My son’s diagnosis brought a dark cloud, which seemed to suck the joy out of life. I selfishly mourned the dreams I had for my children and our family. I panicked with the loss of control I had over his behavior and our schedule. His behavior, which to others seems normal for a two-year-old, was likely to stick around for a very long time. There are tools for dealing with it, but there is no way to make it just stop. This would greatly affect and/or limit our ventures out of the house. How depressing. His therapies and availability of the providers would now rule our calendar, and our pleasurable activities would have to be scheduled in between, if at all.
My hope for our family fell for a while. Will I connect with him? Will we have a relationship? What will he be able to do? What will our lives be like? Will we get to take the trips we’ve been dreaming about? Will we do the activities we enjoy? Will our marriage survive this? Will we have to care for him indefinitely? And what about after we’re gone?
Several times a day, since my son was an infant, I have prayed for his healing. I prayed he wouldn’t have a diagnosis, but now I continue to pray for healing, and I see it every day. Praise God! Each day, I connect with him, and I have hope for our relationship. I see him understand something new, and I have hope for his education. I see him express a new idea, and I have hope for his success.
It doesn’t matter what our family gets to do, or if we’ll have enough money. We have the joy of seeing him grow and develop. We have love for each other, and answered prayers, and that has been getting us by richly. Now, every day, I choose joy over security and certainty.