I was privileged just now to experience one of the marvels of spring. The potpourri of colorful flowering trees often takes my breath away, yet tonight the setting sun added a rare layer of enchantment. Just as I topped a hill driving home down a familiar street, the orange rays alighted on one of those beauties and made it glow with such majesty I was nearly overcome. Was it the purple of the redbud tree in its prime, or the pink of a new dogwood blossoms? I couldn’t tell. The beauty of the sight brought a torrent of gratitude and sheer enjoyment.

Just as quickly, another thought made my chest tighten — this is yet another one of life’s moments my boys will never be able to enjoy. You see, both of my sons are red-green colorblind. To them, most of the vibrant flowering trees look just like any other.

The strange thing is that it had been a long time since I became emotional about the things these guys will never experience. Grieving over the lost chance to be a pilot or a graphic artist. Grinding my teeth when I saw another textbook with subtle green gradations in a map.

Don’t get me wrong. I realize there are plenty of more serious handicaps and congenital conditions people deal with every day. Some dear friends of ours recently nursed their daughter to health after a double lung transplant and 30 years of struggling with cystic fibrosis. There are worse problems than colorblindness. I get that.

But while colorblindness isn’t generally thought of as a life-threatening condition, it most surely is life-altering. For 25 years I have watched my sons deal with this disability and have been appalled at the lack of information and resources available to those who struggle in so many ways.

I’m planning now to dump a quarter century of experiences, along with some new, useful information, on this blog. I look forward to hearing about your experiences and opinions as well.

So here’s to dealing with colorblindness. There’s no pill for that.