My son will not touch play dough. He will not eat a piece of cake. He gags when he sees his milk container overflow. He vomits in the sand table at school because he cannot handle the texture. All of this…all of this….and still, he plays, paints and eats his own poop. I have nothing further to add today.
I often have a sense of impending doom often to no avail. I have had this most of my life, but could not qualify it until young adulthood. Yesterday, I had an epiphany–of what it might be like to know A2 for just 5 minutes…..5 minutes without his yoke. What A2 could have been like, but is not because I refused to take an antibiotic with bronchitis while pregnant, or didn’t eat organic meat or lived in the toxic dump of Nevada people call Las Vegas…..I came to this epiphany of what this situation might be like with an overwhelming sadness. I had never considered it before and I don’t know why 5 years into his life I considered it yesterday for the first time. The thought of what could have been is painful, not happy like you might think–he is such an amazing little guy–so happy and curious, talkative and friendly. He owns his fears and loves like I haven’t seen anyone love. I used to bombard myself with the idea that he wouldn’t be as exceptional if he hadn’t been born with that single palmar crease, bent pinky, faulty mitochondria or broken brain. These are the things that make him who he is. He is warmth and light at its best. Words and logic will kill the pure instinct of trust and love, just like it does for the rest of us. But alas, not so. When I think of A2 for 5 minutes speaking and acting like his friends, his potential overwhelms me–I see the pure love and joy and trust, but with a little boy who has friends and uses the toilet. He tells me with his words how much he loves me and his words tell a story not just his eyes and volume as he jargons and gestures as he gets in the car from school. I think this thought took me over the edge. I took a Xanax to help me sleep, forgetting that sometimes while it takes the choke hold off of my consciousness it releases and then smacks me in the face with a vengence in my sleep. I was bombarded by nightmares. Nightmares of people I know–I never dream of those I know….nightmares of being separated from my children….my children who need me….NEEEEEDD MMEEEE….children who have special foods they must eat or else they will get sick or starve, children, who, when lost can’t find the nearest grown up to tell them their name and where they lives and how to find me. Children who need diaper changes and hugs to stave off fears of the cord that hangs from the garage door opener. Children who use me as their communication device. Children who trust others so much that they jargon at them unfettered by concern that they are not understood. I won’t let anything happen to A2….not on purpose. But on these days, these days with my head bobbing slightly above the water—instinctively taking breaths instead of screaming for help, I realize that impending doom is here….whether A2 is lost or not.