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I was sitting on my front porch, swinging in my handmade porch swing. It was a warm day, considering is was the beginning of December, but that wasn’t unusual in Texas.
Both of my daughter’s were at school, and I had the day off. My oldest was in the first grade, and my youngest, who was five, was in preschool. She was born special’ and had numerous set backs during her life. Her doctor had told us her condition was serious and she would need extensive physical therapy throughout her life. I understood this, and took each challenge one day at a time.
I was sipping my coffee when I heard my phone ring. I hesitated to answer; I didn’t want to be called in for work that day. I picked the receiver up and heard Ms. Hall, my daughter’s preschool teacher.
I was told that there was a situation I needed to be aware of.
My hands were shaking, and I had a sick feeling in my gut. All I could think was she had been in an accident, or she had suffered another seizure.
I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. I only lived one block from the school, but I drove incase I needed to rush Chelsea to the hospital.

When I arrived at the school, I could see Ms. Hall standing in the hallway waiting on me. My stomach did flips. I was walking as fast as I could without running. It seemed each step I took felt as if I was moving in slow motion. When I got to her, I could see that she had tears in her eyes. I think my heart stopped beating, or so it seemed.

She hugged me, and opened the classroom door. I saw Chelsea standing in front of her wheelchair. When I stepped into the classroom, she looked at me and smiled. Then, she took one step, then another, until she had reached me. I fell to my knees and welcomed her into my arms. The entire class was clapping their hands, giving Chelsea the encouragement she needed to walk.
I sat there for a few minutes holding Chelsea. Now I know why Ms. Hall had been crying. I was also crying, along with every teacher and child, including my oldest daughter, who came into the classroom to witness Chelsea take her first steps, the steps her doctor had told me she may never take.

That was twelve years ago. Today, Chelsea is an active seventeen year old. She still has disabilities, but since December, 4, 1995, she has been walking on her own. She attends a life skills class at her high school with four other girls with similar disabilities.

I changed careers, so I could be at home with my children, and to see that Chelsea receives the care she needs.

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