When Love Just Isn't Enough

It is with an extremely heavy heart that I have finally accepted that our family will be leaving Beaver County this summer. Eric expressed his desire to leave about a month ago and, until this week, I absolutely refused. Even telling him that if he wants to move out of minersville, he should look for a 1 bedroom because he'll be going by himself. Lol. It took some time but I have absolutely fallen in love with this community. I didn't particularly want to move here in the first place but, to my surprise, we have been so incredibly blessed by this community and all the wonderful friends we have made. You've all made me feel so at home. There are no words that could possibly express the depth of my gratitude for the way people, some complete strangers, went out of their way and insisted on helping my family during the most difficult time in my life. I don't know that I would have survived the last few months in any other community and I will never stop thanking God for the goodness of people here. I've envisioned raising our children and growing old with my best friend in this little town but I suppose God had other plans. 

I don't think Eric had any idea that coming home would be as painful for him as it has been. He loves this area but there are so many painful memories that he just can't escape. 

Kelson loves school and has made so many kind, wonderful friends that we will always cherish. 

Beaver county has so many wonderful things to offer, unfortunately psychiatric help just isn't one of them. 

Eric and Kelson are two of the most incredibly inspiring and influential people in my life. It's no secret that they both struggle with severe mental health conditions. No one deserves the best available treatment for these conditions more than my boys. So we will go where quality mental health services and plenty of actual psychiatrists are available to ensure that they are able to live the lives they deserve. 

I've always said that Kelson is destined for greatness but I have finally come to accept that our love is not enough to ensure he meets his potential. 

Eric truly inspires me. I didn't think it was possible but in watching him accept, educate himself, and fight his mental illness.... I've fallen more in love with him every day. He is capable of accomplishing anything and I look forward to being by his side as he becomes the best version of himself. 

The Solomon's will heading north, closer to the University of Utah, once the school year is over. I'm scared and sad but I am choosing to trust in God.... 

Building A Man: My Letter To Our Future.

To my adult son, Kelson;

A few years ago I fell in love with a single sentence that Frederick Douglas shared with the world,

"It is easier to build strong children that to repair broken men."

Since the day I read those words, I have viewed our lives as a construction site. I found his views powerfully insightful. It wasn't until recently that I found myself wondering if Mr. Douglas had any children of his own. The older you get, the more irony I find in a sentence that dares house the word "easier" and "children." Being a mother seems to become more complex with every passing minute.

Right now, when I look at you, I see a vibrant, bouncy little boy. You are only 7 years old with your whole life ahead of you. At times I have to fight the urge to grab a hold of you and hum lullabies while rocking you in my arms. I want to beg you to embrace your childhood, to enjoy the sweetness of innocence. I suppose every mother is faced with the inevitable realization that their sons won't be little boys forever. I can't fight nature forever and my denial has proven to be an injustice to both of us. You are becoming an individual. Every day you grow a little more. The child that I have spent the last 7 years falling in love with over and over again is slipping away.

At times I don't recognize you. You have developed your own ideas and your own theories about this world and how you think it should operate. You are still beautiful. You are still creative. Your intelligent imagination still leaves me speechless. Maybe it is because I have been in awe of the intimidating wisdom, far beyond your years, that I stopped being your mother. I stopped trying to teach you because I felt unqualified. Somehow I forgot that you still need me to guide you. We are still building the man this letter is addressed to.

In the midst of our busy lives, we have lost our way. I have allowed you to manipulate me, to use your emotions and my guilt to your advantage. Truthfully, it is impressive (in a dysfunctional way) how well you read my emotions. You are meant for so much better than manipulations, temper-tantrums, excused mediocrity, and a disrespectful sense of entitlement. It is time that I allow you to grow, stop holding on to the memories of yesterday, and build the profoundly successful man that you are meant to be. 

If you are reading this, I hope that it means I did something right.

I hope. 

I hope that you're a man who values morals and genuine kindness. I hope you recognize that expecting people to be good and kind does not make us naive optimists, it makes you the light in a dark world. There will always be people in the world who do not love the way we do. Not everyone has a heart like yours. I hope that I have shown you compassion and that you have chosen to love those incapable of loving you back because they need it the most. I hope that you discovered the healing powers of forgiveness, much earlier in life than I did. Learning to love and pray for those cruelest to us is an invaluable life lesson and will prove to be a tremendous personal strength if you let it.

I hope you've gone through your entire life without ever feeling broken. I've known the painful confusion of being a broken child and have done everything within my power to protect you from such turmoil. You were never broken. I hope you've been able to see how autism changed everything. I pray that you know what a blessing your "disorder" has been. It took several years for me to fully understand the impact that autism has had on all of us. Autism has made everyone who loves you stronger. Autism made you different, yes. It did not make you less, it made you so much more. You are not weak. You are not lost. The miraculous little being that you are is a ray of warm sunlight in a bitterly cold world. 

I hope you've been able to understand that not everything is as black and white as it sometimes seems to you. There such profound beauty in the gray areas of reality and it was be such a shame for you to miss the unseen brilliance one can experience when society's ideas of right and wrong are abandoned. 

