Violet Beauregarde: What is this, a freak out?
~ Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (Film, 1971)
Today is what I call Willie Wonka Day. In the original film Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, on each of the five golden tickets is the instruction to arrive at the wondrous chocolate factory on October first. And hence today I dream of fizzy lifting drinks and meal-in-a-gumpiece.
Really the chocolate factory is an apt, if gross, metaphor for what’s been going on with Jonah lately. When Andy picked him up on Sunday, Jonah almost immediately became very angry. Because he was strapped in his special harness seat, he probably couldn’t reach Andy to kick or hit, so he went into a rage. And left with no effective offense after having been so pissed off at some unperceived insult, he “went to the chocolate factory,” shitting on purpose and smearing it on himself and Andy’s car. There wasn’t much option but to U-Turn and bring Jonah back, so there went the Sunday visit. And hours to clean up poop for Andy, the stink still likely there to remind him of the fun. I guess Jonah actually had a pretty decent day at his house, once they cleaned him up. I didn’t even hear of it until Andy’s daily evening call to me.
Andy, on the other hand…who knows? When he is left alone with the aftermath of one of Jonah’s episodes/managements/flip-outs/whatever you want to call them…when he is all by himself in his Rhinebeck apartment quiet, what kind of pain is that? I don’t know anymore and God help me I can’t know anymore. I just can’t.
All last week Andy called to tell me tales of Jonah smearing his shit, hitting people, trying to bite, pulling at hair. Why now, boo? What is it? WHAT IS IT?
They’ve got him on ear drops right now for an infection but this started before that. Then again when you live this life there really is no real order to things. Things happen for no reason, behavioral charts arrowing up and down with little correspondence to anything at all.
I want to also say I’m not a blogger who comments on comments. Or very rarely I do. I don’t know why I don’t. I just don’t want to respond to your responses….I like to let it be. * Please don’t mind that I don’t answer. I like to listen to you, not yak back. I love all the peeps who come here to read along watch listen care and help me feel like I’m not alone and you’re not alone. Because we’re not.
thumb-suckers unite
We’re not alone in the hurt and we’re not alone in the hope.
* that’s for you, kp
meine herrschaften, schenken sie mir ihre aufmerksamkeit
(someone took it upon themselves to not only translate for you, dear reader, but also to disseminate the scene)
Amy, I am so very sorry for Jonah’s pain and rage and for the incredible pain which Jonah’s pain and rage cause you and Andy.
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It is nice to know I am not alone. Thank you for mentioning that. I read all your blogs, celebrate with you when Jonah has a good day, relish in the progress you have seen, no matter how small the step (not to mention felt so happy for you when you got to visit Laura’s home, I too read all her books when I was younger),and empathize with you when you are hurting to the very core of your being. Sometimes your words make me cry because I know this pain, the pain of going to birthday parties and seeing all the kids run around and play and the joy they give their parents, the pain of seeing your child struggle, unable to figure out what’s going on in their mind and in their heart. As mothers we want to make it all better and it’s not fair to us or our child to not always be able to do that. I am on the other side of the country, but still your sister in this battle. Thank you for reminding me that I am not alone.
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Hugs…
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Thanks Amy! lol
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