The "Julie" episodes

I've been a special needs Mom for 16 years and 6 months.  Life has bound and tied me to a world of emotional intensity that I never really imagined, planned for, or even knew existed.  My son is a darling boy, he fills every single day with love and sweetness, his gentle eyes and joyful smile just let you know that he is OK.

But here's the "thing".  I am only human.  I also have two other "normal" children, Sarah and Thomas.  Both of my children have had wonderful academic records, been involved in everything from brownies, to dance, to theater, to orchestra, to jazz band, to baseball, football, soccer, basketball....    And as they age and grow I proud just like other parents.   The thing is, I have this incredible appreciation for the fact that kids have the ability to speak, walk, sing, dance, laugh, and just be wonderfully independent.  My biggest problem emotionally is the "thing" or whatever name it can be called when suddenly I feel this overwhelming sense of absolute sadness.  It happens quite randomly.  I can't control it.  It is as if it is a release of suppressed feelings in the midst of "trying to be like every other parent".  But I'm not.

On June 10, a Tuesday evening, my husband and I attended the Newtown High school Marching Band meeting for parents and students.  Thomas is ONLY going into 8th grade but he is allowed to participate.  He is so excited, of course, being the blossoming talented musician that he is.  And as I sat there, listening and watching the kids, so full of excitement just from being together, it brought back memories of my own Marching Band experiences when I was a kid.  John and I were thumbing through the parent manual, feeling completely overwhelmed, but wanting to support Thomas.  

And then, it happened.  The "thing".  Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart started to pound.  I can't stop the tears, so I have to let them pour.  I try to hide and slouch down, but my husband keeps whispering "whats wrong?  are you OK?"   I wave him away and say "just give me a second".  Because I am thinking of Daniel.  Daniel who will never march in a band, sing a song, play a cello, or write a story.  Being inside the high school auditorium infused me with the sounds and sights that reminded me of the 4 years we spent watching our daughter perform and develop as a beautiful young lady.  Graduate, and go off to college where she is now thriving.   Daniel WOULD have been a senior next year.  He WOULD have been planning his future, applying to colleges, taking his SAT's and learning how to drive.

I am of the opinion that it is OK for us to have these moments of sadness because they are as real as breathing.  There is a certain amount of permanent loss that perpetuates as time and its events just passes Daniel by.

By the end of the band meeting, I had shifted my brain right back to Thomas where it belonged and met some other parents.  These parents don't know about Daniel, most of them, so its nice to just be one of the crowd.  When I start showing up pushing the wheelchair, people treat me differently and the kids stare.  It's not a bad "different", but any mother of a special needs child who is in a chair, on a feeding tube, and makes crazy weird noises can attest to feeling "different".

Sometimes I have had these episodes at dance recitals, watching plays, hearing concerts.  I believe that it is because I have a wish deep inside my inner soul to know what Daniel would have enjoyed doing, and what Daniel would have sounded like if I have never acquired this virus that caused his brain not to form.  He started out just like any other baby, until the CMV virus entered my body and his and changed the course of our lives forever.

Yesterday was June 12, 2014.  One of Daniel's classmates, who he has been with since he was three years old, "graduated" from the school system.  She is 21 and can no longer attend.  The school had a lovely ceremony and reception for her, her name is Emily.  It was a beautiful moment, profoundly happy and sad at the same time.  The slide show pulled up picture after picture of a group of kids in wheelchairs, Daniel included, and over time the group began to diminish.  9 months ago we lost our beloved classmate Ryan when he passed away unexpectedly.  Emily graduated, and now there is only Daniel and Lindsay.
I wasn't expecting to cry as much as I did, but the reality of what Daniel's limited life really is shows up in those slide shows.

I must conclude with something that will change the depressing nature of this post.  The love in that graduation ceremony yesterday was something that you could feel in the air.  There were tears in every single eye, and Emily's Mom is one of the most incredible special needs Mom's I have ever met.  It was a beautiful testimony to what these kids teach us, and show us.  It was a special ceremony to joyously celebrate the life of a child who has survived and thrived despite so many odds.  And her brave and dedicated family who have dealt with so many challenges.  

(THIS VIDEO IS A COLLAGE OF DANIEL THROUGH THE YEARS)

I have to have these episodes, its just in my nature.  It's just who I am.  And I never claim to be super woman who can endure this life with the strength of a giant.   I'm just Julie.  Failing and succeeding just like everyone else.  The difference with my life as opposed to other normal parents, is that I am "literally" keeping my son alive.  That is a role I have gladly accepted, even with all of the sacrifices that it brings.  I am entitled to a good cry.  It cleanses out those feelings.