What the eyes see and the ears hear...

Today, so far, has been a deficiency kind of day. It started off pretty good, busy getting kids ready for the day, driving them to 3 different places. etc. Then it got quiet. I was in my office (my van) with just one child, my Lijah. We were headed to the ophthalmologist today for a 2 hour appointment.

Now, if you are a typical kid, shoot-even a typical adult, 2 hours is a loooooooong time. For Lij it is 10 times worse.

So I prepped. I prepped Elijah. Signing that we were going to the doctors, then school. Only in that order. That the bus would not be coming today. I called ahead to remind the doctor's office that we were coming and could they have our room ready for us when we got there. I filled out all his paperwork the last time we were there, submitting insurance and licenses. I brought all the tricks-Ipad, Leapfrog thing, cookies, homeopathic anxiety meds, even no-spill bubbles.

We got there and he came in perfectly, went into the room perfectly, played the Ipad perfectly, blew bubbles perfectly. All for a little over an hour as we were waiting for the drops to dilate his eyes. By the time the doctor came in, Elijah was done. The doctor was great. Elijah's shrieks and screams didn't phase the doctor. I politely tell the doctor that "If Elijah had words, he would be saying, 'I've been here too long. I'm all done.'" But he doesn't have those words, so I say them for him.

He finished the visit--I would call it a success! Besides the verbal lashing, he did well. He sat still on my lap and was such a good, brave boy.

When we got into the van, I got a message from a sweet friend of mine. She just found out today that her son has the same type of hearing loss as Elijah has. I lost it. I had visions of getting that diagnosis with Elijah.  The pain we felt, the mourning we went through, the yelling with God we did. I cried for my sweet friend. My emotions apparently were just dormant, wakening when needed. I can empathize with exactly how she is feeling.

Now, 10 years later almost to the date, I know there is hope. That God made a language for us. God made technology so that we can give Elijah the OPTION to hear like we do. And the reality is, God can heal. Heal what? His hearing, my bias, our sadness. And He can bring hope. Hope for great communication (whatever that looks like), hope for internal healing, hope for technological assistance.

So in the quiet on the way home, I thought about these two deficiencies that my oldest son has. He has his daddy's sight and non-working (well, sort of with his implant) ears. My mind started to tick of other skills that are lacking.

Then I stopped myself.  I thought of how proud I am of him. I'm so proud that the teacher's letters home keep adding new signs that he is signing, new academic skills, new social skills (well, those are really lacking, but still progressing).  I just kept thinking of all the cool stuff that Elijah has been doing lately.

So my prayer is that I can mourn the deficiencies he (we) have but that I (we) celebrate the excessive joys he brings us.