“What are you thankful for honey?”
With a full mouth, hubs replies, “chorizo sausage, you?”
I smile the smile of a wife going on many years with many more to come.
“Oh, everything.”

We have received a lovely life, know this, and are thankful for it… cured meats and all.

A has never seemed a burden to us, in any way. He is our child and although he comes with a unique list of needs, so does our other child, and every child. There is no need to pity us, and I’m sure those we know do not, because they know us and feel our happiness, but there are others that seem to, by default, when they learn we are parents to a special needs kiddo.

We had a meeting yesterday with yet another Dr. (after an over year-long wait list) who seemed to, in an effort toward understanding, project a sense of profound sadness, that as a result of A’s obstacles, we might be very sad. “At some point, you will likely want to see a grief counsellor.” We are sad, about some things. We are sad about seizures, mostly, the medication, and generally anything that might bum A out. But seizures take up literally just minutes of all the minutes in a day and I would say that in a pie-chart of A-ness, our feelings of sadness would be a relatively small slice.


I want this blog to convey a sense of celebration. I need to spruce up the blog theme to include balloons, fireworks, sunshine… Hubs and I often say to each other, “A is such a neat guy, eh?” or “Pretty cool we get to have a kid like A”, etc. Seriously, we feel this, we really do. A good life is an interesting life.

It doesn’t mean I don’t have fatigued, weary phone calls with my mom about how there’s so much to understand, learn, deal with. It doesn’t mean I am the epitome of health, happiness, and well-being. It doesn’t mean I’m balanced, well-rested, or even always coherent. It means that the love I have for A is a light that shines within me, and all is right and bright in the world as a result.