Syona's 16th birthday was sweeter than I ever imagined
By Anchel Krishna
My daughter Syona turned 16 on the weekend.
For weeks in the lead up, I was bracing. Not for the party, or the logistics, or the cake. I was bracing for the feelings. Sixteen comes with a loud set of milestones and expectations, and I had assumed my feelings would be loud, too.
Other teens we know are getting their driver's licences, staying out late with friends, and making plans their parents are not part of. Those are not milestones on Syona's path. There are plenty of 16-year-old expectations that do not match our life, and I had a whole plan for how I was going to feel about that.
The plan did not go the way I thought it would.
What happened this past weekend is that we threw her a surprise party at a local bowling alley. Syona has cerebral palsy and uses a power wheelchair, so accessibility is a requirement. This place was fully accessible. More than 40 people came from every part of her 16 years. School friends. Family. Neighbours and family friends. Caregivers who have become closer to family. It was a few hours of bowling and cake and noise and joy, and Syona was completely surprised.
We drove to the location, about 20 minutes away, while I shared our estimated time of arrival with my sisters who were coordinating onsite. Syona thought we were going bowling, just the four of us for a fun, small birthday celebration. We pulled up, into the last accessible spot at the alley and unloaded.
I texted my sister that we were coming in. We walked through the doors, down towards the lanes at the end, which we said were reserved for our family bowling time. As our eyes adjusted to the dimmed light, a giant group of people shouted 'Happy Birthday!' over the music and sounds of pins getting knocked down.
It was amazing
Syona took in the surprise one moment at a time, one person at a time. Because of her visual impairment, we narrated what was happening. It was truly a moment of presence in a way that not many of us experience.
Partway through, I stood back and looked around. I thought about how much of that room would not exist if Syona were not who she is.
Some of it is because of her disability: The community of young people with disabilities, the parents alongside them, the therapists and caregivers who have become so much more. That entire layer of our life came in through Syona's door.
Some of it is because of the perspective her disability has given us. It has shaped what we now look for in people and how we build a life. And some of it, honestly, is just because of who she is. She is kind. She is bright. She is respectful. She is funny. She is non-judgmental. She treats people well and people notice.
Disability or no disability, my daughter is someone people want to be around.
The thing that hit me hardest, watching this play out, was how little any of it had to do with achievement. There was no milestone she reached to earn this room. No grade, no licence, no acceptance letter. What was in that bowling alley was 16 years of Syona being Syona, and 16 years of people loving her for it.
Her value is not tied to what she can do or reach or check off. Her value is who she is. This is a belief that I continue to share, repeatedly. And on her birthday, there was a community of people, our village, who demonstrated that it was true.
As I looked around, Syona reminded me of the importance of presence, of the need to soak in joy in the moment and show up for those you care about.
Sixteen years in, I did not expect her birthday to feel like this. Lighter than I had braced for. Fuller than I had ever planned. And with immense pride in Syona, who was right in the middle of it, for simply being who she is.
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