On Monday I dropped my kids off with a friend and took a trip I never thought I would need to take. Have you ever been given access to a club that you never wanted to join? That was me three days ago.
I plugged a new address into my gps and I made my way to a therapist office to talk about my son. Scary terms and acronyms floating through my thoughts.
I love him, but I don’t know how to help him. I feel helpless and envious of moms whose biggest concern is fighting over getting their child to wear a cute bow in her hair or how many ponies to rent for the birthday party (I don’t actually know anyone who rents ponies for birthday parties).
My days are filled with BIG emotions over things that I could never have guessed would be treasures: Rented DVD’s that need to go back, but he cannot part with. Packaging from a lunchable. Sunday School crafts. Things his siblings own and decide to throw away. Each item is mourned like a beloved friend or family member.
I feel guilty. I have spent a lot of time pleading for him to get it together and get over it. It’s garbage. I didn’t know his brain was not processing things the way a typical person does.
It’s exhausting to parent a child who is mourning deep losses several times a day.
I love him. I want you to love him. I don’t want you to label him. I don’t want you to be annoyed by him. “Normal” is gone and I’m missing it.