Gut check.

Consider this a follow up.

One day after we have grown older and recoiled from the initial shock of the cold water of a society that doesn’t know what to do with the disabled once they're adults, we are going to have to swallow a hard pill.

Who is going to take care of my child?

I seem to be stuck here this month; I guess it’s just on my mind.


Call it preparation. 

I like to manage expectations for myself. Sorry I’m feeling so serious.

If I’m honest with myself, this is probably my biggest fear in life.

We have a daughter and another son on the way. 

I know my daughter’s heart. 

She will take care of her brother if she was asked and God willing his new brother will grow to a similar loving fondness.

Is this their burden to carry? 

They didn’t have a choice in the matter any more than they did when we, their parents, made choices to bring them into the world. 

Will they even see it as such? 

Will they be financially able to handle the responsibility? 

What about their own growing families? 

I’ll stop there before all you are reading are questions.

Again, if I’m being completely honest… do I really think anyone can do the job? Dang, another question. 

This seems to be a common thread.

I’m not sure what the future will look like all too clearly. 

There is not even a guarantee that this will be something I have deal with at all. 

There it is, the really scary part.

As parents of special needs children, you have probably heard your child referred to as “medically fragile”.  

I’m pretty sure I was offended the first time medical professional described our son that way. 

I have come to realize the comment was not about his fortitude and inherited stubbornness, but about his physiological ability to fight the conditions of this world.

But there’s a secret thought we have had. I know other’s have too, the thought is not original to me. 

What if we do outlive our children? 

At least we will know without a doubt that they got the best care they could, from their parents for the entirety of their lives.

I’m not wishing for this, but somewhere in a place I really don’t like to visit, it is almost comforting, almost.

There, I said it. 

Now I can get back to enjoying the beautiful and perfect gift that my son is to this world, his smiles, his laughs, his triumphs, his life.

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