just thinking...

These thoughts come to me every once in a while, moments where I recognize the blessing of it all, in a crystal clear, powerfully vibrant explosion of truth.
This week Tadhg has had a cold, a nasty, coughing, runny nose thing, and through all the fussing and tears, he has had the words to tell me all about it. At first, it just adds to the stress of 4 sick kids, while I myself am not feeling too hot but then it comes back to me, taking my breath away, how life used to be for us. Living in the city, still in the beginning of figuring out what it all means to be a parent and a family with something different about us. And then there is the now, a cozy home with a yard, a cat, a bunny, 4 kids running about, learning thru living in the burbs in Illinois. Not that now is easier than then, just different.
It hit me today that no matter how many times it happens, I am still amazed whenever my son tells me how he feels, that he loves me, or even little things like "mommy, my ear hurts, it makes me sad"...a precious thing we often take for granted, and a skill my girls are still learning at ages 5 and 8...he'll be 3 this valentine's day and I am finally breathing easier that autism will not be his personal journey. For all intensive purposes, it looks like he beat the odds. Statistically, as a boy with 2 sisters on the autistic spectrum, he should be severely affected. However, it is just not there. Praise God!
At the age Tadhg is now, Niamh was still almost non-verbal after losing language the year before, and the neurologist, neuropsych and doctors were her entire life as we searched for answers. Efa was on the way and we were determined to beat this thing that took the eye contact and words away from us. We knew she was in there and nothing could make me give up my quest to figure this out, to find the clues to put the puzzle back together for my baby girl. At the same age, thanks to our experiences with Niamh, Efa's daily routine for years had involved ot, pt, speech and the stress of dealing with the constant bombardment of sensory overload. Her words were better, but the near violent meltdowns were not an if, they were a when. I remember the first time our physical therapist, who happened to be a neighbor, saw Efa in full meltdown because we had to leave the community pool. I could see the shock and concern on her face as I struggled to wrap my munchkin up in a towel to keep her from hurting herself. The water was her favorite place, she felt good in the pool, and unfortunately at some point we just had to leave. The sensory impact of the change overcame her nervous system and in that moment I realized that my normal, well, it just wasn't. Carol came and helped me scoop her into the stroller and strap her in so I could securely hurry her across the street and back to her "safe" place at home. She couldn't tell me how she felt that day, but I could feel it thru her eyes, I gave her the words she couldn't access, and God gave me the strength to carry thru, like so many times before and since.
At nearly 3 years old, life for them was about healing, taking 1 step forward, 2 steps back, therapy, learning, and alot of prayer. I feel like I should have several degrees for all of the late nights, hours, weeks, months, and years of research I've done. I wish I had had more time and energy to write it all down, but maybe now is a better time, when I can look back over the triumph, and not be crushed by the not knowing of it all. That said, I will always battle the questions of "what if" for them, those taunting demons that encroach in my weaker moments. If we only knew then what we know now. Tadhg has never been vaccinated, a choice strongly supported by our medical team. He has never really had dairy, no artificial colors, flavors, preservatives, no junk of any kind. He has only ever lived in a home with non-toxic, mostly organic cleaners, soaps, and even diapers. I have to fight the thought that he is healthy and strong because they were not. And the lies that I should have known better, could have done something, anything, and it would be different.
But then, I look up, I watch and listen to the girls as they play. Together. Taking turns, listening to eachother's ideas. They shouldn't be doing that if autism won. I feel Efa's once chubby, but increasingly slim arms wrap around my middle as she tells me "Mom, give me a big hug!" If the sensory overload had won, there would be no squishy bear hugs. I am overjoyed as I watch Niamh reach out to other children, often those that don't always have a friend, loving on them, telling them they are cool, fun and special. If the social disorder had won, there would not be a long list of friends waiting for a playdate. The battles we face regarding autism, we fight, with God's strength and the knowledge and peace that comes form trusting in His perfect plan for our girls. It isn't anyone else's normal, but I really don't care. It's mine, and I am more than ok with that. The beauty that surrounds me far outweighs the stress of being "different". If people don't get it, too bad for them.
I am perpetually blessed by the gifts my girls have, gifts that i know are made stronger by the "disorder"/differences that they face. They amaze and astound me with their intelligence, creativity and love, their understanding of God and his plan for their lives and the joy they share with others. And whether they realize it yet or not, their "normal" little brother worships the ground they walk on. He will fight just to be with them, for them to include him and love him. And as I watch his love for his 2 big sisters grow, I know without a doubt, that he will fight for them always, and that God gave them a mighty protector in that determined little man.
And at the end of it all, to God be the glory for our successes, on Him I rely for strength and hope when things are rough. And in full honesty, our crazy, creative, brave and different family is perfection to me, and i would never have our normal be anything other than it is...