It isn't always the easiest thing, being the parent of a disabled child. There are times that I think I may be the wrong person for the job. Today is one of those days.
Trying to clean up the house after the Christmas hub-bub and being sick for a week, I enlisted the aid of JA and he was not happy. Not one bit. I could see the anger sweep across his face. Some days are like that. They come unexpectedly without warning and, consequently, without preparation on my part.
Handing him his shoes resulted in them being thrown back at me. I tried to make light of it, keeping a smile on my face and coaxing him to do the same. One wrong turn on my part brought him right on top of me. It isn't anything a bag of ice can't cure, but the emotional injury seems to run so much deeper.
For some reason, JA ran outside and his brother locked the door behind him, hopefully giving him a little time to cool off. It didn't work. A chair came crashing through JA's bedroom window, the one that sat on the front porch with flowers in it. Not any more.
He is hurt now. Cuts on his toes from broken glass and his hand still aching from the act of hitting the chair against the wooden side of the window frame. I feel guilty thinking that it is his own fault.
I helped him walk in the house, dressed his wounds (not as bad as I had originally thought) and cried for him. His brother cleaned up the mess.
The thought occurs to me that, quite possibly, one day I could die as a result of one these angry fits, when he is older and stronger and I am older and more unsteady. Yet I still try to make things better for him now. To teach him and show him how much his actions hurt and to let him know that, while I am angry for what he has done, I still love him. It is that faint line of understanding that this life will not be like the next that keeps me going. I know that one day he will be able to articulate his emotions and frustrations instead of using force to deal with them. I know that one day he will not be encumbered with the things that bind him now.
Those are the days I long for. Those and the good days here, when he is my bright, shining child who beams love at every turn.
Until that time, I will do my best to understand the complications that cause these horrific moments. I will do my best to be the mom who loves him and not the mom who despises him because of something he cannot always help doing.
One day we will be together, conversing with our voices not our hands, gaining an intimate knowledge of each other that now eludes us, locking ourselves in a mother-child union that cannot be broken.
One day. I will wait.