I was walking across the yard today with Seth. We were strolling more than walking, as he had wrapped his arm around my waist, and was looking at me as if to say, "This is nice." I asked Seth, "Did you have a good day?" I know he can't answer me with words, but the look on his face seems to say, "Yeah, I guess I did." So much of what Seth and I say to each other does not happen verbally. He has a way of looking into my very heart and speaking to me without saying a word. We have a connection that transcends speech. A connection that is so effortless, that I sometimes take it for granted. Seth has had a pretty rough summer. His grandma died in May, and I spent much of my summer gone, helping take care of my dad, who became very ill for a time. I was trying to work full time, grieve for my mom, do what I could for my dad, and still be Mom in my household. Dad and big sister more than made sure that his needs were being met. I checked in with him when I could. Seth became so used to seeing me on Skype, he would go sit in front of the computer, waiting for me to show up. But even over the hazy connection of the internet, Seth could tell Mom was not OK. He tried very hard to make me feel better. I think he even became depressed, either not understanding what was happening, or maybe understanding too well. As we were strolling across the yard, no more than a minute from the bus to the porch, it occurred to me that in all of the upheaval of the last few months, I had forgotten how to walk slowly. Seth always walks slowly, probably because of his physical limitations, but I suspect mainly because he can. He has the ability to be completely present, with whomever and in whatever situation, with no thought to "what next?" Seth gives your heart his undivided attention. His heart converses with your heart. Walking slowly, arm in arm, swaying to Seth's wobbly gait, I realized how much I have missed time with Seth. In that one minute walk, I was reminded how much I need Seth to help me slow down connect. I owe so much to this child. I am often told how lucky Seth is to have us. I always reply with something like, "We are the lucky ones." It has occurred to me that we saved Seth's life by bringing him into our family. But Seth has more than "saved" me. He has renewed in me the value of the human connection. His skill is in being present with you. His reward is to see your smile. Life is much more beautiful when I slow down and look at it with Seth. I'm so thankful that Seth has taught me how to walk slowly.