Even though everyone around us had “normal” kids and I had a lot of contact with “normal” kids through my job as a primary school teacher, I don’t think it really clicked what raising a “normal” child must be like until our third child was born.

I didn’t realise that every week there would be change – some new skill learnt, an extra word added to the vocabulary.  I didn’t realise how many toys there were to choose from, how exciting Christmas could become.

I’m not meaning to place our eldest children (both with extremely high special needs) as second-best, of lesser worth.  I’m just trying to explain something of the difference I am beginning to discover between raising them and raising our third child.  We had become used to sameness, having low expectations, preparing ourselves for the worst, struggling to find a present that they could enjoy. 

I think that one of the reasons I was oblivious to the differences, was that for my husband’s family there wasn’t a difference (this is where the tribute comes in).

At birthdays, at Christmas time, my children were made as much a fuss over as their “normal” cousins.  There was no difference.  My children weren’t really aware of the occasion, or the concept of presents (in fact sometimes the wrapping excited them more than the present it contained) but my in-laws were determined to make it as special as possible for them.

I realise now that sacrifices must have been made.  They were probably very careful not to make a big deal about their own children’s achievements or to talk too much about the sorts of things we may never experience or enjoy ourselves.  It was probably almost impossible for them to be open about any difficulties they may be having with their children, or to be seen in any way to complain – after all, their children were comparatively “normal”.  Grandparents were very fair about the time spent with each grandchild:  the attention given, presents bought, love shared.

 

 In the environment my in-laws created, I didn’t feel as if my children were a burden, difficult, or different.  They were loved.  They were accepted.  And it wasn’t a pretense – it was real.  They were made a fuss of – just as much if not more so then their “normal” cousins.

I almost feel a bit guilty – wondering how things may have been different for them if we had had “normal” children.  Wondering to what extent they have had to tip-toe around our feelings; wondering what they may have missed out on or gone without for our sake.

It can be all too easy to become self-absorbed, to expect others to watch out for you when your situation is so different from the norm.  Did we make enough fuss of their children?  Did we take an interest in their concerns and difficulties to the extent they did in ours?  I don’t know.  Maybe not.

So I want to pay them tribute: Grandparents, Uncle, Aunties and cousins.  A tribute for loving my children unconditionally, and for loving us.