I hope that life has brought you answers to all the questions you have about our heavenly father. I pray that you understand the realness of our lord and that you allow him to guide you. Since the moment you came in to this world, I knew that he had immaculate plans for you. Do not ignore his blessings. Do not take his blessings for granted.


I hope that you have taken the time to appreciate Eric. He loves you more than you will ever know. Even when you didn't want to, he made sure to take the time to show you the majestic healing powers found only in nature. If you don't already, someday you will see that the time you spent exploring this beautiful earth with him has become a profound piece of the person you are. He taught you about life and death, love and pain, and you learned to see the beauty that surrounds you in the time you spent with him... all without realizing it. Cherish memories of hunting and fishing trips because, someday, all you'll be left with is memories of your parents.

As a child, there have been many times that it felt like you were incapable of loving us, no matter how much we loved you. I know that you love him. I understand that it was difficult for you to express it as a child but, if you haven't already, find a way to now because the sincerity behind his love and devotion to you is a rare gem in this world. Always be grateful for those who loved you through thick and thin.... the way that I am grateful for you. Don't waste time counting your blessings but don't miss opportunities to appreciate them either. 

Perhaps there is a chance that all my hopes and dreams for your life haven't come true. It is no secret that I have failed as a mother time and time again. I know that I have failed you and I am so very sorry for any pain those failures may have inflicted. But if your life, as my child, has taught you only one thing.... I pray that you have learned to be a man who values honesty with ones self; a man that knows the only true failure in life is becoming a victim of circumstance. I hope that I have shown you that admitting our mistakes, learning to get up when we have fallen, embracing our weaknesses, forgiving ourselves, and continuously seeking personal growth is key to living up to our potential. 

Turning Point.
You probably won't remember what happened... But I will never forget.
I am not sure how it began but Friday, while I was driving you and your sister to your dad's house, you and I began to argue. We fought for nearly 2 hours in the car. It wasn't until after I was alone that I had time to reflect on what happened. We were cruel to each other. We went back and forth, saying things to intentionally hurt one another. I couldn't understand how you could be so angry with me or where you learned to speak that way. Lately you have been incredibly disrespectful but, instead of addressing the behavior the way a mother should, I have made one excuse after another for you.

This must end now.

Someday you will understand. It may seem unfair, but someday you will see why I have to change the way our family run. I no longer can be your best friend, your protector at all times, and your enabler. If I continue to excuse your behavior because of your autism diagnosis, I will only teach you to be a victim of your disorder. We can't allow that. You are too precious.

I can not allow myself to feel guilt for your autism, your childhood, or time spent taking care of myself. It isn't your fault that you have autism.... But it is not my fault either. I won't be punished, by you or myself, anymore. I am teaching you that self-abuse is acceptable. It is not. 

I will hold high expectations for every aspect of your life. And when you fail, when you disappoint me (and you will, we all do)... I will not doubt myself. I will not feel guilt or wonder if I expected too much. Never again will you be congratulated for being "good enough".... Autism isn't going to be our scapegoat anymore. You will be held at a higher standard socially, morally, and academically. You will not be a victim of your circumstances. Together, we will learn to help prosper in a world that doesn't understand autism. We will successfully defy the odds. We will ignore statistics.  Autism has blessed you with a beautiful mind and we will not let it go to waste. 

Things will be much different in our home. Our relationship will not be what it once was... What it never should have been. 

I am your mother and, until the end of time, I will fight for you.... But not against or with you anymore. 

I was a child myself when God sent you here to save me. We've grown up together. You have been an
unimaginable source of strength in my darkest hours. 

It is my turn to save you, to teach you, and to steer you down a path that will lead you to a lifetime of success. 

In 20 years, the man that will read this letter will be a strong, kind, successful human who has contributed great things to our world. 

I love you to the moon and back. 

Love,

Your Mommy 

P.S. You will always be my baby. 

Saving Him.

It has taken over a year and a daily conscious effort to rid my heart of the anger and hatred I feel towards autism. I like to believe that I've accepted that autism. With the help and support of his school, my wonderful husband, our incredible friends, and our community Kelson has made magnificent progress this year. But still, there have been many days in the last few months that I have felt completely defeated by my son's disorder. There are moments when it feels like autism is robbing me of my son. The pain that comes with those moments is intense and indescribable but even when I'm feeling defeated, I refuse to allow myself to feel hopeless. I won't give up. 

I should have taken Kelson to an autism specialist years ago but I was just too weak. I am terrified of the way that it hurts to talk about his condition, as if it means he is damaged. Today's 3+ hour visit hurt. It hurt so much more than I could have ever predicted. The doctor and his staff are wonderful, compassionate, and knowledgeable people but listening to the details of Kelson's disorder and how, if Kelson doesn't get more intensive treatment now, his autism symptoms will most definitely progress as he gets older, was the hardest thing I've ever had to sit through... I felt like a failure for not having sought help sooner. It had to be done. I owed this much to Kelson. 

In the most compassionate way, our doctor made sure that I am aware that, although we've developed a solid treatment and education plan that WILL help him cope and offer him the opportunity to live a happy healthy life... autism isn't going away... ever. I knew that but to hear the words out loud was unbearable. Time froze and I couldn't breath. 

