I have heard that term so many times. We live in a "fallen world." Death and sickness and heart-break because of sin. I know. I get it. But all the times I've heard it and thought it, it was about someone else. Someone else's child or spouse or situation. This time it's mine. My son. My son with the genius IQ who can't effectively communicate how he feels about some of the simplest things without falling apart. The one who has tics and repetative moments because the stress pushes him over the edge to the point that it's the only way he can feel in control.
Liam's diagnosis two years ago was language processing delays with an anxiety disorder along with "ongoing risk for obsessive compulsive disorder." That risk is now being realized and I've had to come to terms with the fact that his behavior isn't a product of his inability to communicate like other eight year olds. His language processing issues are separate from his anxiety/OCD issues. He has two very distinct things to deal with.
I'm so angry. So so angry at this. I feel like I want to hit something or scream or do what I've been doing off and on the last day and a half - cry. It's not fair. He's starting to realize he's different. He knows when to hide things from other kids so they won't make fun of him, and the stress of bottling it up makes it worse. Two days ago in a fit of excitement he rattled off a sentence to me that made not one bit of sense; a litany of words totally unrelated to what he was trying to tell me and words totally unrelated to each other. It was something like, "Ball kitchen red boy go." He recovered quickly and said, "Oh, I mean..." but it was out there. And though it doesn't happen often, it has happened more than once before.
I feel like this latest assessment has sent me over the edge as far as hope for his future. I think he can be successful - with his IQ he can do pretty much anything he wants as long as he can keep the anxiety at bay while at school and, in the future, his workplace. But I worry about the future of his social life. His ability to be able to really know people. Our ability to finally feel like we really know him. I wonder if I'll ever really know him. And that kills me.
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4 comments:
You know? God has such wonderful things planned for you and for Liam. And while it's not the journey you would have chosen it's still a very worthwhile journey. I can't speak from experience, but I know that your concerns and fears are valid and totally expected and you have every right to be angry. However, when you exhaust yourself with all these feelings, just remember that there are great things planned for your family... great and WONDERFUL things planned...
I think I'm close to exhaustion. Or else it's just taking a different form. I'm ready to fight now. The school had better get it's act together and get this 504 taken care of and take care of Liam or there will be a big problem until they do.
I know Liam will be fine. But I guess I'm now accepting that Liam's version of "fine" and most people's is different. That took a few days to get used to. We'll survive :)
Praying for you, dear.
I always think about my brother when you write about Liam's challenges - different diagnosis, striking similarities.
Now (from my vantage point of extreme old age) I can say true-but-rather-unhelpful things like "Everybody's normal until you get to know them", and it's true - some people's differences are just more immediately obvious than others, but nobody's really okay.
This kind of thinking was NO HELP when I was an utterly mortified teenager with this f*ing genetic freak for a brother. Or when he used to get hit and teased at school, and kids got away with it because, frankly, the teachers didn't like him, and thought he probably deserved it.
His biggest social problems, though -loving not too wisely (HA! To say the least!) but too well - had nothing to do with his challenges, and probably something to do with our shared genes or history, since it was my biggest problem as well.
You know this, but I'll say again (because it's the best I've got) - my brother is happy in adulthood. He's gainfully employed, married, the author of 3 books, and has friendships that have lasted decades. All his challenges (brain injury showing up as speech impediment, hearing loss, seizure disorder, Asberger's-type behaviors and thought patterns) are still there. And he's fine.
(School's going to suck, though. Sorry.)
Stacie:
I am sorry you are struggling. I am sorry Liam is struggling. I'll pray for your family.
If you ever want to just meet at the park or at the coffee shop, give me a call. I am off on Tuesdays and Fridays and live 2 minutes away.
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