Seeing Past the Tears

Twice in the last month, I've found myself crying - actually crying - in public.

I didn't hide my tears, either. That's something a bit new for me. I've always been taught to be strong. Hide the emotion. Hide the bad. Carry forward. Failure is not an option.

Besides, I didn't have time to address my feelings. I had children to house and feed. I had bills to pay and had two children on the Autism spectrum who needed every bit of parenting energy I could give them. So I stuffed those emotions down deep. And I moved forward.

So what brought it on these recent bouts of tears?
Was it the follow-up report from the doctors after my youngest's emergency surgery in December?
Was it my oldest's beautifully insane prom experience?
Was it the excellent IEP meeting last week?
Was it healing, as I reduce some of the toxic demands on my life, and focus on my health and my children?

I think it was all of the above -- and then some.

Am I ready to be hauled away to an asylum? Is it time for the pretty white jacket that reaches around back?

I suppose those answers are debatable. But more likely it's my response to the trauma of years as a special needs parent.

What? That sounds negative? Dramatic?

According to Dr. Astrid Herard, a pediatric psychiatrist at the University of Chicago, "it's not just single traumatic events that can trigger post-traumatic stress disorder. For parents of children with chronic diseases, the years ... can take a collective toll and produce similar symptoms."

Friends, parenting special needs children IS traumatic. The diagnoses may vary, but the reality remains.

A diagnosis is given. Behaviors are documented. Physical limitations are noted. Therapies are started. Prayers are said. Your world tilts. And...

Every time someone stares at your child in pity, or judgement,
Every time a stranger offers unsolicited parenting advice,
Every time a teacher questions your parenting ability,
Every time someone else's child does the age-appropriate thing,

Every time you look at the pile of hospital bills,
Every time you have to leave the playground early,
Every time you have to pack a bag (or wheelchair or stroller) of adaptive equipment,
Every time you have to refuse an invitation because your child won't be able to adapt to new surroundings,
Every time your child isn't invited,
Every time you hold them back for their safety,
Every time you have to explain a chew toy, or a weighted vest, or start buying refrigerator tubing in bulk at the hardware store,
Every time you celebrate a success at Therapy,
Every time someone says "Well he's so smart" or "He looks normal,"
Every time you sit down and prepare to negotiate through an IEP meeting,
Every time you look at the Bible open on your table,
Every time the babysitter quits,
Every time you write a letter of appeal for insurance benefits,
Every time someone says "I know how you feel" when they haven't got a clue,
Every time you see "The Art of War" beside your editions of Special Ed Law on the bookcase...
.... You're tucking away hurt and trauma.
 
And eventually, those pent-up feelings have to be released. A few triumphs in the face of long struggle can cause everything that's stuffed down deep to rise to the surface. Once the tears start falling, sometimes it's hard to stop them... even harder to sort through the emotions that accompany the tears. But it can be done. With honesty, rest, reflection, and prayer the old hurts and worries can finally be processed. And healing begins.

Does this mean the traumas go away? Unfortunately, no.

My tears are signaling a surge of hope, as I see milestones crossed, triumphs made, and goals expanded. My tears are also in thanksgiving, for a community that has rallied around my sons in a way that humbles and down-right amazes me. God has been so good to send us here.

But this is not the case for all special needs parents. Some children will always be in a wheelchair. Some will depart this earth much sooner than expected. Some will never utter a word, hear a sound, or take a step. Some parents will never have a community rally around them.

Raising children isn't easy, and all good parents work hard within their families. But, parents of special needs children have greater demands in their daily existence. It's that simple.
 
I beg of you, if you know a family with a special needs child, please pray for them. If you feel led: cook dinner for them,  mow their lawn. Give them a couple hours out of the house. Send them a card. Be gentle. Encourage them in good health. Listen, but do not preach. Theirs is an exhausting path to walk.

And should you be there when they cry, simply hand them a tissue, give them a hug. You don't have to say much. Your acceptance and love will help them heal.

Reference: http://www.chicagoparent.com/magazines/web-only/2010-january/parents-and-post-traumatic-stress-disorder

It's Not My Fault: I Heard It On The Radio...

After I dropped the boys off at school, I was listening to the radio and learned that today is 
Single Parents Appreciation Day. These are my candid thoughts. Reader, beware.

Single Parents Appreciation Day?
Quite frankly, who thought this was a good idea?
Raising awareness?
Just look around folks...  Single Moms and Dads are everywhere.
But you already knew that, so tell me again how this will "raise awareness?"

Single Parents Appreciation Day?
We don't need a special day in our honor.
We don't need another reason to spend money.
We don't need help just one day out of the year.
We don't need a reminder that our children don't have the benefit of two full-time parents.
We don't need a reminder of our children's pain.
We don't need a card.
We don't need a poem.
We can't afford a party or dinner out.

What we need is a nap.
And someone to clean the house.
We need our churches to lift us up.
We need family members to encourage us.
We need our government to see our financial burdens and help us collect child support.
We need school teachers who accept our best efforts and do not marginalize our children's abilities.
We need someone to mow the lawn.
We need a vacation.
We need prayer, miracles, and tangible help every single day of the year.

