“That’s me,” he says, pointing to the images of himself pre-surgery.

He and Tali both know about their clefts. It was never a sit-down conversation because it’s an ongoing part of their lives.

People expected me to have a holy perspective about our children’s conditions from the beginning.

I didn’t. When we’re in pain, when our minds are screaming with questions and our souls shaking with fear, we aren’t always full of resolve. I still don’t understand Hashem’s Plan. I didn’t — and still don’t — always appreciate the obstacle. Life is hard, but life is also wonderful. I thank Hashem for my children every day.

I don’t believe that Hashem gives challenges to people who can handle them. I believe that He gives us challenges, and along the way, we grow into the people who can handle them.

And He doesn’t expect us to do it alone.

While the Jerusalem scenes rushed by the bus window, I remember all the ways we saw Yad Hashem. There was the woman in the park who reminded me which perspective I needed. There was the cleft mom who met me on the street and stopped to write down every phone number and resource that could be helpful. There are the books we read and the songs we listened to — all of which helped us hold on to our faith.

Sometimes I look over at Tali, playing with her doll near her sister or reading a book on the couch, and I wonder, “Is she going to be okay?”

But before I’m even finished asking myself the question, I have the answer. In my mind and heart, I know that Tali will be just fine.

As the bus continues along, I run through what I still need to do today. Dinner. Confirm the session with Tali’s speech therapist. Efrat is Shabbos Ima and we need to pick up treats. Akiva’s friend called to say he wants Akiva to come over and play. Our children are doing so well.

When they are older, Tali and Akiva will probably have more cosmetic surgeries. Meanwhile, our hands are full with the details that make up the hectic life of a family with little kids. It’s amazing to know how much we’ve grown.

Our incredible surgeons and their team at Hadassah Ein Kerem shepherded us through the treatments, our amazing parents support us every moment, and — most of all — the Ribbono shel Olam gives us the strength to continue.

Is the kids’ condition linked to our infertility? A result of the treatments we went through? Genetic? Right now, we still don’t know.

We do know this, however. Miracles come in many shapes and forms. Ours came as three beautiful children, two of whom were born with clefts. But the beauty, the joy, the nissim, the brachos — they’re not any less because of it. If anything, the beauty, the joy, the nissim, the brachos — they’re worth so much more.

The bus pulls into our stop. I look at my children and breathe in, a wave of gratitude washing over me. I help Tali and Efrat off their seats and call Akiva, who’s staring out the bus window. Then I take their hands and we head home.

THE END

Shoshana would love to connect with other moms who have children with clefts. She can be reached through Mishpacha.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 734)