"Special Needs"

For the 100th time the other day, I was explaining our adoption, and I heard "Special Needs" come out of my mouth as I attempted to communicate.

In spite of teaching, I forget how words are received. To use "Special Needs" to describe the condition of our son is concise, accurate. Youyou has needs which require special planning and supplies every day. His physical needs will impact other areas of his life--casual conversations, friendships, play...

I think that everyone might have needs which are special--specific to the individual or the result of a specific combination of circumstances. Not everyone is aware of it, nor is everyone willing to admit it might be possible. It messes with being ok. Perhaps because of that, "special needs" becomes code for, "There's something wrong with that boy."

The official terms for Youyou's adoption include "Special Needs," but I don't want to use words which cloud any person's ability to see him without fear or pity. I don't want to handicap him. I don't want to reinforce the code. When we began the journey of adoption, I didn't want a child labeled "special needs." I didn't trust that we'd get accurate medical information. I didn't think I could handle it. I looked at the fear of an ugly or disabled child in the face and flinched--hard. I told Shane that God would really REALLY have to work some change in me for me to be willing to adopt a child with special needs, and as I said it, I defied Him to. It's to my shame that I couldn't resist my idols of perfect children and uncomplicated childhood. I felt entitled, as though I had earned the right to a pass because of the crushing sadness of infertility. No matter how much I love my best friend, that love will not (that we know) bear fruit in the form of a child in my womb. Isn't that enough, I wondered. Besides, there isn't enough money for us to take care of a child with special needs. It takes a special person. You have to mourn the death of a dream.

I don't see it that way now. The dream that died was, I think, an idol dressed like motherhood, and she still haunts the corners of my mind. Youyou has some big issues, but more than that, he needs a Mom and a Dad and maybe a dog. He doesn't need to know he's ok, he needs a family. We need a child. That works out pretty well, I think. I want to write that it is a relief to be free of that idolatry and entitlement, but I can't yet, because there is still so much I need to learn.

What brought all this on? A friend's grandmother said in passing, "You two are saints to be adopting a child like that." And I was overcome with inner laughter, thinking, "Like what?" because it sounded as though we're doomed, signing our lives away. Then I remembered that I'd thought the same thing about others before I was willing to adopt children with special needs, and then I remembered that sometimes even now I think we're pretty special for doing this. And I'd like it to stop. Because my boy certainly doesn't need that, and neither does anyone.

Who has special needs now?