my heart.
Having a child also means “being born as a parent”—that child made me a parent.
I hope this writing reaches the heart of someone who is wavering with similar feelings.

And I sincerely hope for a world where every child is thought of as “thank you for being born.”