I love him to pieces.

The final blow in a long, sad year was the diagnosis.  Learning of my little boy’s disability.  

A friend of mine told me how gracefully I was handling everything that had been happening.  

If only she knew.    

I was not always full of grace.

If only she knew how I cried.  How I longed for it to be a mistake.  How I typed frantically searching…searching…for a cause…for a solution…for something to make this all go away and be my perfect life again.  Make it be all better.      

Being the mother of a child with a disability can be difficult.  For me it was the beginning that was difficult.  I was angry, and then sad, and then angry some more.  I was lonely.  And then angry.  And now as time has passed, it has become a comfortable reality, this mothering of a child with hearing loss.   Those painful wounds of discovery have healed.  They are there…the scars.  But they only remind me of where I started. 

For some mothers, I don’t think it will ever be comfortable.  For some mothers, this is very very difficult.  For some, their children live deeply challenging lives.    

And grace…being graceful…may be the last thing they are concerned with now and then.  It is certainly understandable.


I read a collection of essays about parenting children with special needs.   

I am weary.  I am weary with reading about how sad it is to be the mother of a child with disabilities.  What a burden it is.  How we, as disabled children’s mothers, are so angry and disheartened.  

Yes, it is hard at times.

Yes, YES, it can be heartbreaking at times.

Yes, it can be exhausting.

But, here is my truth: 

I have a boy.

He has a disability.

Am I sad?


Am I angry?


Do I wish with he could hear normally? 

Yes.  Yes, I do wish he could hear normally.

Do I love him?

With all my heart.

This boy is no burden.  He has been one of the greatest joys in my life. 

(And if I’m being honest, a big pain in the butt now and then.) 

(And also very loud).

And I love him to pieces.

Love.  Noise.  Joy.  Pain in the butt. 

That is what it’s like for me to be the mother of a child with a disability. 

(And actually, that’s what it’s like with all my other “normal” children, too.  Just keepin it real…)

I love him to pieces.

8 thoughts on “I love him to pieces.

  1. The way you speak of Henry always brings tears to my eyes and a smile to my heart.

    Maybe it’s because I know you.

    Maybe it’s because I know him.

    Or maybe it’s just because your words are truth.

    And your heart and focus are in the right place.

    Whatever it is, I cannot say it enough times, Henry is blessed and it is clearer to me every time I read your words that God knew exactly what He was doing when He gave you to Henry. Exactly.

  2. I do not want to read those disheartening articles, where children are a burden. I can’t imagine thinking of my beautiful, glorious son in such a way.

    There are hard times, to be sure. Terrifying times. Sad times. Bittersweet times. Even some angry times.

    Through it all, my gorgeous boy with the sparkling eyes and infectious giggles (and loud yells and horrid tantrums) is one of the two biggest miracles of my life. Two children: two enormous miracles.

    I live for them. They are my joy.

    I could never, never, never think of my child as a burden. As a tragedy.

    He is one glorious, amazing, splendid work of God. And I love him to pieces, too.

  3. Friend, this is beautiful. I love your raw honesty. I love your heart for your boy. I love how you accept him and love him for who he is… the unconditional love of a mother is breathtaking.

    LOVE this post to pieces.

  4. Henry is an amazing boy who will grow up to be an amazing man. I see that in him. He is a testament to you and the wonderful mom you are. I appreciate your words and know I’m here for you whenever.

  5. I say toss out those essays. Sure it’s hard to be a parent of a child with a disability, but I’d say that the same is equally true of my other two children. Granted, I’m only two and a half years into this whole parenting a child with special needs, but I’d have to say it isn’t a scary as I thought it would be. My greatest worries and fears were just that – worries and fears – not one of them has actually come true.

    I’m a firm believer in that life is what you make of it. We all have a choice to see the glass half full or half empty. Your darling Henry is blessed to have such a wonderful, loving and honest mother.


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