Even though I am aware of the fact, hearing the words "There's no cure" from the doctor you're trusting with your baby, sounds like "We can't save him." That's all I could think as I sat there trying to breath again. We're getting more help but no one is coming to save Kelson from autism. That's a fact I'm going to have to come to terms with. I'm grateful and confident that we now have an entire team of doctors  and other professionals that are determined to help us. I will do whatever it takes to help my boy and I have faith that we're going to work it out. Today, I am just really sad. I'm going to let myself be sad today. Because I know that at this point in my life, I am the strongest I have ever been. I'm still working every day to be the mom he's deserves. I wont hate autism because it is a part of my boy but I will fight it tooth and nail to ensure that Kelson lives the life he deserves. It doesn't feel like it today, but I do know that everything will be ok. 

Autism Ain't Got Nothing On My Kind of Crazy

So… As I was sitting here, drinking my fourth cup of coffee, and trying to prioritize my lengthy list of things that I think I need to achieve today… I burst out in absolutely crazed laughter. Although insane and irrational, I thought I would share my (now) hilarious morning. 

Last night, I was angry at my husband. I stayed up until 2 am being mad. I was mad that he doesn’t “appreciate” me. He doesn’t appreciate the hours of work that I have put into our disgustingly organized and color-coded meal plans, budgets, and schedule. I was furious that he didn’t care about how I’ve tried to organize the housework so that I would get it all done and not be irritated when he wasn’t excited about spending his entire day off deep cleaning or food-prepping with me.

 Let’s get one thing straight, I’m a freaking crazy person with way too much time spent alone (or with very little adult interaction), thinking about ridiculous thing, making up problems. I’m aware of that. Sometimes I work on it, sometimes I just embrace the crazy. Today, I’m embracing the crazy. 

Since Eric obviously knew that I was angry, he let me sleep in this morning. I imagine he didn’t expect the reaction that he got. Wife fail. That’s all I can say. 

I woke up and looked at my phone. It was 8 am. I jumped out of bed, like I imagine spider monkeys jump from tree to tree in the jungle, and sprinted to Kelson’s bedroom. This morning was “Mom’s and Muffins” at school, and in a previous crazy outburst this week, I threw a huge fit and made a giant deal about his father driving 70 miles to be at “Dad’s and Donuts.” I lectured his father about priorities and how devastated Kelson would be if he didn’t have a dad there, if he couldn’t get a freaking donut. I have been accused of being dramatic a time or two in my life. This week has been a very dramatic week in the life of London for no apparent reason… just one of those weeks…. Today I’m just laughing and embracing the crazy. 

So anyways, Kelson was not in his room. I barked obscenities but basically, asked Eric where Kelson was. Naturally, being a good father and husband, Eric got Kelson dressed and on the bus this morning so that I could sleep in. Also naturally, he didn’t look at my highlighted, outlined detailed schedule that said I was to be at his school this morning for a stupid muffin at the book fair and a meeting with the special education teacher. I instantly burst out in completely ridiculous and over-dramatic tears. I sniffled (more like snorting tears but whatever), stomped, and raced about the house, trying to pull myself together and get to the school before class started because I was most certain that if I didn’t, Kelson would be forever traumatized. 

I jumped in the car, still screaming about everything that Eric has ever done wrong, and raced to the school. I was (and actually still am) a hot mess. Mascara and eyeliner smeared all over my face, yoga pants on backwards, greasy bed-head hair, dirty socks… it was bad. I drove like I was in a Nascar race to the elementary school. Right before I got there, I tried to pull it together. I wiped the tears away the best I could, licked my finger and rubbed the mascara streaks off my cheeks, and combed my bangs with my acrylic nails (like that really helped). I couldn’t possibly walk in the elementary school looking like the crazed woman that I was (or am). I burst into the kindergarten classroom and barked, “Where’s Kelson??”to his classmates. His little best friend told me that he was in the bathroom so I raced across the classroom and waited outside the bathroom. I tapped my foot, rolled my eyes, wanted to yell “Kelson! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE?”

Finally, my sweet little boy came bouncing out of the bathroom. I growled at him,

“Come one! Let’s go get you that Lego book at the Book Fair!”

He was so surprised that I was there. He didn’t even notice that I was mad (at nothing) and he raced to find the book that I had promised we’d get. He has always been my rock. He has always kept me grounded. He seems to know when I am spiraling into insanity and always has the perfect way of bringing me back to reality. He found his book and a book he wanted to get for Kaylee and then looked at me and said, 

“Thanks for coming to get this for me. Kaylee will love this one. You’re a good mom. You love us a lot, huh mom?”

I nodded. We stood in line and Kelson ate his muffin. 

Success. 

I went and had my meeting with the special education teacher. This week, she and his kindergarten teacher have just told me how well he has been doing. More importantly, they have told me how much they genuinely love him. After so many hard years, it has been unexpectedly difficult to accept that others love my children without condition and these two women really, really do. I am so grateful but to prevent another teary breakdown, I am going to continue. 

So I came home. Eric was (rightfully) still angry and probably very confused. He left in his truck and is off doing whatever men do in the mountains when crazy women push them away. 

