The minute after I laid my darling son down for a nap after therapy I started a week long obsession with researching any and every piece of information that I could get my grubby little hands on. I went on a week long journey of information overload that was unrivaled by anything else I had ever been interested in in my lifetime. I wanted to know every possible facet of what was going on. I believed the more informed I was, the better off I would be. I was the picture next to the dictionary definition of “obsessed”.
I came across a type of language disorder that I felt most identified with the rigidity that she was speaking of. Pragmatic Language Impairment. I researched it until there was no more. I read the entire internet library on the subject. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop feeling as though it changed things in some way. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt as though the entire dynamic of our family had changed overnight. It was a dark and lonely feeling and the first time I had felt like that in many years.
You see, when you have a child, the world of possibility opens up like a delicate flower. The dreams you never fulfilled, the ideas you never got off the ground, the songs you never sang and the sports you never played all of the sudden open back up to you in such a new and wonderful way. And in that week my delicate flower wilted. It didn’t die but it wilted, just a little. My dreams of limitless potential dimmed just a bit. I was going to reignite them with research.
I drove my poor husband insane. I went to him every ten minutes with a new piece of information, clinical terms, inspirational stories from blogs. The poor man. I could tell that as much as he was trying to be supportive to my process, he just was reaching his personal limit of it. He wanted to be positive, to wait and see what happened organically. He didn’t want to be bombarded with information every fifteen minutes. But as a good man does, he listened and he nodded throughout a weeks worth of interruption and full blown obsession. That’s why I love him. I like to think I am the glue that holds this family together but really, it is him. I am the metaphorical reeds the teach him to blow with the heavy winds as not to break like the oak and to go with what life gives you unquestioningly but sometimes, in life, you need the oak tree. You need the tree to stand tall and firm as you bend with life’s whims.
Here is the very reason that I decided to start this blog. Being an over-analytical soul, I decided it was thoroughly unfair to put all of this on my husband when he was doing his best to be the mighty oak. I felt my constant badgering him was like taking a tiny axe to a grand oak. Little by little, I was chipping away at his optimism, at his ability to see our son as a person, not a definition or diagnosis or acronym. I envied him but I understood. I understood that, to him, it didn’t matter. Jpeezy was still the same boy he had been a week ago. He still loved cars, Star Wars, and if he didn’t know the name for what he wanted he tricked you into going into the kitchen by telling you he “wanted wa-wa”. He was still our son.
I needed to understand that. I needed to take my left brain thinking of statistics and research and douse water on that fire. Nothing had changed. Not for me, not for him, and certainly not for my husband. It was still the same family with the same inside jokes and love of horror movies. We were still us. But I just had to realize that, and gratefully, I did. With the help of a wonderful man and happy little boy.
I'm just living minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day.