The Answers Are All Around Us
Every morning I give my six year old son his medicine. This morning, as I looked at his face, an incredible sadness came over me. It's not unusual reaction, as I often feel sad when I think about his future. He's such a sweet kid but I know his Aspergers will prevent him from experiencing a normal life.
But what is a normal life really? And are those who pursue this normal life any happier than those who can't? I take comfort in the fact that maybe he will find more joy in the path that lays ahead of him than that which lays ahead of most. I mean most normal people don't seem all that happy in their normal life to me. Still, it breaks my heart that he doesn't even have the choice of which path to travel down. And it breaks my heart further to know I am powerless to help make his path as clear as the well worn "normal" path that this world calls Main Street, which happens to be my street.
So this morning, as these thoughts were running through my head again, I waited for my son to get his drink ready that helps his medician go down easier. I was brought back to to the present by his little voice.
"Aw man, I got the ugly red cup!" he said
A little aggravated and with little thought I replied, "it doesn't matter what the cup looks like, it's what we put in the cup that matters." And just like that it hit me. It's not going to matter what his life looks like to me or anyone else. In the end his life will be the collection of experiences he is able to put together. It will seem as normal to him as anyones life seems to them. His life will not and can not be defined by the boundaries, accomplishments and goals I have set for mine or even those of his siblings. His life will be... his.
I watched as he grimaced at the taste of the medicine followed by a few sips from the ugly red cup. He sat the cup down and ran off to find his brother. I peek into the ugly red cup, sure enough the stuff he hadn't drank looked a lot like the stuff I drink, bet it taste the same too. God I love that little boy.