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"You raise me up..."

on June 13, 2010

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We had to raise the Exersaucer to the next highest setting to accommodate my sweet baby Boy's increasingly growing legs!

Sniffle...

You Raise Me Up- Josh Groban

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There have been thousand upon thousands of essays written about what it is like to be a parent. We write about our strong-willed children, our shy children, our wild children. Tales are told about what it is like to raise a child who is differently-abled, a child who is gifted, a child with amazing athletic ability. When we talk about raising our kids, parents usually say that they want to raise good, kind humans, but while we are all looking for the same finish line, we are all running a very different race.

From the moment I heard about PJ's Autism diagnosis, I assumed I would take on the Mama Bear role. Want to suggest he can't do something? Want to try and keep him from services he deserves? Want to exclude him? I would be fighting it with claws out and bear strength. And I won't lie- sometimes being a Bear is fucking hard. When PJ was first diagnosed, I had so much to learn about the hats I would wear. One example was learning that gathering him up in my arms when he …

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Second grade is in the books for my Boy, and now that it is August, third grade is just around the bend. This was a profoundly difficult year for all of us, as we struggled with growing pains and loss. Pete and I can try to use all of the tools we have as "typically-developed adults" to try and grapple with what this year has thrown at us and even with that advantage, we usually fail spectacularly.

PJ, however, does not have that advantage. While he has all of the feelings, fears, hopes and needs of a typically-developing 8 year old, Autism has left him without the tools to properly convey those things. There are a million amazing things about our Boy that float to the top for the people who know and love him but often, his difficulties negate those things to people unable to see differently.

Let me say this: we are not trying to gild a lily here. The things that make life hard for PJ can, in turn, make things hard for the people around him. PJ can be aggressive, and it'…

Of which we do not speak...

A little over six months ago, I lost my father.

This is not going to be a post about that, because I am not there yet. In fact, I don't know where I am most of the time. My grief feels like something pretend, something that isn't real yet.
From moment to moment, I catch myself feeling normal. I am in the middle of making PJ breakfast or fighting traffic to get to work and the world feels as it should, which means my father is in it. But then, triggered by nothing more than one breath to the next, I remember.

When that happens, my grief turns to cement, literally weighed down inside of me. I can talk about how much PJ reminds me of my dad when he's doing his math homework. I could talk about how much he would have loved the Eagles Super Bowl win. I can talk about how much he loved science, even though in the end, science is what took him from us sooner than his cancer may have. I can say these things with light in my voice, with love in my thoughts.

The kicker is that I kn…

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