i was chatting with a couple girlfriends last night.  we were all three sharing the difficulties we’ve been going through.  it would appear that no one is immune from the dirtiness of life.  i am thankful for authentic, same-during-the-good-times-AND-bad-times friendships.  because being able to share the burdens…well, it just makes this life the tiniest bit easier.

and, sometimes, the tiniest bit is just enough.

of course the heavy heart things i was sharing last night have to do with spd and how it affects our entire family.  i’ve been struggling with some aspects of the spd diagnosis that don’t necessarily have to do with harrison, but more with jeremy and me.  after all, it’s our own quirks (aka genetics) that have contributed to harrison’s issues.  i don’t want to write about the particulars because, frankly, i don’t think it would be beneficial to do so.  just know that i recognize this mental struggle i have and i plan to seek some wise counsel about it.  i believe the therapy facility we’ve chosen offers counseling – in an effort to help the family as a whole.

and on that note, jeremy and i have an appointment this evening at five o’clock to hear the results of harrison’s evaluation.  both of us are prepared for what we might hear and are looking forward to getting started with therapy, but i’m sure there will still be tears.  there always are.

which leads me to the reason for this post.

last night, as i was talking about this current struggle i have, something harrison asked me the previous night popped into my head.  and i started explaining to my friends, “what did harrison say to me?  oh yeah…”  and then i remembered exactly what he said.  and then the tears came hard.  the kind of tears that make you stop breathing.  the kind of tears that make you scrunch up your eyes because the memory is so painful, so emotional, so rip-your-heart-out awful.  the kind of tears you hope you never have to cry.

as i was tucking harrison into bed the night before last, i was hugging him and he asked, “can we have a magic word for no hugs?”

he was asking for a way, a kind way, to let me know that he just doesn’t want to be hugged.

in that moment, when he asked, i was fine with it.  i stopped hugging him, asked him if a kiss was okay, gave him a kiss, and told him we could talk about a magic word in the morning.

but last night, as i was remembering the moment, my heart hurt (still hurts) so much!

my son doesn’t want me to hug him.

there’s no magic word for that.  

and here’s what i’ve realized about words.  they make things real.  or maybe it’s that they make you realize.

have you ever gone through something?  maybe something private?  maybe something painful?  and it’s okay that you are going through it.  your heart might hurt some, but you’re dealing with it.  but then…then…you dare to tell someone about it.  and the instant you do, you finally recognize the weight of the situation.  you realize the depth of the pain.  your words have given life to what was inside your heart and now you are wearing your heart on your sleeve.  you can’t hide it, stuff it, bury it, or ignore it anymore.  it’s real.

that’s what happened with me.  the second i began to speak the words out loud…the words harrison asked…i recognized the deep aching sadness i feel.

my heart is heavy today.  i might post yummy recipes or fun craft ideas on my blog, but that stuff is all surface.  sure, it makes our days around here a bit brighter, which is great, and i want to share those fun things with you.  but i wouldn’t be authentic if i didn’t share the dirt and the depth, too.

and, right now, this mama’s insides feel like they are being torn out.  and i am desperately longing for a magic word to make it all better.

so, thank you for letting me share my struggles.  thank you for helping to carry this burden and making this journey just the tiniest bit easier.  because, today, that tiny bit is just enough.

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