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Let us linger with the lie

As my husband starts pouring his thoughts and feelings into his blog, Special Needs Dad Chronicles, he asked me to go through some of our pictures to find some for him to post with his words. As I click through the hundreds of pictures stored on my computer I am struck by a singular thought, Wow.

Pictures lie.

   If a stranger looked through these mounds of memories they would think our son, A, was walking at a very early age. It’s impossible to tell that he is leaning against his grandmother, or the wall or the couch. They wouldn’t know how bitter our older son, P, feels against this younger brother who is constantly biting, and kicking and hitting him.  
   In the pictures of them sitting next to each other, they actually look like they love one another. There is even one of P reading to A. How blessed we are to have cameras handy to capture the rare and wonderful and a delete option to erase the ugly.
   Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at identifying kids who have a diagnosis. I can
even tell in pictures. Not because of the look on the child’s face, but because of the placement of the parent’s hands – over the chest or around the arm. An attempt to look natural while trying to keep said child from running away.
   I know there are some who would say we should make more of an attempt to capture
the ugly side of our lives in pictures, but, you know what, I am confronted with the ugly side every day. I will likely be confronted with it for the rest of my days. Give me the rare and wonderful.
   Let me lock those moments into my head and heart to hold onto during the difficult times.
   Let me fool the world with photos so that when they look at my children they think of them as adorable instead of angry and cute instead of crippled. There are few humans on earth who have to deal with brutal honesty more than we parents of broken children. Let us linger with the lie.