The love I have for my children is the most vulnerable and scary love in the whole world. You put your heart out as far as it can go, almost naively, without knowing how easily broken it is. I think every mother’s heart gets broken. Some get broken more, some less. This most beautiful and passionate and wonderful love in the world is also the most dangerous. It has the power to shatter us into a million pieces.
Brent can’t quite put his finger on it, but I know what has hit us. This diagnostic process is trying. Even though we knew, we knew that Silas obviously has some issues. Having the guy with the diploma on the wall look me in the eye and say that he’s sure my son has autism just somehow makes the news that more real. It solidifies all of our concerns. It’s the person telling you that they can’t pinch you and wake you up from the nightmare, it’s real.
My mom once told me that her best friend, after losing her daughter, would wake up in the morning with this peaceful feeling in her heart and then seconds later the reality of her world would come crashing down on her. I remembered that, that’s exactly how it happens with me too. It’s not the same amount of pain by any means, but that’s what happens in my bed every morning.
We’ve both gotten heavy these past few weeks. Both having trouble looking on the bright side of things.
I feel this pressure to rise above it all and turn into super woman that saves the day. I feel like I need to do that to be a good person. It’s because people hardly ever talk about the hard times. I just think everyone is strong and everyone can deal with this stuff 100 times better than I can. Which I know is not true. I still have this pressure though.
Mental note to call my counselor again.
I’m in no place to be a savior to my son. I’m mad at the universe for doing this to me (even though I know that’s not how it happens) because it’s the wrong time. I needed to work through my own issues before having to take on the burden of someone else’s. I just feel so much like the wrong person for this job. I am the right person in a lot of ways because of a lot of reasons. But there’s a lot of things that I am not. I know I know I know…shut up Leah.
I’m working hard at trying to not be jealous or resentful of parents of “typical” kids. I try to not feel pain when a child 6 months younger than my son is telling his mommy about something or pretending to feed his teddy bears pretend cookies.
When you have a child you’re part of this new club, a new world of mommies and you suddenly have something in common with a wide range of people. When you have a child with special needs you kind of feel out of the club, you’re in a new club. You don’t have that dough-eyed fresh new mommy look about you. People say I look different and it’s true, I am different now. I just need to find a few friends that belong to the same club. I need to cry with someone who really understands.
Anyway, we’re just blue here at our house. Glum, melancholy, sad, forlorn, etc. Our hearts hurt for Silas, we’re stressed, we’re sad about that feeling of loss when you’re told your child isn’t going to lead a normal life.
But yes, I see light. I see only good things for Silas. I see him leading a good life. Even though I only see a bright future, I still can’t help being sad. A fellow autism parent told me it takes years to fully accept it and come to terms. I’ll just have to wait it out. I’m sure a lot of parents go through what I am going through.
Sorry this is all my blog is about. I’ve lost hundreds of readers since the initial provisional diagnosis. I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong. I can’t help but feel slightly abandoned. I have to hold to my real reasons for blogging, it’s not just about the numbers. Thanks for sticking with me through this. It’s just a season. Soon I’ll have bright and happy and cheerful things to talk about again. My mind is only on one thing right now.
Thanks for letting me cry to you all…again.
These people have all of my heart.