I don’t know if you had the chance to watch Parenthood Tuesday night. If you haven’t you should search the net for the series premier.
I had tears in my eyes as the initial diagnosis of Aspergers comes out. The absolute fear of the unknown. The absolute fear and devastation of parents finding the paved road ending, with the next step going onto a dirt road with unknown terrain and unknown destination; not even yet at the place where they come to terms that something’s “wrong” with their child.
Watching this, I couldn’t help but drift to the beginning of our journey. All the emotions that a parent has when they begin this path, all the emotions that no TV show could ever express completely, they all swelled within me.
I think about the day that Zach and I got Alex’s first diagnosis. Many say that you can’t forget your surroundings, your clothing, the smells that filled the (usually) small doctor’s office as someone describes exactly what you never thought could be. For me, it’s a fog. It’s as if I’m viewing the scene where the corners are blurred and only the words and actions can be seen.
Over and over and over it plays in my mind. Just a short clip. Just a few minutes of a conversation that changed our family forever. This replay comes often, much more than I can count…when doing random things through the house, having a conversation on the phone with a friend, when we’re laughing, when the day is more challenging that the day before; I think of this often.
We have come such a long way from that moment in October, 2003 when we were told our son had cerebral palsy. We’ve gone down into the depths of sorrow, where no person should ever travel, where no parent should be forced to be. We’ve gotten a number of diagnosis since then, the medical coding ‘list’ is quite long. We’re hardly in the light, yet we still know it’s there.
And still, I think of that day.
What about you? Do you have scenes that play over in your mind that have forever changed your life?
{ 8 comments }
I didn’t see it, but I will go look for it. I absolutely have scenes I play in my mind over and over. Several of them. All from the night of the accident. And then from the day of the MRI results. I’m sure we have some PTSD because of the accident and trauma, but I’m not exactly sure what to do about it – sometimes I think about them and sometimes I don’t.
I scenes that play over and over too. I’ll remember to DVR this show.
@Jenny~ I wouldn’t doubt for a minute that you have PTSD. What a horrific moment to relive, even if its in your mind….in our minds.
@Secret Mom Thoughts~ I’m hoping it’s a good show. Just found the season premier catching to say the least.
I cant imagine what you are experiencing and do hope the move closer to answers and researching a cure for Autism. I know the CDC just changed the statistic for the US from 1 in 150 to 1 in 110 so I hope insurance companies start being more helpful to families impacted by Autism. It effects more children than ALL of childhood cancers combined.
I have not heard of that show. Sounds like a very powerful episode, to say the least.
I sometimes relive the scene the night when I was 18 my Aunt Freda came in my room to wake me up to tell me my brother had been killed in a car crash a few hours ago.
I have recently given to childhod cancer and to cystic fibrosis, so next on my list is to autism and / or epilepsy.
xoxo
@Jannie Funster~Ahhh. Your recurring scene brings tears to my eyes. I can understand why this would keep coming back. Thanks for keeping both causes, all causes in your heart and mind! You are wonderful.
@JennyMac~ Yes, and some reports bring the numbers to 1 in 91. For the government to believe it’s not an epidemic and that 1 in 91 children, the number being higher in boys, all of a sudden have some random gene defect is unfathomable. Thanks for stopping by!
Hey! I had to come back. This above comment of mine I’d left you has popped into my mind a few times over the past couple of days, thinking about how I just “dangled” it out here to you, then scooted away.
Thank you for your lovely response.
Patrick’s death is, of course, such a part of the fabric of my family’s life, as you can imagine. Almost like a rote memory, the details of it. It was a Friday night. The carpet was two-toned hi-lo yucky green. My dad had me and Mom on tranquilizers for the few days after, so the whole funeral and such is a lot of blur. Well, not knock-down drugged-out on tranquilizers, I’m saying. But you know what I mean. Dad went into fatherly “taking care” mode despite his own shock and grief at his “Right Hand Man” being called home to heaven too early. Patty was a “horse man”like dad. (I also have 2 older brothers, now almost 50 and 48 years old.) Pat was 15 months younger than I. I’m almost 46. Holy sh$%!
Anyway, don’t know if I’ve made my comment better or worse now. Better, I think.
Smiles a bit through a couple of tears. Scoots off again…
Oh, and as to your post more recently than this, since the thought is at the tip of my mind. And I’m in your comment box anyway… I was about 14th out of 15 players on my softball team, skillwise. Number 2 would’ve been a Major Gift!
I played only one season. But the uniforms were my shade of light blue — so all was not lost. 
xoxo
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