A life that seems to mirror your own

I love Christmas! Not only because it is a joyous time of year with winter snow, sparkling lights, and gift giving, but I also just love the little extra reds and greens that are unevenly intertwined within my daily mail’s bulge of bills--the holiday cards. It’s so bittersweet, but my son only sees it as sweet!! As he should!

It’s a form of catching up, especially from people that I don’t call or visit as often as I would like (isn’t if funny how we say that: “as much as we’d like!”). Anyway, most of the cards that I receive (and give) are those with photos of their kids. To me, it’s a fun glimpse into their life—a little peek—and to see how much bigger and older their kids have grown. Some of these yearly cards I keep from year to year, and I have half a mind to show you a snapshot of that drawer of mine!! There is one family that I especially like to receive a card from; it’s always the same picture from year to year (same pose in front of their tree). This family is very unique because it’s the family of a friend whom I've known for over 20 years. We talk here and there, meet for dinner on occasion, and when we do meet up or talk, we know what to say and pretty much will pick up where we’ve left off—like time hasn’t passed.

The very last time we talked I was troubled. It was a month before Meghan was going off to her new school (July) and we had them over in June for a barbecue with their two kids. My friend and her husband were rubbing my shoulder and hugging me and offering me their support, encouragement and good friendship. But then again, this is what friends do, especially a friend of more than 20 years. But don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t the part of our visit that was troubling to me; the troubling part was how I noticed that her 4 year old daughter (a child that took years to conceive) was not developing the way that children her age should develop.

She was not responding to questions, she would not respond to direction, she would not play appropriately with toys, and she had trouble focusing on one activity at a time.

I didn’t know what to say as my friend and her husband sat next to me and looked at me like I was the only one needing consoling. I also knew that their older child had just been diagnosed with ADHD and Tourette syndrome, but the only thing I said about that subject was simply asking about his well-being and school. I wanted to let them offer me more… or better yet, I was hoping that they would. But no more came with their story.

I know for fact that her brother’s child has autism and now she has a child with ADHD (which I believe is on the spectrum) and now, again, from where I was sitting and observing, their daughter seemed much worse off than their son was at her age. She actually reminded me of Meghan when Meghan was 4, but I sucked that thought down with every gulp of my wine.

The most troubling part of this situation is that my friend (of more than 20 years) does not want to talk to me about her kids’ issues, especially since I know that her daughter has been in early intervention since she was three—but that is all she ever told me—even though I had gently prodded for more. I don’t think that she’s in denial about her children’s problems, but I think that she thinks that they will get better, unlike my situation. Then again, maybe that is a denial. And I have not taken this lack of divulging, or confiding, personally. I certainly know how tough it is dealing with two kids with issues, but, to me, that’s the point that I’m trying to make and to get through to her: The fact that I’ve been through it all, from diagnosis, to where and how to get therapeutic services, to advocating for kids on an IEP within a public school systems, and, if not most important, offer emotional support as someone who knows what she’s going through—as she already knows—and something that she and her husband have always been so willing to offer me.

I just don’t understand. How do you not utilize and appreciate the knowledge and experience of a friend who has been there?

The Power of Raising Special Kids

One day a friend told me that she was not materialistic. After sucking my left lung back in from laughing so hard, I said, facetiously, “Well, let’s see:

You have a 4-carrot diamond ring on your left hand because the 2-carrot one wasn’t big enough…
You drive a car that rhymes with “bummer…”
You know the staff at Coach "personally," as you do the customers (kiss, kiss left to right...)
You tell the world that you like, what’s that word: “Bling”

Mmmm, you’re right, can’t see why you would be? ;)”

She takes this personally. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with materialism; it means that you like “things” and if you can afford them, then lucky you. She’s a great mother and a generous friend, so who cares.

I bring this up because once a long time ago, I, too, liked “things” (and still do) but the only difference between me then and me now is that I'm not judging myself or competing with my neighbors, as I once did. I no longer care about having a Volvo in my driveway, or living in a Mcmansion. The change: my kids’ diagnosis.

It's very sobering to find out that your children have developmental problems and working to help them is all you can imagine “having” and “doing” in your life. I remember this feeling clearly, it was an eye opener and a relief, as strange as that sounds.

I was no longer that person who needed things to feel better about herself; instead, I needed to help my children live a functional life, and had a life’s work ahead of me. It wasn’t the fact that I no longer had time for the mere silliness of “keeping up with the Joneses,” as it were, but it was more of the fact that I started viewing it as silliness. Mind you, that before my kids’ diagnosis--and this life altering view, I was making it my life’s mission to move on and UP. This new revelation of mine also came with the loss of some of my friends; people who live in that idea of a “perfect world” or fantasy of one, no longer find YOU attractive. And YOU no longer find them attractive, either.

It was very liberating to lose these friends. I was no longer fighting with them for a place at the country club; but, instead, I was fighting for my children futures. A real dichotomy, now isn’t it?

The most liberating part of leaving behind this “past life” mentality was that I found myself on the luckier side of this dichotomy, like it was a belated gift of understanding what life was really about—and glad that I was wise enough to accept it. Because I will tell you, the other life has a powerful way of sucking you right in. But the power of special needs kids is so much stronger and richer, and I think happier, too.