God. He makes me crazy. He and these damn wonderful kids make me really crazy. Eric makes me want to be a better mother, a better wife, a better friend. I make myself crazy trying to be all he deserves. I can’t do anything half-way but there is a hilarious irony in the fact that I have been so angry that he doesn’t understand how all my to-do lists, constant chores, and post-it notes everywhere are really my way of being better for him, Kelson, Kaylee, and Grant. 

When really, they just want me to be happy… and probably a little calmer. Ha.

So anyways, I was just sitting here laughing at myself. There is no deep, divine message for this blog. Just a funny story about my insane emotions and unrealistic expectations I hold for myself. I might not always be the greatest wife but, even though he is angry now, Eric really does love me like no one has ever loved me. I’m a blessed woman, to say the least. Life would really all be meaningless without the chaos of my beautifully imperfect family. 

I’m a crazy person sometimes. And that’s ok. 

Because I’m a good mom. 

Kelson said so.

 

Kaylee and I are going ditch today’s To-Do list and go bake treats for the rest of the day. 

Have a wonderful Thursday friends! 

A Lesson About Good Friends.

Prepare for the understatement of the century: Motherhood is HARD! 

It is so hard. Whether you have one child or six children… it is a rough job. Days are consumed by feeding, protecting, cleaning, stressing, kissing, organizing, and most importantly teaching. Teaching is the rough part. I often struggle to find the words to answer life’s more difficult questions in a way that my children will understand. Sometimes there are no right answers. Motherhood is a learning process. Some days we fail but some days we get it right… Some days we get it really, really right.  Those are the moments we should all remember, the days we highlight and strive for. These aren’t the days that everything gets done, dishes clean, laundry washed… No. These are the days (or moments) that our morals, our kindness, and our love shine through in our children’s actions. Today is one of those days for a few mothers I know. 

Newcastle, Utah is a simple, small town full of extraordinary mothers. I quite often feel intimidated and inferior to them. Motherhood is not a competition but if it were, I wouldn’t stand a fighting chance. Just out of observation, I have learned so much from these astonishing women this year. I’m left humbled and eternally grateful.

We’ve been so blessed to live in this small town full of sweet little souls. With such natural grace, they have loved my boy unconditionally. The kindness of 2 little boys, in particular, has brought me to tears on more than one occasion this year. School is tough and kids can be so cruel… but not these kindergarteners. Everywhere we go, there is a little six year old hollering “HEY KELSON!” No one could ever possibly understand how I love hearing those little words coming from little mouths. They think Kelson is hilarious, witty, and they love him… autism, anxiety, tantrums and all… so I love them, with all of me. I solemnly believe that they are the product of divinely beautiful and strong mothers.

For a few weeks now, Kelson has been going on and on about his little friends at school that share their Legos with him on the bus. He obsesses so when I say that he went on and on about the Legos, I really mean it. Ha. He hadn’t been that excited about anything (unrelated to video games) in a very long time. I decided to buy some for him for Valentine’s Day. I brought home a box full of Spongebob Legos and his face lit up. He couldn’t wait to share them with his friends!

The next day, he took a little Spongebob figurine and a little Gary (the snail) in his backpack. He left for the bus 10 minutes early. He COULD NOT WAIT! I spent the day on cloud nine. I am so grateful for his little friends at school.  When he got off the bus, I was waiting by the front door. I couldn’t wait to hear about the games they played on the bus. As soon as I saw his face, I knew something had happened. He ran to his room and closed the door.

I gave him a little time and then went to talk to him. He explained to me that he had lost his little Spongebob and he just knew that he’d never see it again. He was so sure someone had taken it. My heart broke. I panicked, raced to my laptop, ordered another Spongebob figurine, and paid extra for faster delivery.

I have been anxiously waiting and waiting for the new little Spongebob. It came this afternoon.

Before I could even give it to him, Kelson came bouncing in the house this afternoon. He was so excited to tell me that one of his little friends found it and gave it to him today! He couldn’t stop smiling. It is amazing how something SO small could make this boy SO happy.

I chose to take this opportunity and talk to him about what wonderful friends he has. Life moves too quickly and we often take the good stuff for granted. This afternoon, the good stuff is all that matter.

Good friends.
We have such good friends.
Thank you babies.
Thank you for loving my boy as much as he loves you. 

God.

I learned at a very young age that love, more often than not, would only be given to me at a very steep price. A price that I have often felt was not worth paying. This lesson was spelled out to me as I sat in a church house, in the office of a church leader that held a position that I had spent my childhood admiring. I was in dire need of love and he explained to me that he, the church, and God would continue to love me as long as I could offer complete forgiveness and take responsibility for “my part” in a sexual attack against me and my innocence. I was 14 years old. I nodded my head, offered my repentance, and left the building an even more broken child than I was when I entered it.

