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mad as a hornet February 22, 2012

Posted by caizooka in autism parenting.
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written 2/22/2012

I’m not sure exactly what it means to be as mad as a hornet. But, I am. It’s taken me a year and 2 months, but now I’m mad. All last year I spent being grateful and watching my son recovering, fighting, healing, and hurting. I was able to look to the positive and be so grateful to God for saving him. But, this past week, watching my baby’s body writing in pain, watching his soul hurt, his head bleed, it was like I was first beginning to understand the severity of this part of our shared journey. It makes me feel fragile and completely out of control. What this accident has taken out of us is completely inexplicable. It really hurts. I’m just a mom who has a son who was just doing something that he loved. He was playing baseball. I did everything possible to determine the right place for him to do this. At some point you just have to trust. I felt that the place that we chose was safe and a good place for him to advance himself and have a good time while doing it. My heart soared to see him happy doing what he loved to do. He loved it there. They loved him, too.

But, now, the world is so different. I make sounds when I cry that actually comfort me. My hurt shows. The pain that I feel has boiled over. This past week, for the first time, the word, ‘why’ has risen to my consciousness. I hadn’t thought of this before and it’s difficult to bear the introduction of such a seemingly simple 3 letter word into my world. But, it makes all the difference. It’s like the backdrop of the world around me has shifted from light to dark. My perspective on the world has changed. I don’t like this a bit. I don’t know how to accept it. I’m not used to having these feelings.

Anger doesn’t become me. It is not an endearing quality to anything or anyone. I’m so appalled that I have entered this state. For some reason, I am here and there is something to be learned. When I say that it took me a year and 2 months, I actually think that it’s taken me 41 years. I never got mad at my ex-husband when he never came home, flaunted affairs in front of me, left me and our young son. I just survived. I was upset and it was hard, but I shifted that energy into something positive. I knew that I had to make enough money to support myself and my son on my own. I did it. I didn’t complain. I actually enjoyed every minute that my son and I had, living on our own. We have a very special relationship because of it. I’ve always felt that God was with me, holding my hand, holding my heart through all of this. I know that He is here. There is no doubt. I know that it is He who is guiding me through this angry part of my journey. I need to let go and feel this. I’ll get through it. I will survive. I will thrive. I will help others because of it. It is what I was meant to do.

Yes, that day will come. But, right now I see red when I blink. ‘Why did this happen?’ ‘Why him?’ ‘Why me?’ Those questions have started a whole new line of questioning. I’m starting to question the why in things that have been in place for awhile. It makes me angry that I have to go through this process right now. I don’t want to. My heart hurts enough, but for some reason I’m being drawn through this. I feel accompanied by God. I know that I will come through this okay. I will show my children what it is like to shine through adversity. I will get there again. Right now I wince in the pain of it all. Trying to ingest any pain or discomfort that has been cast upon my children. They don’t deserve it. ‘Why?’ I always can find the feelings to justify the ‘why’ until now. I honestly have believed that we have been spared. Julian’s TBI could have been far worse. Oliver’s autism has become so much more manageable, whereas it could have gotten worse. Yes. I am so grateful and my heart is filled with joy for the blessings bestowed upon me. So, ‘WHY’ is there suddenly room for anger? For now, the answer is just ‘I don’t know’. Someday I will know, but right now I am feeling the need to submit to the feeling of anger.

Just after they discovered the brain bleed when Julian was still at Children’s ER, they whisked him into a special room and there were a dozen plus people attaching him to different machines, putting various IVs in different locations. There was so much commotion. I couldn’t see straight. Julian looked up at me and tears were flowing out of his eyes. He said, ‘Mama, why is this happening to me?’. My head and my heart often float back to that moment. The rest of the world is seemingly whirring out of control and all I can hear are those words and see the grief, panic, and fear in my son’s eyes. I still don’t have an answer for him. The world is still whirring out of control.