In preparation to speak at an event for Quad City GiGi’s Playhouse last week, I shuffled through some papers and added a few notes. “Is it an old talk you’re giving again or a new one?” my friend asked.
“A new one,” I answered. Because life has changed a lot since Nella was born and that defining moment has been joined by other defining moments–the lot of them now tangled together to create new chapters and new things to talk about—relatable things like scrambling to clean the kitchen before company arrives and getting three kids to school on time. Except it’s there—the “old” story that started this whole thing—tucked in the old book someone still asks me to sign once in a while, but also buried in the new stories, reemerging like it was yesterday when I retell the story of Nella’s birth and still choke up.
Photo courtesy of Heather Rodriguez.
These stories of ours that shape us—no matter how much they do or don’t define us, no matter when they happened–never disappear. We react to them, learn from them, make something of them, but we definitely never forget them.
Late Friday night after the event, a group of women hanging on to the last moments of the evening huddled in a circle–some in chairs, some curled up comfortably on the floor—a circle of listeners welcoming stories, laughing, connected by a thousand common threads.
And you know what surprised me? How much the old stories are vividly remembered—how much we still carry them with us today, how eager we are to talk about them.
A mother recalled the story of how her daughter was bullied…twenty years ago—and retold it in detail as if it was yesterday.
Another described the night her son was born and she too received the diagnosis of Down syndrome. That was fifteen years ago, and she can still tell you what the doctor looked like, what he said, who came to the hospital and how much it snowed that night.
Our stories may fade in time, but they still pulse through the lives we’ve assembled from them—especially if we’ve made efforts to make something beautiful of the stories we’ve been given.
Just ask Michelle who started the Quad Cities GiGi’s Playhouse, an achievement center that provides educational and therapeutic programs for Down syndrome at no charge to families. I visited their facility right after landing Friday, and on the way there I asked Michelle, “So do you have a child with Down syndrome?”
“I do,” she said, “but he passed away…nine years ago. I knew after he died, we had to do this.”
As Michelle unlocked the door to the playhouse to let us in, I stared at the faces on the windows—giant photo decals of beautiful children and adults with Down syndrome, photos that stretched across the entire front side of the building. Right in the center, next to the door, was a black and white photo of a sweet blond boy, all smiles.
“That’s Nathan,” my friend Heather whispered. “That’s Michelle’s boy.”
And behind the window? Nathan’s present day story.
Michelle opened the door and welcomed us into the main room of the playhouse which was filled with toy stations and study areas, shelves of colorful books, a karaoke machine, games, computers and photos of local friends who frequent the facility. It was vibrant, inviting…like home. Michelle excitedly told us about the programs they run—the tutoring, the therapies, the volunteers who love being there, the events that bring the community together.
“If I have to cancel an event because of weather?” she said, “Everyone’s devastated. They love this place.”
We finished our tour, locked up the playhouse and went on to lunch where other moms joined us, and we traded phones, gushed over pictures of each other’s kids and laughed about the times we’ve failed in motherhood…and won…but mostly failed. We dusted faded stories and remembered them as if they were happening right now. And in a way, they are.
Is it an old story or a new one? Both. Because our stories make us who we are today. And the best part? We can use them to help others live their story.
GiGi’s Playhouse is doing just that by providing valuable resources and connection to families of individuals with Down syndrome. And in Quad Cities, if you look beyond the beautiful faces on the windows of the building on 38th Avenue, you’ll witness a greater story being written–defining moments of the past woven with the joys of the present to yield the promise of a fulfilling future.
If you’re in the Quad Cities area, please visit here to find how you can support the GiGi’s Playhouse mission.
