I am wondering around my house not being able to focus on one single thing. I pick up my cell phone and stare into the small cracked screen hoping to find the relief I need there. I scan facebook but it doesn't calm the ache deep in my gut. I wander around the kitchen and look at the undone dishes. I certainly don't want to start on those. Advoidance. If I could just find something that would distract me for a little while. Just to dull the ache.
So I walk over to my computer desk and put my fingers on the keyboard. Writing always seems to help, yet this is where I have to admit what is causing the ache and for pete's sake that is what I'm trying to avoid. I try and write about something cheery and funny. Maybe I will post a cute picture when everyone is smiling and I can at least pretend like the ache doesn't exist.
I decide instead to face it. To look at it right in the face until I don't feel so panicked. So it doesn't paralyze me and I can go in the kitchen and make dinner and do all of the things that I need to do.
Early this morning, I loaded the kids in the car and headed to the Preschool Assessment office to hear Eli's results of all the testing they have been doing for the past several months. I knew what they would say. I knew what the results would be. Yet, when they said the words, it was like someone punched me in the gut. My reaction surprised me. My tears surprised me. The Psychologist looked at me and said "Eli is eligible for special education services". "We are suspecting that he will be diagnosed on the Autism spectrum".
Every single day, I make excuses for all the little things...the screaming, the repetitive motions, the anxiety, the fact that he doesn't have little friends that come over for play dates. I made excuses and I hoped that he will grow out of it all. In fact, most of the time I won't even admit that it is all happening. When a professional said those words to me today and I saw it written out on a formal document....it changed everything. It has hit me like a ton of bricks.
This is not what I wanted for Eli. This is not what I expected for him. This does change everything.
I know what I feel today is no different than what every mother feels after their child has been given a diagnosis. From this moment on no matter what you do, this fact about your child will remain. No more trying to cover it up. No more ignoring it and hoping that the next day will be different. No more being that helicopter mom that can fix anything. There it is in black and white and can't be erased.
In this moment, I think about my sister. How she must have felt the minute Dr. Wohl told her that Amaya had a brain tumor. How she felt the first time she saw the pictures of Boogersnotlicous. In that instant, her whole world changed. Nothing was in her control anymore.
As a mother you were always able to swoop your baby up in your arms and kiss the pain away. You could sing them a lulliby to soothe them or tickle them and make them laugh. You could run to the medicine cabinet and come back with a little medicine that would help their fever go away. At night they would crawl up in your bed and feel safe after a nightmare. You could fix anything.
But, what can a mother do with these words: Autism? Brain Tumor? Cancer?
The reality feels too big for me. I feel inadequate and sad and there isn't anymore mommy tricks that can make this better.
I have to sit with this for awhile. I will have to cry and mourn so that I can pick myself back up and be a good mommy to my kids. I have to get in that kitchen and clean up those dishes and start dinner. I have to hug my children when they come home from school and listen to their day. I have to do all the important little things that makes us a family and come back to the ache later. Isn't this what we do as mothers? We love. We adjust. We stop making it about us and what we feel and we make it about them. And, hopefully at the end of the day this is what will make the ache go away.
So I walk over to my computer desk and put my fingers on the keyboard. Writing always seems to help, yet this is where I have to admit what is causing the ache and for pete's sake that is what I'm trying to avoid. I try and write about something cheery and funny. Maybe I will post a cute picture when everyone is smiling and I can at least pretend like the ache doesn't exist.
I decide instead to face it. To look at it right in the face until I don't feel so panicked. So it doesn't paralyze me and I can go in the kitchen and make dinner and do all of the things that I need to do.
Early this morning, I loaded the kids in the car and headed to the Preschool Assessment office to hear Eli's results of all the testing they have been doing for the past several months. I knew what they would say. I knew what the results would be. Yet, when they said the words, it was like someone punched me in the gut. My reaction surprised me. My tears surprised me. The Psychologist looked at me and said "Eli is eligible for special education services". "We are suspecting that he will be diagnosed on the Autism spectrum".
Every single day, I make excuses for all the little things...the screaming, the repetitive motions, the anxiety, the fact that he doesn't have little friends that come over for play dates. I made excuses and I hoped that he will grow out of it all. In fact, most of the time I won't even admit that it is all happening. When a professional said those words to me today and I saw it written out on a formal document....it changed everything. It has hit me like a ton of bricks.
This is not what I wanted for Eli. This is not what I expected for him. This does change everything.
I know what I feel today is no different than what every mother feels after their child has been given a diagnosis. From this moment on no matter what you do, this fact about your child will remain. No more trying to cover it up. No more ignoring it and hoping that the next day will be different. No more being that helicopter mom that can fix anything. There it is in black and white and can't be erased.
In this moment, I think about my sister. How she must have felt the minute Dr. Wohl told her that Amaya had a brain tumor. How she felt the first time she saw the pictures of Boogersnotlicous. In that instant, her whole world changed. Nothing was in her control anymore.
As a mother you were always able to swoop your baby up in your arms and kiss the pain away. You could sing them a lulliby to soothe them or tickle them and make them laugh. You could run to the medicine cabinet and come back with a little medicine that would help their fever go away. At night they would crawl up in your bed and feel safe after a nightmare. You could fix anything.
But, what can a mother do with these words: Autism? Brain Tumor? Cancer?
The reality feels too big for me. I feel inadequate and sad and there isn't anymore mommy tricks that can make this better.
I have to sit with this for awhile. I will have to cry and mourn so that I can pick myself back up and be a good mommy to my kids. I have to get in that kitchen and clean up those dishes and start dinner. I have to hug my children when they come home from school and listen to their day. I have to do all the important little things that makes us a family and come back to the ache later. Isn't this what we do as mothers? We love. We adjust. We stop making it about us and what we feel and we make it about them. And, hopefully at the end of the day this is what will make the ache go away.
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