Looking back, I see now that this misguided man must have truly wanted me to find peace and was probably offering the only advice that he believed would help me. I do not blame him, the church, my attacker, or anyone else for the 10 years that I spent struggling with my spirituality, morality, God, and love. These were just the acts of a man trying to make sense of the unnaturally evil acts of what he saw as a child of God. I am not angry anymore. I no longer feel hurt by these words of advice. It is complicated, like everything else in my story seems to be, and this is not the place or time to go into the details of that nightmare. This blog will not be about my childhood sexual abuse but today I realized that that was the moment that I decided that I had to face all of my most difficult challenges alone and that, maybe… just maybe, I didn’t even want to be “worthy” of God’s love or anyone else’s…. Maybe it would be easier to hate God instead.

Despite my relentless efforts to escape his love and all the expectations that I believed came along with it, God has found me in overwhelmingly powerful ways, on several different occasions since that day in the church house.

October 26, 2007.

I was 18 years old. God hit my like a train when Doctor Astle threw this gray infant on my chest. Everyone else faded into the background and all I could see was this boy, this miraculous little human that somehow my body created. Throughout the months of my pregnancy, I had heard the beating of his little heart through the machine at my doctor’s office but in that moment, it all became real. That heartbeat, the heart in that boy’s chest held my entire soul. God gave him to me because, whether I wanted to admit it or not, God loves me. He was gasping for air, clinging to life. He was everything, the most beautiful being I had ever laid eyes on. I had found it. I had found love, real unconditional love that NO ONE could take from me. I had never loved anything like I loved him and NO ONE ever loved me the way I already knew he did. It was a kind of love that not even fairytales could depict, a kind of love that could not even be dreamt of. After only a few short seconds, he was ripped from my arms and raced to the NICU and I was left broken without him. I knew that, from that moment on, I couldn’t live another second without him in my world. Our lives wouldn’t be easy. We would have to fight for everything good in our lives. I would stumble. I would struggle. I would fail. We would have to grow up together but we HAD to be together. He was MINE. He was God’s gift. He was God’s only way of saving me.

You should know, I guess, that this blog has been written in parts over the course of 3 weeks, so if it seems like I just threw paragraphs of random thoughts together, it is because I have. This blog somehow morphed from the story about my most recent "God encounter" into a final understanding of God's part in the most important events of my life. So many words have been written, deleted, and then re-written. These words have been scary to write, even scarier to allow myself to admit and feel. Perhaps this isn't a story to be shared with the world but in doing so, I feel that I am finally accepting and validating God’s presence, his role in the few right choices I’ve made, and finally allowing myself to move forward... Only in love.

Over the last few weeks, as I've allowed my heart to speak through a secret Word document on my laptop that I had told no one about, I've been terrified as I wondered how I was going to explain the years between Kelson's birth and the next time that God found me. Mothers are held to the highest standards and to openly admit on the World Wide Web that I failed my children over and over again is a terrifying and humbling idea.

They say that love is blind, but I tend to disagree. Real, pure, unconditional love is rewarded with clarity and peace. Bitterness, anger, fear, resentment, and hate on the other hand, come with complete and utter blindness.
In the bible it says, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.”

I've never been one to study scriptures but I find such solitude in this scripture because, although my mistakes are painful to admit, love prevails. Despite all of the wrong choices that I made, God still loved me. God continued to bless me and my children. I know that those who truly love me, will continue to love me. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am human. I am not perfect. I, obviously, have made mistakes. God is perfect. I am not supposed to be. I am only supposed to learn from my mistakes. It may take me longer than most but I am learning from them, every single day.

I can only hope that the first 4 years of Kelson’s life were the most difficult, that nothing will ever be as hard for him as those first few years were. He doesn’t remember. He sees me only as his mother. I never left him. To him, I was always there caring for him. The reality is, that I wasn’t. As I stated above, I do not believe that love is blind but I know, from experience that bitterness, anger, fear, resentment, and hate are. Fear controlled me for the first year of his life. Fear changed the person I was as I watched my infant child courageously undergo so many surgeries to correct the “defect” that I felt God had punished him with.

Fear quickly turned to anger, resentment, and hate over the second, third, and fourth year of his life. He saw his mommy. He knew that I would always be there for him but he didn’t understand the chaos that my hardened, angry heart was creating. There were so many priceless and precious moments that I missed in Kelson’s infancy and toddler years because, although I was there, I wasn’t present. My mind was consumed with anger and hurt instead. I will never get those moments back and perhaps that is my life’s greatest failure.

I wanted love. I wanted Kelson and I to be a part of a family. I was desperate for it but still, unwilling to comply with the inevitable conditions that love always seemed to come with. I spent years begging for love. I spent the same years fighting against love. When it all fell apart, I was always left alone to pick up the pieces. I numbed the pain of loneliness with distraction. Sometimes the distraction was substance abuse. Sometimes the distraction was focusing my energy on friendships with unhealthy people. I allowed myself to be abused by myself and the people who were supposed to love me. All in all, I spent so much of these years spiraling down into self-destruction. Don’t get me wrong here, I wanted to be a good mother. I just didn’t know how to be. I did try. I was simply surviving in a world that was too painful for my weak and immature heart. The one and only thing I was sure of was the love I had for my children. I always took care of them to best of my ability but I was always angry or hurt or numb. I wasn’t a mother that I would wish upon any child, especially my own. The details of my mistakes in love, life, and the pursuit of happiness are irrelevant. My children needed more. My children deserved better.

