Broken

Promises, that is. To my sweet angel.  The promise to write something every day. It was a bit unrealistic, clearly.

These days fly by. I think many thoughts about Dylan in the space of each day, sometimes cry, sometimes just smile. According to my pastor, he is now in a state of perpetual love and bliss and, bluntly stated, couldn't give a rat's backside as to whether we down here are sad. I don't mean to sound ugly; quite the opposite, actually. I never want him to feel as though he's missing out on anything wonderful ever again. 

Here on this lowly plane, we struggle. Lately it is Colin who requires so much care into the night. Over the past year we have trialed ADHD meds, joined social skills group therapy, been told he may be on the lower end of the Austism spectrum. We've had some success with the meds, offset by a decent degree of side effects. Tonight he was coughing and stretching his neck so much--a series of motor tics--that he couldn't get to sleep until I rubbed his back and asked him to picture his favorite places. This, after we struggled with homework through bouts of anxiety and tears. From both of us.

We don't yet know the full extent of Colin's challenges. He is like an onion, with many layers of sweetness, inattentiveness, anxiety, daydreaming, monents of stunning clarity, obsessive behavior, eagerness to please, humor that comes outta nowhere, and extreme sadness over his brother. And good old-fashioned kid manipulation. I know I am a target, with the guilt I carry around about failing to provide a healthy brother. Somewhere between my dangerously-close-to-enabling (but too accurate to ignore) suspicion that we're dealing with more disorders than one, and his dad's rampant suspicion that I'm being "played" a whole lot, lies the truth. I'm convinced it's in the middle which, incidentally, is his favorite place to sit. This child is so much different--and harder--than Dylan, in a way. Because with this boy, we have an influence on the outcome.

I've heard the thought stated a few times lately that we are not raising kids, we are creating future adults--which scares the Hell outta me. I need to wrap my head around how to get my child through this massive gauntlet of potential processing or learning disabilities, ADHD, PDD, or whatever, to other other side--an adult who exploits his strengths, has developed strategies around his weaknesses, and is wildly happy. 


And for that, I remember that it's no place for the weary kind. Even though I still feel broken.