(Originally posted April 2, 2009)

Every so often I just have to step back and remember how incredible it is that J.J. is still alive and how lucky we are to have him around. It's easy to lose sight of this fact while dealing with all the changes we've had to make.

J.J.'s voice is different. It's softer and more hoarse and frustrates him to no end because he can't sing.

but...

He's still able to communicate. And his softer voice means that I need to slow down and focus completely on what he's saying, which means that I'm really hearing him and not barely registering the conversation in between a hundred other thoughts like I used to do.

We can't have the long, deep conversations about absolutely nothing that punctuated our first twelve years together.

but...

We can still hold hands in the car. He can still massage my neck after I've spent long hours working at the computer. I can still run my fingers through his hair and fall asleep with my head on his chest.

His smile is different.

but...

It's also more full of the enjoyment of being alive.

This has been a long week, and a disappointing one for J.J., since he was hoping to drive himself to speech therapy this morning instead of me dropping him off on my way to work and him riding the shuttle back home, which is what happened instead. Since I had the stomach flu yesterday and couldn't get him to the driving evaluation, it's been rescheduled for three weeks from now. But these next three weeks will fly by like the nearly seven (!) weeks which have preceded them and he'll be driving again soon.

I can't get too upset about this minor setback. In the grand scheme of things, it really doesn't matter. And who knows--maybe my stomach flu was God's way of telling us that J.J. needed a little more time before going to take this evaluation.

Everything will work out. I know it.