Catharsis...

I've been crying a lot recently; sometimes it comes out of nowhere and sometimes it comes at really inconvenient times, like when I am driving. And, unfortunately, I am an ugly crier. I have friends who cry beautifully, but not me. Nope. My face gets bright red and I scrunch up eyes like a seriously old woman and then I make this half wheezing, half snorting sound that seems to frighten people, at least that has been my experience in the past. I'm always in admiration of those actors on television who can cry with just tears rolling down their cheeks. Now, THAT is a real skill. You can look good, keep most of your make-up in tact and yet, you can participate in the moments that make you want to send drops rolling effortlessly down your grief stricken face. I guess I thought on some level that life would get a bit easier and simpler as the kids got older, well, Jake and Nick anyway. Ty is still the "little" of the house so I am not going to include him, but, recently, especially with Nick's diagnosis, preparing him for his future independent life has become a full time job. I am emotionally exhausted right now and I have been looking for a way to channel those feelings into something positive; I have been looking for activities or hobbies or a job that will allow me to be productive and that will belong just to me for now. Something that will introduce me to a new facet of life, maybe even something that I hadn't previously considered. Whatever it is, I have to find a way to disconnect myself from the level of involvement that being the mom of an Aspie requires. That is the terminology that we use to describe our wonderful yet challenging children, a phrase that was coined and has been used in every single parenting manual that you will find on Special Education "types" at Barnes and Noble. Regardless of the term, having a teenager is challenging anyway, but throw in some obstacles for which you aren't prepared and, well, you'd be looking for a change in your life too. I try to remind myself everyday that the reasons why Nick is so great, and he is: smart, sensitive, loving, funny as all hell are part of the Asperger's too. The syndrome has shaped him into who he is and although there are symptoms and there are quite a few, Nick would not be Nick without it. And for that reason, I keep pushing forward. Sometimes the tears come when I think about all of the hard times that Nick will face and although I hope and pray that those are few and far between, I know, for a fact, that there will be many. And, that it is my job to prepare him for those. Sometimes I cry when I think about all of the other teenagers out there who are Nick's age who are hanging out with friends on the weekends and who play sports like I did when I was his age and he is content, reading a book or playing a video game. I try very hard not to project my ideas of what and who he should be onto him, but it's really difficult not to do that sometimes. And so I cry more. Sometimes I cry when I think about Nick being on his own and how I won't get to reassure him or check on him or tell him that I love him every single day. I believe that he will have his own life, his own career and his own relationships, but it will be challenging. Lastly, I cry when I think that one day I won't be here for him anymore and as long as I know that he has a solid system in place, I won't worry, but I will still be sad, sad at the knowledge that I won't get to see him live out his entire life. No parent wants to do that, that would mean, clearly, that we outlived them, but I would very much like to know that he is ok and that my greatest gift in life will be the knowledge that the three of them no longer "need" me, that they can survive and thrive on their own. I look forward to the day that I will miss my children; I don't want it to come too soon, but when it does, it will mean that I've fulfilled my goal of helping them to become the men that they set out to be. Asperger's, like any other affliction or gift or challenge that we all have to individually face, has robbed my son of opportunities; he is not able to fully participate in the same kinds of life activities that his peers do. Sometimes I am sad for that, but more often than not, I am glad that he doesn't. It presents a challenge, but it also forces Nick and our family to find, to create, to examine opportunities that we might not have otherwise considered. My Nick is a trained teen volunteer and he takes Sign Language classes. He reads a book a week and he adores animals. He finds joy in the simple things like pumping gas, grocery shopping and taking walks in the neighborhood. Simple. Nick is simple. Sometimes I cry because I worry that he won't find someone who appreciates that simplicity, even when it does come wrapped with intelligence and humor. I've cried a lot in the last month at the realization that there are wonderful schools out there with programs that would afford Nick the kind of education that could change his life and that we cannot afford to send him to them. This last one has been the most difficult, especially for me. You always want to give your kids what they need, but it is hard to know when and how and if you can even attempt to do it. When you have other children too, your whole life cannot revolve around one child's needs and lately it seems that is the case in my house. Maybe the tears come when I find myself unable to share the exact sentiment that concerns these issues and problems. No one understands exactly what I 'm going through although there are many friends who have similar experiences and those who care and listen because they are friends. I try not to think too much that if I feel this way, then what must Nick be going through? I think that, and then he comes around the corner and hugs me or he starts dancing in the hallway or he tells me a blonde joke. He loves those the most... all three of the boys do, "Mom is having a blonde moment." Yes she is children and you are the cause of it. I think pregnancy kills brain cells and I know I'm not the first to make that claim... I haven't been so proud of myself