Sometimes, not that funny.

This weekend was not so funny. Timothy has been having increased seizure activity again. Now, sometimes when this happens, we know it’s because it’s we forgot to give him his meds the night before, or his schedule has been crazy. But this time, he had like 6 tiny (30 sec) seizures for no good reason. He’s healthy, as far as I know, and has not missed one dose of the medicine. I admit I’m worried. I’ll call the Dr today and probably up his medicine dose, but I don’t like this. Not one bit.

This weekend was LDS General Conference. I love Conference, and did enjoy watching.  I love hearing men of God bear testimony of Christ. It strengthens me, and helps me feel closer to my Savior. I am thankful for that.

Timothy turned 8 last week. This has been a tough year for me with Tim. I haven’t said a lot, except to a few close friends, but him turning 8 has been…difficult.

In the LDS religion, children are baptized when they are 8, because we believe that is the age when they are accountable to their Father in Heaven for their own choices. Obviously, Timothy is NOT held accountable for any choices he makes.  And just as obviously, he does not understand about baptism, God, or, well, much of anything.  Timothy’s life is a very simple thing. His mind is about 12-15 months old, and probably will be for as long as he lives. He is sweet and innocent. I believe God takes these special children straight to Him when they pass away.

But all the other children who are 8 this year are being baptized, because they know what their Heavenly Father expects of them. They feel excited for this rite of passage. Many of them will receive their first set of Scriptures, because they can read them and understand how powerful the Word of God is. Many children this age will be given their first CTR ring, which stands for Choose The Right, because they can, in fact, Choose The Right.

Timothy cannot. And while I do believe that he is a special spirit, and innocent, every now and again, it breaks my heart that he will never have these experiences. He will never say my name, or pray.

Every now and again, it washes over me that I am forever the mom of a severly disabled child. I don’t know if that sounds dumb, but there are moments when that information falls on me, yet again, like a ton of bricks.

And it takes me a minute to recover. It takes me a minute to climb out, and stand back up, stiffen my spine and then remember I can hand every one of those bricks to my Saviour. Because not only does he know Timothy, he knows and loves me.

I know it, and usually it helps a lot. Sometimes it just takes a minute.

Maybe I can be funny in a minute.