I was standing in the vestibule of a local drug store raging like a rabid dog. Clearly I was in need of a major life change. I had put it off for far too long. I won’t make that mistake again, although I will never be able to change the underlying cause of my troubles.
Stress is the common mistress my husband and I both keep. We are infused with her presence. We pretend to forget her existence. When she dares to surface we do our best to suppress her influence.
Fourteen years ago my husband John and I welcomed a son. It was Benjamin who first matched us up with this queen of heartache. He was born with a rare neurological disorder. He cannot walk, talk, or use his hands. He has seizures daily. He has endured six surgeries, countless scans, EEG’s, blood draws, and takes a total of 27 pills daily. Our ten-year old son Sebastian reaffirmed the queen’s status when he was diagnosed on the autistic spectrum. Thankfully he is not quite the picture of the classic autistic child but we don’t expect to suffer from empty nest syndrome. Parenthood certainly didn’t turn out the way we planned, but we habituated. When you have children with disabilities, your base is so skewed you get used to unreasonable norms. I suppose that’s why my moment took me by complete surprise.