Introducing....Gratitude

CJ was two (ish) years old when I took him to see a developmental behavioral pediatrician.  As there is no parking close by; I parked 12 blocks away, loaded him into the stroller and started to speed walk hoping we wouldn't be late for this appointment.  I would hate to go back on the year long wait list.  I mentally go over everything I plan to say and ask while pointing out things CJ doesn't seem to notice (but should).
     {mentally}  "He stopped all verbal communication at 18 months."
     "Look CJ, a big brown dog!"
     {mentally}  "Will he need medication?"
I wonder if these periods of useful schizophrenic dialogue are universal for mother's or maybe just me.
CJ takes everything in; silently.

Phew!!  We made it with five minutes to spare.   In the overflowing waiting area I get all the necessary (redundate) forms, try to catch my breathe and locate a seat all while manuvering a stroller.
     "Nana Mommy peas"
     "One banana coming right up"
Twenty minutes later all forms are completed, CJ is happily eating his banana and I'm able to sit still and look around.  What I see resonants in my soul to this very day. 

Children of various ages with various developmental, behavioral and mental deficits.  A little boy wearing a helmet and repeatedly hitting his head against the wall.  A little girl rolling around on the floor screaming.  A little boy, with protective gear on his arms, trying to bite himself.  The parents or caregivers looking completely exhausted and obviously numb to the behaviors I find so shocking. 

I realize I'm staring and look away; full of shame.  How could I come into this room and not notice the degree of suffering?  Am I that self absorbed in my own world that I no longer notice other people...other children?  I look at the faces of the parents and caregivers silently offering a smile and an understanding glance, knowing I will never comprehend  what they go through on a daily basis.  Then I focus on CJ.  Sitting quietly, peeling and eating his banana.  He has no self harming tendencies.  He can feed himself.  His mental state, comparatively, intact.  He looks up at me and smiles simutanously mashing banana through his teeth.  I smile and close my eyes as they fill with tears.  I silently say:

    "Father, if this is all I have to deal with, Thank You because THIS I can handle...but you knew that didn't you?"

A door opens, the nurse calls CJ's name.  We go through the door with a new found calm reserve and the knowledge that whatever happens He didn't bring us this far to leave us.