Down came the rain (Org. Post Date 3/5/11)

At this point, every sappy big hair band song is running through my head. You know, those song that made you weep because somehow it seemed they were staring into the very essence of your soul. Yeah, all those songs, and a few great movie lines as well.

The only thing I can relate yesterday’s experience to was when my parents dropped me off at Indiana State University my freshman year. My mom was visably upset, and my dad shoved her out the door. The big difference is that I was 18 and stupid. My son is 12 and autistic.

We did his move as a family. First we went to Chuck E. Cheese, because we owed him a visit from his birthday when there had been far too much ice and snow to go. When everyone was played out, and by everyone I mean my husband and I, he announced, “Time to go to the group home.” I will admit Jacob being so willing to go to the home and not arguing about this has made it easier to deal with. The only thing is, it really hurts that he is so willing to leave. He keeps telling me, “it’s for the best.” Yesterday I made him explain to me what he meant by that statement. He said, “It is the best thing for me. I live with a bunch of people who are just like me. Everyone’s autism is different, mine makes me very creative, and angry.” Ah, from the heart of children.

We unpacked him, settled everything in his room, and stayed with him for about an hour. He gave us hugs, and happily told us goodbye. Not one tear was shed. I did very well, even surprising myself. My husband, who says nothing about anything even agreed that I did well. (I had to ask first). Our now family of four traveled home in relative silence. It wasn’t until I went to change my clothes in to my comfy sweats that I lost it. I went to the laundry room which is right next to Jacob’s room. When I went in, and saw his regular mess, things strewn about his room, but no Jacob, I lost it. I crawled into a ball and laid sobbing on my bed for who knows how long. My family didn’t miss me or come looking for me. I was alone. Fittingly, it was pouring rain outside. Down came the rain.

After countless bruises, a trip or two to the doctor, one to the Emergency Room, and on the edge of madness (6 weeks later) we removed him from the horrible group home and have never looked back.

My very first blog post (Org. Post Date 2/1/11)

My dear friend Lindsey suggested I do this blog as a source of therapy while we were consuming our vanilla Cokes (with a bit of Vodka) the other night. The idea of cheap therapy is appealing. Lord knows I could use the therapy, and with 3 kids, if it isn’t cheap, forget it.

I guess I should start by introducing myself. I am a 30-something mother of 3. My kids are 11, 7, and 14 months, and my marriage is a mess. My oldest is Autistic, and I am struggling with the decision of whether I allow him to go to a group home or not. My middle daughter is a drama queen, but she is brilliant, a perfectionist, and just a joy. Then there is my baby girl, one of those little surprises life throws you now and then.

My husband of 12 1/2 years. Well, this a complicated mess. I guess though, when isn’t marriage complicated. I was 19 when we got married, and seven weeks pregnant. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best choice. I wanted my baby to have a father, and I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought we would grow to love each other. That’s what I get for thinking.

The Moment Your World Stops Turning (Org date 5/26/12)

“Mom, I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down on the couch,” my 13 year old son tells me while sitting at the dinner table eating chili. He has barely eaten, which for him must mean he is sick. He looks at me and his eyes are very heavy. He stands and sways to his right, and then to his left before crashing to the floor. His eyes roll back in his head, he is gasping. A seizure. He has never had a seizure before. Oh, Shit! I’m a nurse, I know what to do, but this is my child! God I know you are here, hold him! I scream for my husband, who ushers our daughters from the kitchen, and because he is autistic, and I know he will not handle the whole ambulance thing well, call my dad. After loading him into the van, I drive like a crazy woman and thankfully do not get pulled over. Many hours later after a clean CT, blood work, and urine test we are dismissed from the hospital after declining the offer to be transferred to another hospital over an hour away for observation. His autism doc calls to check on him on Monday, who informs me that 1/2 of all children with autism have seizures, and 1/3 of those do not begin to have them until puberty. Holy Shit! He just said begin. Damn you autism! Damn you for robbing my kid of a “normal” life. Damn you for ruining our family, and slowly destroying my marriage! Damn you for robbing my kid from something simple like going to the amusement park because he is so afraid of the bees that will be outside. I hate you, there I said it!