Ripping Off the Bandaid

The past few months in our home have been quite intense.  They have been surprising, painful, exhausting, wonderful, and so many more adjectives.  My special guy has been amazing.  The return to school was difficult, but he adjusted quickly.  His transition to full days, five days per week was remarkable.  Since the beginning of the school year, he has only had a handful of morning meltdowns-a stunning improvement.  In fact, he loves school so much, he actually will ask to go on Saturday's.  Not only this, but his love for his new sister has been such a pleasure to watch.  He will ask to kiss baby Chara.  He will say how sweet or how cute she is.  There never seemed to be a jealousy issue-perhaps confusion about where the little thing came from and how long she might stay, but not the crazy jealousy I was so afraid of. 

Then, therapy started.  The funding I had worked so hard to obtain came in, and we began his in-home therapy.  The first two months were easy.  It was the "data gathering" phase.  They followed him around our home, played whatever he wanted, and just worked to become his trusted friend.  As they "played" the therapists began to define his "maladaptive behaviors."  (I'm beginning to learn the clinical terms...)  In the past few weeks, they have defined these behaviors, and set in place areas to begin working on. 

For the past two and a half years, I've worked on figuring out how to stop melt downs.  I've learned the warning signs, and will stop in the middle of a sentence/action/activity to curb the coming storm.  Once a meltdown has started, I will use certain techniques to calm the situation.  In the past two weeks, therapy has seen the signs, looked them square in the face, and let them come.  They have things to accomplish, and their goal is not to calm him, but to help him learn to cope with stressors.  In the past two therapy sessions, we have seen two huge meltdowns-worse than I've seen in months.  After the second episode, I looked at his senior therapist and asked her if this was "normal" or expected.  She looked at me, as calm as could be, (reminded me of privacy laws), and said that they have seen this behavior before.  But, as momma, it is gut wrenching.  It's worse than taking off those nasty post-surgery bandaids.  I see him suffering, and I suffer with him.  I want to jump in and make it stop.  I want to protect him.  Unfortunately, though, all I'm doing is opening the "shell" for him.  Just as a baby chick has to open it's own shell to live, so must my son break open his own.  Now, this does not mean that I don't pay close attention to make sure he isn't pushed too far.  This, in no way, takes any responsibility away from me to watch over my son.  There is a process, though, that requires pain.  Just like I will never earn my first medal for finishing my first 10K without a lot of hard work (probably some tears, too...), so does he have to train for an even bigger event...life.  This is not just for a momentary pleasure like a medal, but this is so my sweet and amazing son can better function in his daily life for the rest of his life. 

It is humbling to watch him.  As difficult as it has been at times to be his momma, his work is SO much harder.  He has to learn to speak a language that is not his "mother tongue."  He has to learn to quiet his body when it wants to be "socially inappropriate."  He has to learn not to allow the overwhelming pressure of over-stimulation make him run.  This little boy is one of my heroes.  I'm so grateful the Lord chose me to be his momma.  I have this amazing gift running around my house, teaching me to cherish every single moment, and to never take anything for granted.