After a few years wasted, God found me again. I wasn’t looking for him, in fact I was still trying to escape his presence… but then, one day, out of the blue… there he was.

December 29th, 2011. 

Looking back, I don’t even recognize the girl that I was back then. I was an entirely different person than most of you know now. I was bitter. I was hateful. I was selfish. I lived carelessly and was only concerned with how I was going to escape my own emotions from day to day. I was out west of Enterprise, Utah, on an icy, old, familiar dirt road lying frozen, lifeless, empty, and scared on the tailgate of my truck when God showed up. It was the afternoon after the evening that my uncle took his own life. I was out there only to hide from my family as they mourned the loss of my uncle. I was far too selfish to be surrounded by the devastation. I couldn’t take it. I didn't deserve it... But God found me. God saved me.

God lit the dark sky with the most breathtaking sunset I had ever laid eyes on. God refilled my quickly draining heart. God brought a clarity that I didn’t know I was looking for. I had lost all sites of myself and my purpose… and then I was found. God guided me back to Utah and out of the self-destructing life that I was leading. God brought me to my husband. God gave me another son, and God gave me the strength to be the mother my children needed.

He was just in time. He must have known that I would be soon be faced with the heart-wrenching realization that my oldest child was different, therefore, that I HAD to be different. He must have known that the anger that I had held on to for so long would only further cloud my judgment and that not only would I continue to suffer, but my children would too. It has been difficult to admit… I spent years denying his very existence or only acknowledging his existence to use him as my emotional scape goat, to blame him for all the terrible things that had happened in my world. But here I am today, ready to admit that God gave me the strength to push forward… I didn’t deserve it. I suppose he knew my children did though. 

It has been two years since God saved me out on that dirt road. The last two years have been the most rewarding, love filled years of my entire life. I have God to thank for that. I have so much to be grateful for but somehow, I lost my way again. As many of you have read in previous blog posts, I have been consumed by resentment, anger, and absolute terror since the idea of autism was introduced into my life. It is safe to say that I have not been blessed with a “tough skin.” I think with my heart and find sentimental value, good and bad, in most things and situations. I over-process and over-think every decision that I make but am quick to say exactly what I am thinking and feeling at any given moment.

I have been so angry. I have felt like a wounded soldier in battle, left with no weapons to fend for myself or my autistic child. Anger and fear have taken over the last few months and I have entirely lost sight of what matters in life, of what is important.

January 24, 2014

Two weeks ago, I was at a breaking point. Anger exhausts the soul in a way that I hope no one I love ever experiences. I could feel myself losing complete control of my own emotions and knew that it was only a matter of time until I took this anger out on someone that I love. I knew I had to go.

I took Kelson and Kaylee to their dad’s house for the weekend. I packed up my car and my baby and I drove off into the sunset. And when I needed him most... God found me. God saved me again. I was on Interstate 15, reluctantly begging for his guidance, even though I knew I did not deserve it. God heard me. God saved me again.

I can’t save the world.

Once again, God brought absolute clarity in the midst of complete chaos. I have worked so hard for years to obtain an education so that later I can save people from themselves.

PAUSE! 

God told me to pause.

Never, in 4 years, have I considered leaving school, stopping my education for an undetermined amount of time… and just take care of my family. I’ve always had a plan. I took one semester off while I was pregnant but spent that semester obsessing over getting back to school… But God made it so clear to me that I HAD to temporarily stop pursuing my future career because I will never get this back. Never. Diplomas and degrees mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. This is my path. This is the life and these are the children that god gave me. This is NOT MY TIME, This is their childhood, the only one that they'll get. Mine was robbed from me after only 14 years but I will not let my pain take another second of their childhood away. College was where I found my self-worth. It was the only place that I had always felt that I knew what I was doing but not everything is about me. No piece of paper, no job, no amount of money is worth missing another moment. God wants me to be present in mind, body, and soul. So do my kids. They've missed me and I've missed so much of them.

Recently, I had the opportunity to spend some time with another autistic child. Looking into another child's eyes, basically a stranger, and falling so in love with him-therefore feeling all the pain and resentment I've been working to defeat all over again was my breaking point. I'm not broken. But I can't do this anymore.

PAUSE!

I have to stop pursuing the future and focus on the here and now. Too many things impact me emotionally but I do not have to go looking for pain. My heart is far too big to spend the rest of my life consumed by taking care of every suffering person I come across. I love too much. I've been blessed with that but it is also a curse. I can't spend the rest of my life angry. My job, my career, my life has to be about taking care of MY son, MY family, and MYSELF.

I can't save the world.

I'm tired of being angry. I’m tired of feeling hurt. I miss the simplicity of unconditional love.... And crayons scattered across my kitchen table. You all know how emotional this process has been for me. I've written about my anger. I've shared my heartache. I haven't written about how I've helped my child, because I haven't. I've put my own emotional process first and I've been failing him this entire school year. Kelson is so strong and so independent that he seems to take care of himself but he needs me. He needs his mom every single day, not because he is autistic but because he is a sweet, beautiful, and innocent boy that needs his mother to teach him how to love and be loved.

