Funny how I wrote this lengthy blog entry only yesterday about Noah's summer, about all the new things he did, and all the triumphs he had. Last night, my sweet, lost little 12 year old boy cried in his bed as I snuggled with him. "What's wrong, Noah?" I asked. "I don't want to go to school." "But why?" His reply, "It's scared." "Noah, is school scary? Why?" And after some effort to draw him out, Noah said, "it's loud." "Noah, why don't you want to go to school? Because?" "It's loud and scary," he finally told me. This through his sniffles and tears, and while hugging his Lambchop puppet.
Do we kid ourselves when he goes to school without fuss, and doesn't seem to raise one while there? Is he working overtime to hold it together for us, and then just can't anymore? I cannot tell you the heartbreak of hearing this child of mine cry. He just seems so lost sometimes, working so hard to fit into our world, and then cracking a bit under all that pressure.
I wish he could tell us more. I wish he didn't seem so vulnerable. I wish I could go with him to school, smoothing over any rough spots, and making all better, like moms are supposed to do. And it's not that caring, effort-filled people aren't looking out for Noah during the day; they're just not mom.
All part of the journey, I suppose, but that doesn't take anything away from the pain and heartache of seeing Noah struggle, of wiping away his tears, of knowing how hard he works and how tired he gets. I cannot make Noah's fears disappear, any more than I can make my own vanish. Perhaps the best I can do is help wipe away the tears and let him know that mommy loves him.
1 comment:
Thanks for sharing. It is such an up and down ride, raising a child with special needs. You want to protect your kids so badly because they seem so vulnerable, but you have to be careful not to get too caught up in every bump along the way. Just keep loving.
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