My son has a mild to moderate form of mental retardation. He suffers from seizures and had major brain surgery when he was 18 months old to “potentially” help control his seizures. I suppose it was due to this surgery that he has severe developmental delays, a lack of social skills, a serious speech delay (he only speaks 3 to 4 word sentences at the age of 7), and difficulty expressing himself emotionally. Oh, but if you only knew Devin! Even with seizure activity beginning at two weeks old, and extensive hospital stays, he was the most happy and content baby. His smile would light up the room and his laugh was contagious! Despite the occasional staring and not knowing what to say, there were many people that were, and still are, drawn to him.
I remember sitting in the hospital room one night prior to his surgery. This was no ordinary room; he/we were confined to a room in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit. It was not the room in the children’s wing where there were murals on the walls and bright colored paintings with animals and trees. No, this was a dreary place of dark colors and depressing walls. The point of this environment was to not over stimulate his brain while they were monitoring him. At night, particularly, it could be a depressing place. However, in the midst of this, God was there. He never left. Even in the small, dark hours of the morning, He was there. It was there I learned to trust Him.
Now, nearly seven years later, I am still holding true to God’s promises; trusting Him to know that my son is always taken care of. Looking at Devin, he seems not to have a care in the world. Sometimes, I’m convinced he’s in a better place in his own mind than I am living in reality. He goes through life thrilled with the fact of knowing that what has been, will always be—eating pancakes, riding the bus to school, playing outside on his scooter, helping push the stroller which holds his baby brother. This is his life, where he finds his joy.
Acceptance is part of living with a special needs child. I have long ago come to terms with the fact that Devin will not have what is considered a “normal” life, and it’s ok by me. But there are times now and again where the challenges become overwhelming and my heart breaks for the thought of something normal for him. Most of it is most likely due to my own selfishness; wanting him to experience things like having friends over, going to stay with his cousins for the night, or even riding a bike. I wonder sometimes if he notices as he gets older that he’s “different,” and it breaks my heart. Does he know how cruel kids can be? Does he hear what they are saying about him? Does he see the looks on their faces? This is doubt and it’s a slippery slope. It means that I have put my trust in God aside and looked at the world to put a value on my son’s worth. It may not seem like much, but Satan uses doubt to drive the wedge between us and God. I love the verse in John 20:27, “Then he said to Thomas, ‘Put your finger here; see My hands. Reach out your hand and put it into My side. Stop doubting and believe.’” As God reveals Himself to me, it’s then that I see my son, really see him. He’s happy, he’s unique, and he’s perfect . . . to me.
—submitted by Kristin Finney, US
kgreene on June 13, 2011 at 2:03 pm
Our 4 yr old has epilepsy and goes in for surgery Tuesday June 21. It is wonderful to read this and feel some relief. Just knowing contentment is possible gives me hope. Thank you!
mike wittmer on June 15, 2011 at 7:57 am
Thank you for sharing these thoughts from your heart. I can see that Devin’s issues weigh heavily upon you (thankfully even more than on him), and I join you in longing for Jesus’ return and the restoration of all things, when Devin’s handicaps will be fixed and he’ll enjoy all the “normal” activities that you long for him. Maranatha!