This is my blog about autism but autism isn't everything. God is everything. Kelson, Kaylee, Grant, and Eric are everything. They're mine… Given to me by God himself. Autism was introduced into my life by God. It may take a few more miracles but I will spend my life embracing God’s gifts rather than fighting his love. I can’t help but think back to the meeting in the church house 10 years ago. Maybe I’ll never understand why God allows terrible things to happen to good and innocent people but I like to believe that he spent my entire life preparing me to be Kelson’s mother. All of the terrible things that happened to me and all of the poor choices that I made led me here.

Aside from my children, God’s greatest blessing to me has been my husband. Last night, as I lay in his arms, I knew that I had to finish this blog so that I could finally let it all go. Eric has been my driving force through this autism thing. It has been a year since I posted my first blog on here and I can say, without a doubt that I would not have survived this year had it not been for my husband. He doesn’t understand autism any better than I do but he loves Kelson, Kaylee, Grant, and I more than I ever imagined possible. It isn’t fair that Kelson has autism but it is alright. Life isn’t fair but life is sweet. Kelson and I have finally found the family and the unconditional love that I spent our first years together searching for and as hard as it may be for me to admit (after years of denial), God is in our home. God is in every chuckle that barrels out of Kelson’s face. God is in Kaylee’s every twirl around the living room. God is in depths of Grant’s deep brown eyes. The unconditional, passionate love that Eric offers me daily is the little slice of heaven that God set aside for me.

Autism isn’t everything. Autism doesn’t define me or my child. I am not weak. I am not angry. I am not denial. I am the mother of 3 beautifully imperfect children. I am the mother of a child with autism spectrum disorder… and he is the best thing that ever happened to me. Our crazy, silly, chaotic, and beautifully uncomplicated life is my heaven. I no longer need to be distracted from reality and I have only God to thank for that. It is hard to know where we will end up but I am finally ready to put faith in God and allow him to guide us to where we belong.

Together we are already home.

It is time to let kids be kids and enjoy God's Glory. 

Strawberry Milk Moments: Raw Breakdown

Be prepared… This isn’t my typical positive, up-lifting post. Expect profanity. Expect the incomprehensible emotions of a mother feeling lost, angry, and scared for herself and her child. Expect to read the selfish thoughts and feelings about being the mother of a child with autism. Expect absolute honesty.  Judge if you may. I, quite frankly, don’t give a damn...

“You’re over-protective. You know that, right?”

I felt the heat of absolute fury rise from the pit of stomach until my cheeks were bright red and I was certain smoke would be pouring out of my ears at any second. That particular evening, the filter that usually tames my deeply hidden emotions was disintegrating quickly.

My fingers pounded against my laptop’s keyboard. For a second, I wondered if the “F” key would fly right off. I replied,

“I’m over sensitive… It still hurts.”

I needed her to know that I was still hurting in a way that I felt far too weak to explain to anyone else. Only she could understand me. We share a bloodline full of extra-large hearts and larger than life emotions. We share a lifetime of priceless childhood memories and lessons that only we find solitude in. There are some sad and lonely nights that only a glass of strawberry milk and the memories of innocent, care-free summers spent with my cousin, Carrie Mae, can get me through. She knows I’m crazy. She understands my crazy because she loves just as insanely unfiltered and unconditionally as I do. She understands that when I say “it still hurts” that it REALLY FUCKING HURTS! Still, every single day… it still REALLY hurts.

I continued, checking that CAPS LOCK was turned off to ensure that I didn’t appear as absolutely insane as I felt…

“It still doesn’t seem fair. I hate autism. I hate it more than anything… ever.”

As you all know, I wasn’t smacked by surprise when I was told that my child was autistic. I knew. I’ve known. It has been apparent to me that something wasn’t “quite right” for years. 

Quickly she replied,

“Then say that.
Feel that.
Stop trying to be tough… hate the shit out of it.
And when you’re done hating it… It will take a new form.”

I rolled my eyes. She doesn’t get it. It will still be autism. My kid will still struggle every single day… no matter what I do or how much I love him. Nevertheless, she was the only human on the planet that I felt secure in sharing my insanity with, so I replied with paragraphs full of vulgar language, the only words I found appropriate for my raw, painfully admitted emotions.

Shamelessly, I begged,

“I just need someone to tell me how to take care of my baby. That’s all. No one does. No one will. No one knows, I guess.”

I pressed SEND and felt my body weaken. I slouched down, feeling lifeless, and melted into the cushions on my couch. I found myself lost in hopelessness. I was the weakest I have ever been.  I needed her more than I can remember ever needing anyone… She replied,

“You don’t need that.
No one on the planet is more equipped to deal with your child than you are.
I can guarantee you that.
God gave him to you….
Not to the psychologist.
Not to the behavioral doctors and special schools.
To you.
Don’t forget that.”

I felt the break. I don’t know if it was my heart, my soul, or the tough “dedicated, determined mother” front that I have been putting up for so long… but something broke and all I had to say was,

“I just don’t know why sometimes. I haven’t made it easy for him. I just feel trapped. Desperate to escape… but no where to go… No where to run. Like a lost little puppy.”

