Swallowed Up
A person can only hold in so much until the bottom drops. My mom taught me that thing that moms teach, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." As a generally polite person,
my default mode is to hold my tongue, and
as a pastor's wife, I hold my tongue often. Well, yesterday, I did
not. Yesterday, I stood up and said out loud to a room filled with
parents, grandparents and siblings of special needs children, "I can't
listen to this anymore."
The waiting room at my son's therapy center is small, overcrowded. If you wear your winter coat indoors, your sleeve touches the person next to you. There aren't enough chairs for siblings, so small children litter the floor with toys, books, themselves. It's an obstacle course to get my son with his unsteady gait through the waiting area and into the hallway leading to therapy rooms.
I usually wait in the car because this is one of the few hours during the day I am not surrounded by the noise of young children. Since it has been so cold lately, I have had to wait for an available chair and then try to read a magazine or book to help drown out the white noise. But there is one voice impossible to tune out: one of the mothers of a young child with Fragile X syndrome. All four of her children are beautiful, sweet and pleasant to be around. The mother is a complainer, however, and I wouldn't be so bothered by it if her complaints seemed legitimate.
Last week, she talked about how Early Intervention should realize how poor she is because she was actually one of the only parents paying out of pocket for her son's services. She is paying out of pocket because she is not poor. She drives a new, shiny black Suburban, dresses nicely, and has had a Starbucks take-out cup in her hand each time I have seen her. She often includes anecdotes about how difficult her son is because he is somewhat delayed in this or that area. She asks other mothers about their children's IQ level, even if the child is sitting next to the mother and listening in.
This week her topic of choice was toilet-training. I don't have a lot of patience with this particular topic because the old adage, "Well, at least I know he/she won't be going to college in diapers." is not ALWAYS true. So her rant went something like this, "I am so sick of wiping butts. I have been cleaning up diapers for 9 years now, and I just don't think I can do this anymore." (Chuckling from surrounding moms and lots of head nodding.) "I mean if I have to wipe another butt, I think I may lose it. (Son's name) is so close to being toilet trained. I think the end is in sight. But seriously, for NINE years, I have been wiping little butts. . ."
That's when I stood up: "I can't listen to this anymore. Try wiping butts for 18 years. . .the same butt. In fact, I had to do that right before I came here. You think changing diapers for little ones is tough. Try an 18-year-old. It is WAY different from cleaning a 3-year-old's diaper." I spoke with emotion, looking at the ceiling and walking out the door as I spoke.
It has been a difficult few weeks, and I just couldn't hold my tongue or sit still. I have children who are toilet-trained and I know how tiresome and frustrating that process can be. Her feelings are certainly valid. But yesterday was not a day I could be empathetic. I had had a copious mess to clean before we left for therapy, even had to change my clothes and put my hair in a ponytail because the smell lingered. And I was tired of appearing strong and being nice and polite.
Today is a new day. Today D was happy to go to school and we made the bus stop on time. Today I could have chimed in with the others, "Yes, I remember those days. I wish there were an end in sight for my oldest's accidents." I would have made my point without feeling like I had to change my therapy time to avoid seeing any of those people again.
But I do have hope. One day my prayer will be answered for an easier time with D, for more independence with his self-help skills. It may not be until he gets that new body. But it will happen one day. . .those who know Christ will be swallowed up by life:
For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands. We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing. For we will put on heavenly bodies; we will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh, but it’s not that we want to die and get rid of these bodies that clothe us. Rather, we want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life. 1 Corinthians 5:1-4
Enough groaning and sighing already. life is beautiful. Love you, D-man!
my default mode is to hold my tongue, and
as a pastor's wife, I hold my tongue often. Well, yesterday, I did
not. Yesterday, I stood up and said out loud to a room filled with
parents, grandparents and siblings of special needs children, "I can't
listen to this anymore."The waiting room at my son's therapy center is small, overcrowded. If you wear your winter coat indoors, your sleeve touches the person next to you. There aren't enough chairs for siblings, so small children litter the floor with toys, books, themselves. It's an obstacle course to get my son with his unsteady gait through the waiting area and into the hallway leading to therapy rooms.
I usually wait in the car because this is one of the few hours during the day I am not surrounded by the noise of young children. Since it has been so cold lately, I have had to wait for an available chair and then try to read a magazine or book to help drown out the white noise. But there is one voice impossible to tune out: one of the mothers of a young child with Fragile X syndrome. All four of her children are beautiful, sweet and pleasant to be around. The mother is a complainer, however, and I wouldn't be so bothered by it if her complaints seemed legitimate.
Last week, she talked about how Early Intervention should realize how poor she is because she was actually one of the only parents paying out of pocket for her son's services. She is paying out of pocket because she is not poor. She drives a new, shiny black Suburban, dresses nicely, and has had a Starbucks take-out cup in her hand each time I have seen her. She often includes anecdotes about how difficult her son is because he is somewhat delayed in this or that area. She asks other mothers about their children's IQ level, even if the child is sitting next to the mother and listening in.
This week her topic of choice was toilet-training. I don't have a lot of patience with this particular topic because the old adage, "Well, at least I know he/she won't be going to college in diapers." is not ALWAYS true. So her rant went something like this, "I am so sick of wiping butts. I have been cleaning up diapers for 9 years now, and I just don't think I can do this anymore." (Chuckling from surrounding moms and lots of head nodding.) "I mean if I have to wipe another butt, I think I may lose it. (Son's name) is so close to being toilet trained. I think the end is in sight. But seriously, for NINE years, I have been wiping little butts. . ."
That's when I stood up: "I can't listen to this anymore. Try wiping butts for 18 years. . .the same butt. In fact, I had to do that right before I came here. You think changing diapers for little ones is tough. Try an 18-year-old. It is WAY different from cleaning a 3-year-old's diaper." I spoke with emotion, looking at the ceiling and walking out the door as I spoke.
It has been a difficult few weeks, and I just couldn't hold my tongue or sit still. I have children who are toilet-trained and I know how tiresome and frustrating that process can be. Her feelings are certainly valid. But yesterday was not a day I could be empathetic. I had had a copious mess to clean before we left for therapy, even had to change my clothes and put my hair in a ponytail because the smell lingered. And I was tired of appearing strong and being nice and polite.
Today is a new day. Today D was happy to go to school and we made the bus stop on time. Today I could have chimed in with the others, "Yes, I remember those days. I wish there were an end in sight for my oldest's accidents." I would have made my point without feeling like I had to change my therapy time to avoid seeing any of those people again.
But I do have hope. One day my prayer will be answered for an easier time with D, for more independence with his self-help skills. It may not be until he gets that new body. But it will happen one day. . .those who know Christ will be swallowed up by life:
For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down (that is, when we die and leave this earthly body), we will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands. We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing. For we will put on heavenly bodies; we will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh, but it’s not that we want to die and get rid of these bodies that clothe us. Rather, we want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life. 1 Corinthians 5:1-4
Enough groaning and sighing already. life is beautiful. Love you, D-man!
I simply cannot express to you with mere words how your post blessed me and humbled me, both at the same time. Tears welled up in my eyes as I read your feelings. You and your beautiful family are truly loved by me. I am thankful to be your friend.
ReplyDeleteThis is an awesome post. Sometimes I think that this is probably the most beneficial writing; it's therapeutic for you, but also for those reading who are calmed by reading something "real," genuine, from the deepest places of a woman's heart.
ReplyDelete