You may have heard about the killing of #WillowDunn.
If you haven't, I'm sorry to share the news.
Willow was four. She lived in Brisbane with her father.
Willow's mother died when she was born. And now Willow is dead, too.
Her father has been charged with her murder.
I'm not going to name the father. This post is not about him.
I'm not going to go into the details of the crime, either. This post is not about the horror of it all.
This post is about Willow.
You see, Willow had Down syndrome -- and so does my eldest daughter.
People ask me what it's like to have a daughter with Down syndrome.
Let me tell you what it's like.
This morning, my eldest got out of bed and hugged me good morning.
That's not special: she hugs every member of the family good morning.
Then she got ready for school.
You see, my daughter is studying year 12.
After school, she cooked us dinner: pork rissoles. It was tasty, but she's a messy cook.
Then we all ate dinner and laughed a lot.
We usually do. And, as usual, my eldest was the funniest. She's kept us sane during COVID-19.
After dinner, my eldest chilled out.
She listened to music (everything from AC/DC to Queen to One Direction) and watched TV (a sci-fi kung-fu thing).
Then she tried to order a lunch order on my iPad (Thursdays are lunch order days) but couldn't.
The tuck shop is closed. COVID.
This annoyed her. She was stroppy until her mum promised we'd buy her sushi (her favourite meal).
Then she hugged us all and went to bed.
That is what a day with a person with Down syndrome is like.
My point: Willow Dunn was not someone with a disability.
Willow was, like my daughter is, an individual.
A person.
Someone with the same capacity for love and life and joy as you or I.
In fact, if Willow was anything like my daughter, her capacity for love, life and joy was greater than yours or mine.
Far greater.
In other words, Willow knew what was happening to her.
She would have felt the pain. She would have felt the hunger. She would have felt the fear.
She would have felt it deeply.
She knew everything.
That's why I'm crying for Willow. And I don't want to stop.
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