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When Brother was diagnosed with autism, I felt grief.  I grieved for him.  I grieved for his sisters.  I grieved for Ben.  And, yes, I grieved for myself.  The life I had envisioned for all of us was going down the toilet.  I didn't know what the future held for him.  I just knew it would be harder than for a neurotypical child.  That initial intense grief is no longer there, but I still grieve for him.  I do when he is ignored by children.  I do when something so simple is difficult.  But, I can't focus on the cannots too much.  It wouldn't be fair. 

There's the joy too.  The joy of watching him take care of his youngest sister.  My heart melted the other day when he took charge of Pumpkin and held her hand in the parking lot.  The joy of watching him learn to ride a two wheel bike.  The joy of watching him understand a joke.  The joy of seeing emotion in his face.  The joy of an unsolicited "I love you, Mom."  I don't know about other 10 year old boys, but mine still climbs into my lap.  Now, that's joy.

We still have a lot of challenges ahead of us.  He has to get through puberty.  He wants to learn to drive (ack!).  We still have a lot of work to do to make him into an independent adult.  But, one thing I have learned over the years is that we can't do it alone.  It has only been by the grace of God that we have come this far.