Last year, I reached out to a fellow special needs mom. She has over 20 years of experience, different type of special needs, but an expert none the less. I poured my heart out to her. She patted me on the back, gave me some tissue, and sent me on my way. I haven’t heard from her again.
I think that is why I unconsciously stopped reaching out as much. When friends ask me how my monkey is doing, my first reaction is to say fine. He is fine. We are fine. Everything is good.
I don’t want to sound like a broken record. I don’t want to tell them that the monkey woke up in the middle of the night and I am running on 2 hours of sleep, again.
That he is having stomach problems and every time we take him to the doctor we are told to just keep him hydrated and that’s it. No answers.
That our medical bills are piling up.
That it is a juggling act trying to manage his therapists, school administrators, and physicians.
That his potty training isn’t going as well as we had hoped.
That we feel he is making more sounds, but still not talking.
That his anxiety is getting worse, and we worry about how he is going to be as he gets older.
That the change in weather affects his breathing and we have to constantly be on the look out to avoid hospital visits.
That simple things that others take for granted such as brushing his teeth or giving him medicine or cutting his hair are torture.
That changes in routine cause meltdowns and sometimes, I can’t control it.
That going to the hair salon, like this past weekend, and seeing a little four year old boy tell the stylist how he wants his hair cut causes me to have to go to the bathroom and control the tears.
That his MRI results showed no issues. And we have no more answers than before we went in.
That going to the grocery store sometimes turns into sensory overload and we leave with no groceries.
That dealing with the insurance feels like a full time job with the constant phone calls, emails, and loads of paperwork.
But then there are days like yesterday. Where I walk into my office, and on my desk, there is a charm bracelet. With an autism heart. A ‘just because’ gift from my friend.
Just because she was thinking about my family.
Just because she had us in mind.
Just because she wanted me to know she may not be in my shoes, but she is there for me.
Just because she was thinking about my monkey.
I don’t need to be telling everyone my daily struggles. They see it. They see me. They see him.
We are not alone.
My just because bracelet. 🙂