or my behavior lately. I think I was getting so far removed from the reality of situations because of the demands on me at home that I let things go that I shouldn't have and I neglected the people and events that I should have given my attention to more regularly. I haven't been completely honest with people nor have I begun to get back to the routine that I desperately need to regain my foothold outside of this house. I know what a lot of my friends would say, "You need to go for a run." Yes, that is very true. And I need to, and I need to and the list goes on until it falls down the front of the refrigerator and gently folds itself onto the floor. The list is endless and it changes everyday and while I love that change, I also long for some peace and an opportunity to reinvent myself so that I can be more for my family, especially my children. It's excruciatingly painful when you are the role model for them and you feel like you're failing on multiple levels. And then they hug you and tell you that you are a badass and it gets better again. In my dictionary, there is only one word that appropriately describes parenting and that is unpredictable... alarmingly unpredictable. That's two words. Maybe it would be easier if I were a worrier, but, excluding any evidence here to the contrary, I am not. I don't worry about what will happen tomorrow; I think about it, I consider it, I feel it but rarely do I worry about it. I can't change what is coming, not for Nick, not for Jake, not for Ty, but I can help them to be ready for it and if I fail to do that, then I will have failed us all. It is a heavy responsibility raising children, an endeavor unlike anything else that I've ever taken on in my life and the one "job" that I've managed to stick with for the longest. Nick told me the other day that he is noticing things about his peers that he never noticed before and he was stuck on one idea in particular and that was the notion that a lot of the kids his age seemed to think that life "sucks." When we discussed it, he said he understood whey they might think that, but that he didn't think that. For him, the idea that someone would want to dramatize something is difficult to comprehend. Making a big deal out of something insignificant is pointless. So when he does it and I point it out, then he sees what those kids mean, yet he still doesn't agree. He can't understand why they want to waste their time on social media or whey they talk about each other in such a way one day and then in another way the next day. A rather mature assessment I think, but also one that sets him apart again. Maybe it is because we spend so much time together that I notice more and more how hard Nick is trying to "be like everyone else" and yet, deep down, I hope on some level that he doesn't succeed. Nick is a lot like those boxes that contain another box and so on... there are many levels to discover and by which to be challenged... I don't really believe in self-pity. I know it exists and I understand why, but, to me, it's a lot like worry, pointless. I don't have a single thing to feel sorry for myself about. Yes, we had to sell our house, yes, we have a son with special needs, yes, we have financial challenges, yes, we are dealing with issues that surround middle age and yes, God yes, we continue to face our own demons. But when I look in the mirror in the morning, if I can tell myself that I did the best I could the day before even if that only meant that I swept the living room, then that will have to be enough. It is enough. I don't expect people to understand me or my life or my situation, but I like to think that they try. I use that same approach with Nick. I don't pretend to understand him or the way that he thinks because I can't, all I can do is love him and accept him and keep wanting more for him than he got the day before. Most parents I know say the exact same thing about their kids. On the days that I cry, when I feel like I'm losing my focus and I can't seem to snap out of it, I let myself go there. I feel it, embrace it and then I try to move forward. Nick, of all of the people in my life, has taught me that. His innate ability to "forget" what just happened, especially if it was negative, has been the greatest gift of all. I doubt that he will be able to hold on to that perpetual feeling of "it's over, let it go," but for now, I hope that he continues to embrace things slowly, at his own pace, even if the world around him is moving twice as fast. That's my Nick. I think I could probably learn to appreciate a life without failure; I like to think that I would still appreciate the people and things in my life, but, let's face it, failure just gives us perspective and, really, hope that the next time we try, we will succeed. So in catharsis then, when the tears come, we shouldn't hold them in and we shouldn't be ashamed of their presence because the feelings behind them remind us that there is good in the pain and that pain reminds us that we are alive and here and still trying to make the best of things. When my boys fall down, literally, or have in the past, I don't run right at them and yell "What's wrong? Are you ok? Are you hurt? Don't cry." and that doesn't make me a candidate for a Social Services visit. Instead, I try to stay calm, minimize the "hurt" and if they cry, and they do, I simply let them. And if they need me to hold them then I do. Sometimes I just say, "Take your time, when you're ready." And you know what, they always are ready, eventually. So Nick, take your time and when you're ready, we will face the challenges as they come, hopefully one at a time and not in tandem and maybe we should all remember that, very much like the Little League Pledge, life really is just one big game with pitfalls and windfalls, despair and hope, suffering and redemption and that by "striving to win" we really do win. So, let the tears come and when they stop, dry your eyes, remember why they came, file it away and get back in the game. But I don't tell Nick that because he looks at me funny and asks, "What game Mom?" and then shakes his head, blonde moment indeed...