Sometimes Bud seems like a typical 2 year old. We talk about Darling as a second grader and then say, “Wow! Bud will be in school just like sissy in a couple years,” as if they will have similar experiences. We marvel, much to Darlings chagrin, at all his 2 year old adorableness. We ponder about college, or his future hobbies. Will he like sports? Will he be a sweet and respectful boyfriend? We muse about all the things typical parents do with their typical children.
Then, there are times were it is painfully obvious to me that Bud is not typical. It hurts and aches deep down into my soul. His future may be nothing like Darlings, yet here were are imagining the same opportunities for them both when we could just be setting us all up for heartbreak. This is why I must continually fight to stay in the here and now. Most of the time, I do. I am amazed by my beautiful smart boy. If I am being honest, there are dark moments. Moments where I envision that he will never speak or live independently. Right now, those moments scare me. I suppose if and when we get there, it would not be scary, it would just be our life, and my love for him would outshine all else.
Nonetheless, despite all the positivity and books I have read and therapy and supportive family and friends and a great blog like this with parents who face the same battles and a husband who lives the same life I do, in these dark moments I feel alone. Very alone. I have recently come to realize I must strengthen my faith if I am ever to get through this all. I read a book recently that reminded me that it is both human and natural to have one foot on a path of pain while still having the other firmly rooted in the hope and joy that only my Lord can bring. I pray for a heart that is able to embrace God’s will, stay in the present, be thankful, and celebrate each day. And when the path is too narrow and rocky and I fear I cannot do this, I must allow myself to be carried and always remember I am not alone. I am never alone.