She knew. She could feel the desperations in my words as they appeared on her screen. She could see my terror. She knew exactly what I needed… and she offered the words of kindness and love that I was in dire need of hearing;

“Angel wings often come in the form of diplomas and experience.
And in the mean time…. Trust me… you are doing a fantastic job.
No one else could…..
I couldn’t. I know that for a fact.
That may sound fucked up, but I’m not built with that type of heart. I couldn’t do it.
I’m no where near strong enough.”

I poured my heart out. I literally felt it shooting straight out of my fingertips as I wrote to my cousin about all the fear, hurt, resentment, and absolute hatred I felt towards autism. It was humiliating, humbling, and rejuvenating all at the same time. I felt free. Someone knew. Maybe she didn’t understand but I told her… and someone finally knew that I am absolutely clueless about how to care for my child.

What She Didn’t Know

What she didn’t know was how I had spent the last week and a half consumed with the darkest sense of loneliness I could ever imagine. Kelson and Kaylee spent the week of Christmas at their dad’s house. The baby was sick. I spent day and night wandering this house, checking my phone, peeking out the windows of my home, desperate for the slightest sign of “family”… of stability… of unconditional love… I needed it. I was desperate for someone, anyone… to show up and love me through the holidays without any huge expectations in return. I just needed “family” to show up simply because they loved me and wanted to be around me. I needed someone to anticipate the fact that my heart would be aching for my children, to know that I may have little to offer in return, but love me enough to have a selfless desire to lighten my day and ease my pain. I wanted my babies home and I needed someone to tell me that I was alright… that I’d make it through the day and everything would be okay… that I, myself, was loved… but no one showed up.

The love I needed from someone outside of my home is (or was) nonexistent on Christmas day. Perhaps I am dramatic. Maybe holidays without Kelson and Kaylee will get easier… I can only hope. I am not used to feeling like I have an “empty nest.” I am a mother. It is my greatest accomplishment and although I have made my fair share of mistakes, it is the only thing I know I can do. I know these babies. I know and love every ounce of them. I know what is in their thoughts, dreams, prayers, and hearts. They are a piece of me. They are the best piece of me. I wanted them but I needed someone to understand why and how. The emptiness still lingers but I can move past that because I survived the day and all the family I need is within the walls of my home today. Christmas was a day of weakness and an intense pain that was all too new for me. The day was full of hurtful reminders of years full of wrong-doings but we won’t go all in to that...

A few days later, FINALLY, Kelson and Kaylee came home. We spent the day watching cartoons, giggling about silly things, talking about the magic of Christmas, and playing with all their new toys. My heart was coming back together. For a moment, everything felt right again.

The kids were exhausted. Kelson was a little off because school had been out for a while and he really struggles when his routine is thrown off. I don’t even remember how we got there but suddenly Kelson was spiraling into a rarely intense meltdown. He was hitting me. He was swinging his little fists as hard as he could at my face, my stomach, my back… All I could think was how I just wanted to hold his hands up to my face, rub them on cheeks, and kiss his little palms like I did when he was a baby. His lack of emotional control consumed his little body. He would never hurt anyone intentionally. He rarely hits anyone but himself… but he was at a breaking point that I should have seen coming. He screamed,

“YOU DON’T LOVE ME! You are not my REAL mother! I hate you! Get out of my room YOU… YOU…. YOU… DUMBY!”

Like a wounded dog, I scurried out of his room and listened as he screamed, releasing his frustration. I was numb. I sat on the floor outside his room, rocking back and forth a while helplessly listening to my baby lose all control. Grant cried and broke me out of the zombie-like state I was in. Eventually, Kelson calmed down and we went about our day as if nothing had happened at all.

It took a few days to catch up to me. He doesn’t mean what he says. He knows I am his mother. He doesn’t hate me. He knows I love him. Nonetheless, hearing my child scream from the bottom of his soul, “YOU DON’T LOVE ME!” may haunt me for the rest of my days.

Kelson’s behavioral and emotional being has improved so much over that last few months. Sometimes I feel like my baby is coming back to me… like he is coming home again. I’ve missed my care-free child and it tears me apart to watch as he stresses about concepts far too mature for his little imagination and sense of understanding. It isn’t fair. I know I say that all the time… it is all I can come up with. It just isn’t fair. He doesn’t deserve this. How desperately I wish I could just accept the fact that Kelson may never lead a “normal” life… I spend the late hours of the night and early hours of the morning obsessively worrying about Kelson’s future school days, friendships, and romantic relationships. Despite my obvious emotional instability with the subject, I will continue my relentless search for answers… for a solution. I will continue loving this sweet, beautiful boy with my entire heart. I wish I could escape my sadness for him, for us... I wish I could escape my unwarranted anger and hatred for autism spectrum disorder. But I can’t. I’m not ready. So I won’t until I am ready. I am going to take my cousin’s advice and “hate the shit out of it” until it takes a new form.

I HATE AUTISM MORE THAN I HAVE EVER HATED ANYTHING… EVER!

I want to stop my rant and take a moment to thank my dear cousin. Thank you for being the family and friend that I was so desperate for. Thank you for loving me, like only you can.

Things are getting better. Things will continue to get better… Things can ONLY get better.
God gave him to me.
But it still hurts.