I never anticipated having a child with a disability. No one does. So when I got a call that something wasn't quite right with my pregnancy—that "my numbers" weren't falling within the expected range—and that my child might have spina bifida, I felt as though time had stopped. At that exact moment, 18 weeks into my pregnancy, my reality shifted, and the course of my and my family's life veered off in a completely different direction.

That was 12 years ago. Since then it's been a bumpy ride. Ten weeks before my daughter Ava was born, she underwent fetal surgery to repair a defect on her vertebrae. She spent her first 24 hours in the neonatal intensive care unit with tiny pieces of tape holding a vent in her mouth. At 10 months, she had a shunt inserted to prevent fluid buildup in her brain. In May 2016, she underwent surgery to correct scoliosis, which added three inches to her height, but also left a large scar and required weeks of physical therapy. In late December of that year, she had bladder surgery. Soon after, she was back in the hospital because of a twisted intestine.

All these long hospital stays and even longer recoveries at home are draining—for everyone. We've missed milestones, important events, and time with our older children. We've watched Ava endure pain and setbacks. Our experience is not one I would wish on other families, but I've come to appreciate the positive ways it has shaped our family. I see it in Ava, who is bold, fearless, and tenacious. She may weigh only 60 pounds, but when she had to climb 20 stairs to prove she was ready to go home after spinal surgery, she climbed 30.

I see it in our son when he scoops Ava up after a particularly tiring day. Or when he sprints to hold doors whenever we travel and folds and unfolds her walker. I see it in our older daughter when she kneels to strap on Ava's braces, when she carries Ava's drink to the table, and when she pushes Ava down the road during a summer evening walk. I see it in all my children when they unflinchingly endure the stares of strangers.

Because of Ava's disability, my children experience the world in brighter colors—vibrant hues of empathy, compassion, and love. Every time I watch them tend to Ava, I marvel at their maturity and generosity.

In moments like these, I see the greatest of wonders.

Pamela Tarapchak is the editor of Oncology Times, a Wolters Kluwer publication. When not ferrying her children around, she enjoys writing, a good movie, and the occasional run.