Wednesday, 01 July 2009

• My Own Journey to Holland - A Different Place Than I'd Planned in Motherhood

  

  Before I had a baby, I always dreamed of parenthood. I don’t mean just when I was pregnant. That is a given; all pregnant women dream of motherhood. I mean that even when I was a little girl, I dreamed of growing up to be a mom. I loved babies and I knew that one day I would have one of my very own.

  As a teenager, I had certain views and expectations of motherhood. Firstly, that it was all fun with smiles, hugs, and kisses. Secondly, children always obey their parents if the parents are doing the right kind of parenting. And lastly, when I had children of my own, they would not behave whatever way some wildly obnoxious, screaming child was behaving in the middle of Walmart while his mom shoved groceries in her cart as quickly as possible so she could leave. No, my child would be the one I saw sitting quietly in the child seat of the cart, singing happily while his mother shopped, talking and giggling and asking inquisitive questions.

  Fast forward a few years… I have become that mom with the wildly obnoxious, screaming child in the middle of Walmart, trying desperately to shove groceries in my cart as quickly as possible so I can leave. I quickly found out that my “views” of motherhood were very much misconceptions.

  There were other misconceptions I had about motherhood as well. I would see mothers who had special- needs children and I wouldn’t worry about them. They were supposed to have children like that, according to my current views. They must have known they would have that kind of child. Maybe even she had done something wrong to have a child like that. Yes, that is just the way things are and those mothers know exactly how to handle being the mother of that child.

  And yet, here I am, the mother of a special needs child. I have to say, I had NO IDEA. I had no idea I would have a child like Kyle. I had no idea that my baby would be encountering challenges that I could not understand, nor fix for him. I had no idea that having a child like this was so hard. I have no idea what I am doing, nor what I should be doing as his mother. I had no idea those other mothers of special- needs children that I saw were probably feeling just as I feel right now. I had no idea that anyone could ever love a wildly obnoxious, screaming child this much.

  If you have studied Autism at all, surely you have read Welcome to Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley. For good measure, I will put it here:
  

  When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

  After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

  "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

  But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

  The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

  So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

  It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

  But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

  And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

  But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
  

  For obvious reasons, this poem brings tears to my eyes. I had certain goals and expectations for my son. For me, my “plane ride to Italy” has been a slow one. Along the way, there have been hints here and there that the plane may not be headed to Italy. Still, I was clinging to that hope that we would reach Italy before long. Finally, and it wasn't very long ago, I realize that my plane has indeed landed, and I am not in Italy at all. I am in Holland. I am confused, lost, and groping for answers as to why I am in Holland and not Italy. There are no answers. Even as I write this, I am still clinging to hope that this is just a short layover. Maybe this stop is not permanent. Maybe I will get a call to return for the next flight to Italy, because I wanted to go to Italy sooo badly. But in the mean time, I better get out there and enjoy Holland. I soon learn that Holland is nice, stressful at times, but beautiful nonetheless. I am grateful to see Holland, but my heart longs for Italy still.

  I am just a normal mom, dealing with not-so-normal a circumstance, trying to figure out just what the heck is going on and what my part is in all of this. I had such dreams and hopes for my son, and it breaks my heart to think that there might be something preventing him from fulfilling these dreams, or even creating dreams of his own.

  I am now not only sympathetic with the moms I once criticized; I am empathetic with them because I have become one of them. I no longer ignore the mother of the special- needs child and think that she can handle it. I am one of those mothers and I see the hurt and the pain she is facing, and how she never imagined she would end up where she is. People don’t think much of these children, unless they happen to have a child of their own that falls into this category. I am ashamed to admit that I was no exception. But I do not wish for sympathy or even empathy now. I only wish for help and answers, two of the things that seem so out of reach for me and my son right now.

  I can't help but feel that there must be some purpose in all of this. There must be some reason that God has given my son to me, and some reason that my son is having to face all that he is facing. I don't know what that purpose might be, but I try to stay positive and know that God would not give me or my son more than we could handle. I keep praying for my son, for answers, and for all of those moms out there that must feel lost in Holland.

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