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I brooded over my frustrated ambitions for a family. I loved Joyce with all my heart, but Joyce was no longer the same woman I had married. In this state of mind I reached a conclusion. If there was no hope for Joyce, then I must attempt to build a new life for myself without her. I didn't know it then, but Stage II was drawing to a close.

When I came home, Dr. Green and Joyce were sitting in the living room. "Eddie's been sick, darling," she said. "And the doctor and I have been having a long talk."

A calmness had replaced the restive quality in her eyes. "Dr. Green says Eddie is sick because he misses his playmates at the school," she went on. "He says Eddie will be happier with us if we give him some brothers and sisters to play with."

She was telling me we must have other children. Partly to make sure I wasn't dreaming and partly to hide the tears in my eyes, I pulled Joyce to me and kissed her.

"Are you sure you want to keep Eddie?" Dr. Green asked Joyce.

"Oh, yes," she said. "I know you're right. I've known all along there was no hope, but I love him."

"Then you cannot smother him with affection. You must not permit his life to destroy your own."

That night we set up a schedule. As far as I know, Joyce has never violated it. She sees Eddie twice a day: 30 minutes in the morning, an hour in the afternoon. One night a week we care for him while Mrs. Coates, our practical nurse, goes out.

We have been in Stage III for four years. We have created a special environment in Eddie's room. We know, however, that it cannot last forever. Some day, we'll put him in an institution -- and Stage III will end. Joyce is willing. But for the time being, we think his presence in our home is healthy.

Recently we celebrated his ninth birthday. Nancy, now three, invited half a dozen neighborhood playmates. While the other kids played on the nursery floor, Eddie sat in his chair by the window, the wind tousling his hair.

We've told Nancy about Eddie. She loves him. He loves her. When the birthday cake was cut, she stood beside Eddie's chair and fed him the first piece.

Our Nancy is learning a lesson that will be with her all her life. In a home that is sunny and happy, she comes in daily contact with the underprivileged -- her brother. She has developed a tenderness and sympathy toward him that must carry over to later life.

Living death? Don't speak to us of living death. We have a happy home and children of whom we are proud. Eddie has his niche as much as any of us. Lacking in brains, doomed by an accident, his has perhaps been the greatest contribution of all: for every day he teaches us anew the wisdom of courage, patience and sympathy.