Continuing the Journey

A lot has changed since the last time I posted. But, then, a lot of things have stayed the same. We are in a new town, both Brian and I have different jobs. Imma is in kindergarten. Lucy is a silly little diva--no, that's not new--that's the same. We are further down the road towards the journey toward "normalcy" whatever that means, but it's like following a map in another language, towards a place you don't believe in, and you don't even know where you left from. But that's okay. And this blog will now be dedicated to helping other parents understand that it is okay to be lost and scared and unsure, and sad, and angry. All of those things are okay! What's not okay is giving up, or giving in. I hope to be able to provide some resources and sentiment to other parents that are on the same road somewhere back where I came from. This blog will still be about my silly little girls, but I hope it will also be more than that. The most significant event of this last year is certainly the passing of my father. Nothing prepares you for that. Never. No matter how old you are or your parent is, no matter if they were sick for a long time, a short time, not at all, no one is prepared for that. In the seven months since I got that horrendous phone call, I've done a lot of thinking, a lot of reminising, and a lot of avoiding both of those things. When you no longer have a parent, you realize how important parents are and it becomes even more pressing to make sure that you are doing all you can to provide for your child. With that, for me, has come opportunity. God has given me many opportunities recently to share the story of our journey with other struggling parents. I've always felt that God would not have trusted me with Imma if He didn't know I was capable of handling all the struggles that came along with her. I now believe he has also entrusted a legacy within our family, a calling to help others in a similar situation. It was actually through another recent endeavor of mine that this all became clear to me. I recently opened an on-line boutique and through that site I met a woman who lives in North Carolina. At first, our transaction was much like all of the others. There was no reason for me or for her to mention to much about our families. But then, after many emails and texts about why Black Friday was slowing the site down to a crawl, she finally picked up the phone and called me. As we were talking about the purchase she was attempting to make, she mentioned her daugher is a child with special needs. I could hear the tension over the subject in her voice so I said, "So is mine." She was taken aback. She asked me about the nature of Imma's disability and, as always, I wasn't quite sure what to say since she technically doesn't have a "label." I explained she has a speech delay and that it's been suspected that she might be autistic or have a sensory integration disorder. This was the beginning of a very poignant conversation between myself and another mother who really needed someone to assure her that, though the journey is unbelievably difficult, hope is always right ahead of us. The more I spoke to her, the more I remembered what it's like those first few months and years, when you alternate between feeling hopless and hopeful, angry and sad, denial and acceptance. The only true emotion that really stays with a parent in that situation, in my experience, is grief. Grief for the child that was lost. This is an extgremely difficult concept to understand and even more difficult to embrace, but it is essential to healing. We don't grieve out of inacceptance of the beautiful, amazing child we were given, but we still must grieve for the idea of the child we thought we would have. I didn't cry because I didn't love the Imma I have. I cried because the child I had always imagined was gone. But the beauty of His perfect plan is that this child, the one I have, is so much better than the one I thought I wanted. She is remarkable in ways I could have never imagined. She has taught me more about how the world works and how to look at things differently in five years than one can imagine. But this Imma is also complicated and difficult. She's frustrating and enigmatic. The Imma in my mind was always sweet and uncomplicated. She could speak and understand. That Imma would have been a piece of cake compared to this child next to me. But I wouldn't be the person I am today either. I would still be very niave about many things that she has opened my eyes to. I wouldn't trade my Imma for any other child in the world but it's still okay for me, as her mother, to be sad and angry and confused, as long as we keep plodding along. My new friend is in the process of reaching this understanding. Like all things, it takes time and research, and discussion. But mostly time. And she is not the only one. There are thoushands of parents struggling with the same issues. They are looking for reassurance, direction, resources, support. I believe it is my job to help those parents. I plan to do that through this blog and through whatever other doors God opens for me. And you can help. If you've read this far, clearly you have an interest in this topic as well. I'm looking for other people who want to share their stories, who have resources others can use. I'm looking for people with questions and people who need someone to talk to. If you can help in any of these areas, please leave a comment, send me an email, let me know. I certainly don't have all of the answers but I do know that if we put all of resources and collective thinking together, we will be able to help a lot of people's journey a little bit easier. Thank you for taking the time to read this enormous post! More to come, hopefully in smaller chunks! Happy Sunday!