It's eighteen years...
Eighteen years, this month, that I have lived with a child who has    learning disabilities.

At first, it's holding a beautiful healthy baby in your arms and having all of the hopes and dreams for a rich and blessed life for him.
It's waiting for the nurse to bring a seven-month-old baby from the recovery room after an accident which demanded the attention of a neurosurgeon.
It's sitting in a doctor's office and asking, "Why? Why does he have such severe falls for no reason?  Four black eyes in two years cannot be normal!"
It's seeing a two-year-old toddle across the yard, pick a flower, and delightedly hold it up for Grandma to smell.
It's hearing a four-year-old finally begin to speak in sentnces.
It's watching a kindergarten student show embarrassment because he "hasn't learned his colors."
It's watching a five-year-old sit with his Dad and learn all of the moves on the chessboard.
It is not understanding why he cries suddently about going to the special summer program at school.
It's the agony of being told several years later that Mrs....... made him stay in the closet at school because, "I was bad."
It's watching a pre-schooler willingly reach up to grasp the neck of an old orderly who has come to take him to the operating room.
It's pleading with a principal, "He desparately needs another year in the first grade."
It's going to school four weeks into the second year and hearing, "You were right.  He can't handle second grade at all.  We made a mistake.  We'll move him back.  You may select the teacher."
It's struggling for answers, understanding.  Always, why?  Why can't he learn?
It's knowing something is terribly wrong, hearing a teacher say, "He'll grow out of it," and knowing for sure that he won't.
 

(Ultimately) It's thanking God for blessing the lives in our family with his presence.  Perhaps it is only through our love and understanding of him that we learn to be patient with others.