So it’s Thursday June 9th and I’m on a next-day deadline to submit my monthly column in the Capital District Parent Pages (though I’ve had a whole month to write it).
I’m sitting there thinking how strange it is that I write a column about a boy with autism who has become so violent we are planning to take him to live in a residential facility, and how the column is smack dab in the middle of a magazine featuring witty anecdotal tales of family life, articles about events, pages filled with fun places to take the kids, seasonal recipes, ideas for birthdays, and other parenting goings-on. Sometimes I wonder why they even let me write the column. I’m the bummer of the issue. Hands-down.
And I’m thinking I don’t want to be the bummer of the issue this time (for the July issue). So I sit there, and I sit there, but I don’t know what to write.
I haven’t even written here for a week. How many times, after all, can you say the same thing with only the slightest of variations before you start to sound like a broken record?
It hits me that I could look backward, and so I write about times when he was a baby.
The words come quickly – it doesn’t take me long to finish. They’re easier words because they are about the short span of time in which I had the same parenting experience everyone else had, more or less.
It’s not that Jonah has autism. It would be fine, really, if only he didn’t get so enraged so quickly – become so unimaginably angry, so inexplicably aggressive. Sometimes I feel as if I have done nothing for 41 years except bring a child into the world who is hell-bent on hurting others. I almost can’t stand it. I don’t want to stand it. I want to stamp my feet like a small child and scream.
When I lean in to kiss him, more often then not I get scratched or grabbed by his whole hand on my face.
Einstein supposedly said that one definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Some think he himself had some form of autism, but whatever the case, I still will lean in for the kiss. It’s not that I’m expecting a different result. It’s that I need a different result – and if I can get his sweet little kiss one time out of five, it is worth the other times. I just want to be his mommy.
I don’t know my son anymore at all. I don’t know why he hurts me (or Andy, or his teachers, or anyone). I don’t know how Andy is staying afloat. I don’t know how one or both of us is not back in Four Winds. I’m no good at this. I’m weak, depressed, and always, always afraid. And there we go, folks, the record’s skipping – – you’ve heard it all – heard it all – heard it all before.
And so you see there is very little I can say these days. I apologize if you have tried to reach me and I don’t write/call back, or you invite me somewhere and I say I can’t go. It’s not like I have a great excuse except I just don’t want to talk about anything to anyone right now. And I’m sorry for it.
I am not strong enough to leave it all behind me whenever life calls for socially acceptable behavior. I know so many strong, determined, one-day-at-a-time parents in worse situations who operate on such a higher wavelength than me – who don’t bitch, or complain, or let on to anyone that there is anything amiss at all.
That’s not me. I never was the sturdy one. I’m the cry-baby. I’m the one who crumbles.
And thus concludes today’s whimpering.
—
“Dorothy moves to click her ruby shoes
Right in tune with the dark side of the moon.
Someone, someone could tell me where I belong;
Be calm, be brave, it’ll be okay…”
~Guster, Come Downstairs & Say Hello
My dearest Amy, you keep on writing for as long as it serves a perpose…even if that is staying out of Four Winds. I will listen to you say a thousand times that this is too hard for you, and I will hope that my distant love for you will be sufficient for you to go on another day. But when you have had too much…when writing is even too much, then please, Amy, get the help you need. You are worth a life as much as Jonah. So, maybe a trip to Four Winds would be a little holiday from hiding. It, too, is a good hiding place, and you have a handy excuse for saying no to invitiations. 🙂
I hope that you soon will find some tiny bit of comfort. I will keep you in my heart, and virtually take your head and smooth your brow. I am so sorry you are so sad.
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Someone in Woodstock’s beaming you lots of love and enfolding you in cyber hugs.
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Vibes and thoughts your way…..
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Dear, Sweet Mama, like Martie said, I am so sorry you are so sad. I too am here to comfort you. I have been where you are, I am in the next step. I know how hard it is, sweet Mama. I know how scary, how sad, how heartbreaking. I will be here, I will hold your hand, I will love you and your family through this. Please, let all of us be here and support you through this.
And, like Martie also said, if a trip to Four Winds helps, if it gives you the break and the chance to regroup that you need, then it is worth every minute of time there. You are the most important person in Jonah’s life, even if he or you don’t know or feel that way. You have to take care of yourself. You are in my thoughts and prayers, always. Much love to you.
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You mentioned those that are stronger that take things one day at a time and don’t complain. If you truly believe that let me help dispel l that myth. There are many of us and I am sure you too at times that can put on that brave face and take things day at a time. Many of my coworkers and a few of my friends often say this about me. However if they took a minute to speak with my mom or step into my home a night or early in the morning they would see that I too am a lunatic at times and so I tell you stay you and remember you are not alone even when you think you are. And as for your broken record I kind of like it.. it is one of the reasons I read your blog it reminds me others have the same problems or worse and we will all serve this moment this day this whatever.
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I haven’t checked in on you in a couple weeks, and I feel guilty about it! How silly is that?
Don’t worry about the record skipping. It is your life, and Boo’s life. It is what it is. If writing makes you feel better, even if it’s the same deal, over and over, at least we know you’re still there. You are important. I want to know that you’re ok. Even if you just post that, “I’m still here” that’s all that matters. You are stronger than you think you are. Maintaining all that you do, keeping things together, even if you think it’s a bit poorly. That’s life.
There are no rainbows and unicorns here. Someday, one day. I am also, still here, for you.
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You KEEP writing. Some days it is the only thing that keeps me sane and those of us who visit here?? We get it and are holding you up on our end. Love
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