Back to School!

One more week and the kids start a new school year. We spent part of the morning putting name labels on pencils and notebooks. There is something exciting about new school supplies. They beckon with the promise of new possibilities and unwritten futures.

At the end of each school year when we are reviewing Connor's progress, I am always amazed at his growth. I am trying to remember that now, as I feel the jitters deep in my belly as the first day approaches. It's not that I am nervous about Connor's teacher, aide, or school - they are all fantastic! I'm more concerned that he is another year older, a seven year old going into second grade - the world around us expects more from our kids with each year.

I can't help but wonder how he will do in school this year. I want concrete answers, but I know that is impossible. It's hard for even me, who knows him better than anyone on this planet, to know what he will do the next moment - so I know the impossibility of predicting the upcoming year.

I am trying to relax and enjoy the promise of new possibilities and unwritten futures. But, dang, it is hard.

Strength, denial and me

We ALL feel it, special needs children or not: the stress from work or loss of work, the lack of enough cash flow to cover the bills, the medical problems, the demands of family life, the economy, the gas pump and on and on . . . And each of us has our own way of dealing with stress. Some people will exercise religiously (which I will start doing tomorrow, I promise!), some people find comfort in friends and some, unfortunately, find relief in ways that are damaging to their bodies and their families.

I realized yesterday, that for me, I was living in the land of denial. I was just plain out denying that I was stressed. Spouse unemployed? no problem. No cash flow? oh, that's okay. Medical issues? I'll just keep pretending I am not in pain rather than have the surgery, because who has time for surgery when I am trying to earn as much cash as possible? Marriage falling apart? I am strong, I can handle this. I put my head down and charged like a mad bull into life. Throw a load of laundry in, get to work, run to appointments, figure out ways to help the kids with their medications/sensory problems/summer fun/friends/therapy/behaviors/obsessions, get everyone cleaned up and into bed, complete any work and off to bed myself, exhausted.

Then my sister called with the "we're worried because we haven't heard back from you" call. Which was true! My friends and family who I used to have time to talk to had been neglected in my rush. I just couldn't fit one more thing in my day. And as I talked to her on the phone I choked back the tears that suddenly flowed, I didn't want her to worry more about me. But as she gently asked me questions, I realized that here was someone who was genuinely worried about ME, that I was important and actually loved. 

And with sudden clarity I saw my life as I had carefully constructed it: a shabby cardboard box surrounded me, inside I scurried through each day, without stopping to think or feel - because I was afraid if I did stop, even for a moment, to really feel my emotions, I would break into a million shards and that strong woman who could care for her special needs children would die. 

As I listened to my sister's kind voice, I felt the shabby box start to break apart. Quickly I tried to put it back together, but a shaft of light had shone in the land of denial, and the box couldn't be repaired. Emotions started to leak out, and some landed on this page.