10/19/2025
Yes, I am a special need person, and I am proudly special.
Tasmina Khan
Episode 2: The Morning of a Mother’s Heart
A new morning begins — soft, golden, and full of promise. Mom feels an unfamiliar warmth rising in her chest, a lightness she hasn’t felt in years. The psychiatrist heard Dolly speaking. Speaking! The word echoes in her mind like a song she had almost forgotten. She feels as though the universe itself has smiled upon her. After years of silent prayers, of endless waiting and heartache, her daughter has spoken. It might not have been in front of everyone, but it happened. And that is enough.
For Mom, this is the greatest gift of her motherhood. She has prayed for this moment through tears, through sleepless nights, through every silent dinner where words hung heavy in the air. Now, she feels the Almighty has finally listened — really listened — to the trembling whisper of a mother’s heart. She smiles and thinks, Do I need anything else in my life now?
Then she giggles softly to herself. No... actually, I do. Because a mother’s heart never stops wishing. She wants to see her Dolly running, laughing, eating by herself, studying, and taking care of her own little world — just like the other children she sees at the park. Then, almost immediately, guilt touches her thoughts. Am I asking for too much? Am I being greedy? She laughs again, shaking her head. No way! The Almighty is not bothered by the prayers of a mother. He created her Dolly, with all her uniqueness and all her challenges. He knows every piece of her — what she can do, what she struggles with, and what she dreams about in her quiet world.
“If a mother doesn’t pray for her child,” she thinks, “then who else will?” And as her heart fills with faith again, she remembers the words: Ask, and you shall receive.
The house smells of peace — warm toast, the faint citrus of orange jam, and the soothing scent of vanilla hazelnut coffee curling through the morning air. The first sip of her coffee feels like sunlight inside her. Everything seems perfect, balanced, and hopeful. She had even woken up a little earlier to prepare for Dolly’s morning. She wanted to be there when her daughter opened her eyes — to be the first face she saw, smiling and full of love.
She tiptoes into the washroom to place Dolly’s toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink. Just a small thing, a mother’s ritual. She imagines Dolly waking up, stretching, and smiling — a perfect start to the day.
And then it happens.
A scream. Sharp. Piercing.
A cry so loud, so raw, that the coffee cup trembles in her hand.
Mom freezes. Her heart stops for half a second — then begins to race violently. The sound is coming from Dolly’s room. Not a usual cry. This one carry terror. Pain. Panic.
She drops the cup, not even noticing it shatter, and runs. It takes her only forty seconds to reach Dolly’s bedroom, though it feels like a lifetime. A thousand thoughts flash through her mind: Was it a nightmare? Did she fall? Is she hurt?
Dolly stands by her bed, trembling, staring down at her small hands — her eyes wide, wet, and terrified. Her tiny fingers are stretched out, frozen midair, as if she is seeing something awful that her mother cannot see.
Mom stops at the doorway, breathless. The sight takes her back to a scene she once read in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Lady Macbeth, consumed by guilt and madness after convincing her husband to murder King Duncan, walked through the night rubbing her hands, whispering, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” She believed Duncan’s blood still stained her hands — a ghost of her guilt that would never wash away.
Dolly, her sweet, gentle Dolly, now stares at her hands in the same haunted way.
Mom rushes forward, kneeling down beside her. “Dolly, sweetheart, what happened? What’s wrong?” Her voice shakes. Dolly screams again and pulls her hands back, her eyes darting from her palms to her mother’s face as if searching for an answer that only she can feel.
Mom gathers her trembling child into her arms, feeling her small body shake against her chest. She can feel Dolly’s heartbeat pounding, wild and frightened. Mom’s tears fall silently onto Dolly’s hair.
Was it a bad dream? she wonders. Was she seeing something only her mind could create?
The peaceful morning she had dreamed of — the perfect breakfast, the soft music, the warm light — all fade into the background. What remains is a mother, holding her child, her heart breaking and healing at the same time.
She doesn’t know what triggered it — a sound, a memory, a shadow. But she knows one thing: she will hold her daughter through every scream, every silence, every trembling moment. Because this is motherhood — to pray, to hope, to break, and to rise again, every single day.
(to be continued…)
