Cheney, one of my grandchildren is severely autistic. He is 11, is not potty trained or verbal, the house has to be locked up like Fort Knox to keep him from wandering, and I know his parents wonder all the time what they will do with him, because without a miracle he will always need round the clock care.
He is named for his father, and I can’t help but think how their hopes and expectations have been shattered. But they love him so much! We all do! I think sometimes what it would be like to have a normal little boy accepting my hugs, throwing a ball, eating a hamburger, going outside to play.
Oh, how we long for him to be advancing, progressing toward independence! Yet that doesn’t negate our love.