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Recently we sat down as a family and watched Black Panther, for obvious reasons. It was a rewatch for The Husband and me, and a semi-rewatch for the kids, as we had attempted a viewing with them last year but they hadn’t made it the whole way through (spoiler alert: they didn’t this time either). Despite having seen the movie before (and parts of it multiple times), I had forgotten some key elements. Or maybe just taken them for granted?

The way T’Challa’s suit absorbed the energy from impacts so that he could use it for attacks of his own? Injury transforming into strength? Yeah, that metaphor hit me square in the heart-crotch this time. One of the beautiful things about immediate family is that the amount you drive each other crazy directly correlates to the amount you know each other/are known, and what I know about the four of us is that we are all walking around with our own invisible suits akin to that of the Black Panther. And this? Is hard and wonderful.

I love that we are embedded in each other’s stories. I love that even though there are people who have known TH longer, there’s no one who knows him better than I do. And there’s no one who knows the maps of my children’s skin, or the way they look right when they wake up, like he and I do. We have done battle across two continents and hemispheres together, in hospitals and waiting rooms and IEP sessions and therapy visits. We do all of life together, on soccer fields and beaches and in front of screens and fireplaces, in homes rented and bought. We have done Christmas in hotel rooms and New Year’s Eve on planes.

We have taken impact together: through diagnoses and post-op visits, in recovery rooms and through sicknesses. What felt at the time like it was destroying us has proven to be what makes us us, these hits that turn into defining moments and even gifts. That’s what someone told me during a particularly rough period after The Kid’s diagnosis, when I didn’t know which end was up, and he spoke insane truth into that moment: You’ve been given a gift. You may not see it now, but you will.

And I do. I see how those impacts have made us stronger. How the newborn days and nights have given way to one-of-a-kind personalities and quirks and occasions for laughter. How Little Brother charms everyone he meets with his kindness and humour and unparalleled voice. How, as I sat at the beach with friends one afternoon, TK walked up to us and whispered to me, “Who is that?”, pointing to a member of our group, and when I reminded him, he turned and enveloped her in a bear hug, apropos of nothing–and of everything, because that’s who he is.

Disabilities, my ass.

And I see how other people respond to “different,” how it can knock them around a bit and play with their preformed expectations, and how there are those kindred spirits who have seen enough to know themselves and be open to the beautiful alternatives to the status quo.

How people are placed in our lives not to be fixed, but discovered. How love and grace are the ways by which this happens.

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. 

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast. 

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart. 

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

–Kahlil Gibran