The Drowning Gymnast

I can’t help but feel like I am drowning at times. It’s like the laundry, the dishes, my overflowing email inbox, the therapy and doctor appointments, and the uncertainty about the future are all going to suffocate me at once. Sometimes I’m so overwhelmed and feel like I can’t handle it all.

I’m like an Olympic gymnast, balancing on the beam between crazy optimism and trying to be realistic. Most of the time, I’m able to keep my balance. But, sometimes all of those things suffocating me cause me to fall to the ground.

If I land on the side of optimism, life seems good – often better than it really is. I seclude myself in Elijahland, thinking that everything’s going to be all right. Elijah will be just like his peers when he grows up, I tell myself. No one will even know what happened to him during his birth. I pretend that nothing is wrong; ignoring those emotions I’d rather not touch. I’m secluded, in my own world with my boys.

Then I find that I’ve fallen off my beam again and those emotions I tried to avoid have smacked me in the face. This time I’m on the side of reality and I ponder what my son’s life may entail. I wonder if he still won’t be talking or feeding himself when he’s 5, 10 or 15. What if…what if…what if…? It’s not a pretty place to be. I wonder how I’ll handle him when he’s older. What if he can’t understand me or communicate with us? How will we handle it all?

I know that we all feel overwhelmed at times, whether or not we have a “special needs” child. I’ve had this overwhelmed feeling before and it always subsides eventually. As I write this, I no longer have that drowning feeling. I’ve reminded myself to take it one day at a time, to not worry about my house (it’ll be here to clean tomorrow), people will forgive me for unanswered emails or phone calls (the ones that love me anyway), and to give the future up to God. I can ponder all I want, but only God knows what the future holds. There’s that scripture that says don’t worry about tomorrow. I know that God will take care of us and when I remember that, I realize that there is no reason to feel like I am drowning.

So, here I am, trying to stay on my balance beam. I’m apt to fall again, but hopefully I can be quick to get back on the beam. Being realistic about Elijah’s future (realizing that he’s going to have ongoing difficulties in his life) while remaining optimistic for him (not setting any limits as to what and who he can be) is exactly where I want to be. I’m not drowning, I’m swimming. I just wish it felt less like treading water sometimes.

***As a side note, it’s really hard for me to open myself up like this. I share because I do realize that we all have these feelings at times. For some reason, it’s difficult to share the negative feelings. I share because I want to be honest and real. Dealing with Elijah’s diagnoses is an ongoing process. Sometimes I’m completely okay with it. I remember how far he has come and I’m so thankful. And then other days I have to admit that I’m frustrated. My son’s life isn’t how I expected it to be or dreamed that it might be. Grief is an ongoing process, but sometimes it’s hard to share the journey. ***

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I Didn’t Know…

I didn’t know how much joy watching Elijah crawl would bring me. I could speculate, but I just couldn’t imagine it. He cruises around exploring his world as if he’d been doing it his entire life. He’s learning to touch the walls and feel and learn about the world around him. It’s amazing.

It makes me recall something I saw on TV when Elijah was still quite small. I was flipping through the channels and I stopped momentarily on a reality show. I’m not even sure what the show was and I honestly only watched it for a few moments. The show featured a baby and I watched with amazement at how easily she moved, gracefully shifting herself from the floor to a sitting position with ease and then taking a few crawling steps.

“Oh,” the mom said. “She’s never done that before.” I sat there in front of my TV in shock. Is that how parents react to their child’s first crawling steps? I wondered. No accolades? No excitement?

I couldn’t watch it any longer and so I turned the channel. At that point, I didn’t know if my son would ever crawl and I was disgusted by the nonchalant attitude. Isn’t it a miracle when any child learns a new skill –especially when it’s something as profound as crawling?

As I watch Elijah, I’m filled with amazement over the things he can do and I try to ignore the things he cannot. I’ve already become accustomed to some of the things he can do – sitting, transitioning…and I see myself having the same reaction as the mom on that TV show I saw long ago. “Oh, yep…he has gotten himself to sitting again.” I’m still amazed at his crawling skills, but at some point I suppose I’ll look at him and think, “Oh, there he goes again” with a nonchalant attitude. But, I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget all he has accomplished and the things he has overcome. I don’t want to forget that my son might have never gagged, cried, sat, or crawled. I don’t want to forget the parents who are still waiting for those things. I don’t want to forget and I hope I never do.

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