By Paula Kavolius
It’s been five days since Timmy began a new phase in his life - living in a residence and not with our family.
I am sitting here unable to move. I am sad beyond words. It’s not because I believe I have done the wrong thing. I am sad because I miss him beyond words. The house is so quiet without him and the wake he left can only be compared to a tsunami. Tears are falling on my keyboard as I write and I can barely see the keys. His clothes are scattered throughout the house, a sock in the living room, his shorts on his bedroom floor, his coats on the coat rack. All are a reminder that he is not here and every time I pick up one of his things, I am reminded that life has changed, perhaps forever.
How can a boy with so much love and laughter in his heart wreak such havoc? How can a boy with such a beautiful smile and love for life have such impulse control issues? I remember asking the neurologist one day, why can’t he talk?
He understands so much. She replied, when you can unlock speech, you will be awarded a Nobel Prize. I realized the magnitude of our challenge that day.
I sit here wondering how in the year 2010, we can’t figure out a way to control hair trigger responses, or angry outbursts, or why a child would bang their own head in frustration. I wonder why we don’t have a handbook for handling kids that have behavioral challenges. I mean one that works.
The truth is there are no playbooks for any kids and there never will be. The more we know, the less we know. Basically, we can’t control our children any more than we can control the sun and the rain. We can only learn to manage our lives around what life deals us.
What’s next? Faith teaches me that all will work out perfectly in His perfect plan.
I believe that, but it’s the walking part that is the hardest part. I know we have the ability to choose - love, joy, peace, compassion, trust, etc. – but what do you do when you don’t have the strength to choose? I guess you rest.
It dawned on me that our struggles mirror the struggles of so many others; a husband who puts his wife in a nursing home, a mother who buries her child, a father who puts his son in a rehab facility. All have varying levels of intensity and pain and duration but all are excruciatingly difficult.
My husband asked if I wanted to go to my middle son’s football game and I don’t want to do anything. I know I need to get moving, but it’s too hard. Everything is.
Maybe I’ll call the house where Timmy is staying and ask how he’s doing again.
Maybe he needs me. I think for now, I will look for my sock. Baby steps.