What? I sound bitter?
No, I am tired. I'm sick of the patronizing comments. I'm fed up with non-committal blather. "Call me if you need anything"... real friends show up at the door, they weren't called. "I don't know how you do it." Yes you do... It's a combination of sleeplessness, responsibility, and sacrifice. What you really meant was: "I'm glad it's not me."

Unless you've personally been there, you will not get it. Being "a child of" a single parent or having a spouse who "travels a lot" -- doesn't count. Don't tell me it does. You can't get it. I couldn't until I was one. And I certainly don't wish it on you.

(Trust me, I know of what I speak. I was a good military wife while being a parent, and my "husband away" trumps yours ---military spouses excluded).

It boils down to this: Single parents either curl up in a ball in a corner and let the state or someone else take their children. OR, if you truly love your children, you parent them, you own it like a boss (at least outwardly) and do what needs to be done.

But wait, what about children showing their appreciation for their parents?
Really?  Every day, all parents should get appreciation.
But our society seems to have forgotten that idea.

So let me say this:
When my sons man-up and do chores, I get appreciation.
When they make do without, and don't complain, I get appreciation.
When they study hard in school, I get appreciation.
When they worry about me, I get appreciation.
When they say "I Love You, Mom," I get appreciation.
When they hug me, I get appreciation.

I'm already blessed with two parenting holidays to celebrate: Mother's Day and Father's Day.
So, thanks for the sentiment, I'm sure it was well-intentioned, but I don't need a third parenting "holiday." I don't have the time, energy, or money to celebrate it.

Reflections on a Band Parent's Rookie Year

The only mementos of my high school band years are an old letterman's jacket, a baton, and some yearbook pictures. Somewhere along the way, I got rid of my rifles and flag pole, but the memories -- they remain. I loved it all: the sweat, the tears, the losses, and the triumphs. But time marches on, and in this chapter of my life, I'm a high school band Parent. If life unfolds as expected, I'll be one for four more years.

I really thought I had a good handle on things, certainly knew why I wanted my sons to be in marching band, but I didn't realize how much I would learn in my Rookie Year as a band parent.

* I can never say "Thank You" enough to my own parents. They were there to drop me off and pick me up, at all hours. They encouraged me, they sent in money they didn't have, let me go to band camps to refine my skills, made me practice for hours, sat in cold bleachers and under a hot sun... simply and profoundly, just because they loved me. I took this for granted as a child, now it humbles me.

* This isn't your Mama's band. Gone are the days when students packed a sack lunch, loaded equipment on school buses and went off to competitions. Bands roll with 18-wheelers hauling equipment, and parents hauling trailers. Shows are now full-fledged productions with giant backdrops and assorted props. Parents are setting up tents, generators, and grills at competitions to feed children. They haul countless coolers of bottled water and gatorade. They set up satellite tv so the band dads (eh, everyone watches) can watch football scores between performances. We're a mini hard-ware store: hammers and wrenches, duct tape, bungee cords, and velcro. "Do we have more zip ties?" 

* Don't be afraid of the rookie mistake. Understand it, embrace it -- You're a rookie and there's a lot to learn. When you have to work the concession stand the first time, volunteer to be a runner, don't go straight to grilling. Ladies, forget fashion, dress comfortable at the competitions. Pack an extra jacket. If you're wondering "How can I help?"  don't be shy. Pitch in, and keep pitching in. Pick up trash, run errands, and learn. Let the other parents know you care and are going to be around a while... they will really appreciate your help because we need more parents involved. Bands can not function without a good band boosters program! This year - rookie, next year - grilling.

* I never realized how much my band director did for me. I didn't realize it when I was in school, but band directors are truly a very special breed of teacher. Who among us but the most devoted would take a couple hundred teenagers and teach them how to achieve a goal greater than themselves? Who would give up their weekends, summer evenings, and family time so they can teach our children how to bring out their best efforts? Who does not give up, even when students want to give up on themselves? Who helps us teach responsibility and hard work ethic to our children? Who is self-less enough to put up with the assorted concerns of the parents of a couple hundred teenagers? Go tell your band director "thank you"... then do it again.

* You're not the only one. You're not the only strict parent. You're not the only parent who still teaches values and morals. You're not the only parent who cares about your children. You're not the only parent who worries about their children. You're not the only parent who is proud of your child. You're not the only parent who wonders how they're going to pay for things. You're not the only one worried about sending them far away for camp. You're not the only parent who wants something better for their child. And for some of us: You're not the only single parent... It takes a little time, but as you meet other band parents, you find out: You're not the only one, and you're not alone.

* God is alive and at work in all of our children. They might not even realize it, but every day our children demonstrate His love in their actions. They demonstrate His love when they help a younger band student learn how to fold their jacket, when they give pep-talks and encouragement. His grace is apparent when they defend one another, speaking up for those who can not speak up for themselves. They demonstrate His care when they give of themselves. When their band-mate is thirsty, they give them drink. ("Did you get some water?") When they're hungry, they make sure they eat. ("My mom sent pop-tarts, who wants some?") God's unity is alive when students gather to pray before performance, and when they give thanks afterwards. 

In these band students, and their families, I see displays of God's love everyday. Unexpectedly, but powerfully, my rookie year has been a lesson in hope!