The stoic, emotionally unavailable individual I used to be was so much easier, I almost wish I could go back. I don't know how Rex was able to steel himself while he took the job in Houston, but I do know he was never able to fully give himself back to me until the school year was over. Is that what you have to do if you are a foster parent or a counselor? I can only imagine psychiatrists go to their own therapists; I don't see how they could get through life without taking antidepressants themselves!
I wrote about how sad I was to learn of more divorces, more lost jobs, and more tough times of those around me. One day, a friend cried out on facebook how she yearned to be the family she saw through the window who sat down at the dinner table and talked and laughed together. Others agreed they wished they had that fairytale life too. And my heart ached for them, wishing almost as much as they did that they had it. She was the same friend who came over to visit so our kids could have a play date, and she couldn't help but pour out her troubles to me over the abusive relationship she'd just left. I listened, for that's all I could do, but my heart bled for her. I am not naturally demonstrative, and affection has always been hard for me to give; hugs are still awkward for me if they are not for my own husband and kids. I don't remember if I gave her the hug I'm sure she needed, but when she left, I needed one myself. I went straight to Rex and he held me while I cried for the next hour. Almost unbelievable for someone who, 10 years ago, didn't know how to cry. Didn't know how to feel. Didn't have the kind of heart that bled. And certainly not a heart that bled for others.
There's a woman down the street who is a single mom who works a 36-hour night shift as a nurse on the weekend. I've known her daughter had a developmental disability since they day I met her but she thought her daughter was simply delayed. In the last year, however, she's been been turning over and over in her mind what the school had the audacity to suggest: her daughter might have Aspergers or some other disorder. I know this upset her a lot and she refused to acknowledge it. For most people, this idea is offensive. Not MY child! But her struggles with her daughter have increased in frequency and intensity and she has not matured out of her behaviors. She has been saying to me since the beginning of this school year that she would call me or come over and talk with me about Aspergers. I am happy for her that she's willing to take the next step to help her daughter and I would love to share with her what I know and what I've experienced. But this is the sort of thing that I have to wait for her to come to me; I will not push any info on her, nor will I even insinuate that her daughter has an Autism Spectrum Disorder, or any other disorder either. She's on a precipice, barely able to come to terms with the fact that her daughter isn't "normal" after all. Of the stages of grief, I think she has just passed Denial and is teetering between Guilt and Depression. She's not at the acceptance stage yet, but I think she's getting there.
In the last few weeks, she has talked with me when we pick up our kids from school, sharing with me lots of issues and incidents. And with many of her stories, it's like deja vu, and I am struck with pangs of painful memories. It's not the time to swap stories. Just listen. Poor thing, I wish she didn't have to go through it. It's an awful and painful journey and the road ahead of her will get worse before it gets better. She called me a couple days ago, needing desperately to talk to someone. And she broke down crying, confessing all the horrible things she did and said because she was so angry and hopeless and confused. I thought I should run down the street and hug her, but again, that's like the hardest thing for me to do. So I sat there and listened, as tears streamed down my cheeks. All I can tell her is that I've been there too, I've done the same things, that even moms of "normal" children say and do such things but their children forgive them...and it does get better, but not yet.
I was glad she asked me for a list of resources, and she already called and made an appointment with someone from the ARC. This is something you should not endure solo as she has for so many years. My heart bleeds for her, even more than it bled for my other friend, because I've experienced her pain firsthand. Except I had Rex to hold me and tell me I wasn't a terrible mother. He kept me grounded when I wanted to run away like the woman in the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. (That scene of the children throwing up all over the place and her taking the money and running away is burned into my mind. It was such a piercingly honest scene, especially when I saw that movie during James' screaming years.) But she doesn't have a man to hold her when everything flies to pieces. Even her traditionalistic family members are against her, judging her to be a terrible mother for raising a behaviorally unacceptable child.
Like I've said before, it would be much easier not to feel this pain. But isn't this why we are here? To learn compassion? Isn't that what is at the heart of charity? Isn't that what we covenant to do as Christians? To be "willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; and comfort those that stand in need of comfort." (Mosiah 18:9) If we don't hurt, we cannot love. And I would rather go through the heartache I've experienced than to never feel their pain. I hate hurting with them, but I love that I can feel it. I have shed the numb shell with which I was raised and I can bleed and be real. (Unfortunately, without the shell, I am also subject to caring what others say and do to me, and it's scary to walk around without that protection.)
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