We Rock

Thump Thump Thump

My husband gives me the side eye and I just wearily shake my head. There is nothing more I can do.

"Do something!"

Bitsy is rocking again. Not strumming out on an air guitar and flinging her little curls to some Queensryche. She's just rocking.

Into a doorframe.

Against a wall.

Thump Thump Thump

I finally reached out to Twitter last night, since our darling backwoods, black bag toting grandpa farm doctor just said "she'll out grow it" or "find her a good glass of sweet tea and a rocking chair." Even Buzz knows. She's likes to deem her little sister as "special like me." Sometimes (although she was never a rocker) she will sit beside Bitsy and rock with her.

Dear Twitter....you guys are awesome!!!!

I was at wits end (not a real far trip, but every mile is precious to me) and to the point that I just wanted to lean up on the wall with her; rocking and crying. Each thump on the wall echoed a thump of pain in my heart that I can't fix her. I can't seem to ease what is causing it. She has no words at almost 16mos and very few sounds (We are thinking another Speech Delay child) so how long until she can express her frustration? How long until she can tell me what is too much for her to process?

Until then we rock.

Not against the wall though or a door frame. We rock just being who we are. For all our quirks, for everything that makes us different; we rock. For being mother and daughter who don't speak the same language; we can still show our love and we rock. For being a family cast in the chaos of special needs and making it through the day; we rock.

Piercing Life's Grain

 

It's too early for a diagnosis officially for our Bitsy, but we know. 

We've been here before with Buzz, but this time we aren't afraid or ashamed. 

We've learned that these two precious girls do not flow with the grain of what is "normal;" they dig in and make a mark. Piercing deep and experiencing life, leaving a few splinters that wound the heart of their parents. 

Wounds of wishing others saw their unique view of life. 

Wounds of desiring life to be a little kinder to them.

Sitting last night beside Bitsy's bed while she flapped her hands, rocking back and forth into the wall, I wept. Not out of pity for her, nor the need to change her. I wept because I understood that I will never understand. I will make accommodations for her when the lights are too bright, when noises are too loud, when emotions are jumbled, when a certain texture frightens her and when her words can't be understood. 

Yet, I can't understand with the mind that I was given. I can't process life the way that they do.

All that I can do is mother and thankfully, that's all they need from me.

As they pierce deep into the grain of life, they teach me.

They better me.

They have pierced my heart in a way that I would never want repaired. A nail of difference.

We Not The Same

"Tell her goodbye and Happy Birthday"

Deep brown eyes turn to me in obvious pain. I place a tender hand on her shoulder and try to touch her fragile heart.

"Go on...it's OK. Just say goodbye"

I feel a shudder go through her, her eyes cast downward and my heart crashes to the floor. No words were spoken. No gesture of friendship. The friend who is just 11 months older already knows to expect this. At 6 years old she has the wisdom and gentleness to reach out to my daughter and hug her anyways; knowing there will be no hug back. Knowing though that she is loved fiercely by my little girl.

We walk to the car. Silent. She feels lost. She knows I understand. She feels insecure. She knows I understand. Halfway home and I hear the words I knew would come.

"Mom, I love her."

I stay quiet, letting her get it sorted out into words.

"We not the same."

No matter how many times I hear it, It suffocates me in its simple truth. For years we have fought the fear of social situations. We have battled having a friend who will accept. We have fought the fear of the simple of act of saying "Goodbye". We haven't lost. We will not lose. We will continue to fight and one day we will win.

She's different. I've had well meaning people make the comment that "a wire is somehow crossed" As if she has some kind of programming malfunction. "She'll grow out of being shy." Yet, she is not shy. She is exuberant and infectious. Yet there is that part of her that doesn't understand that "Goodbye" is not forever. She is obsessed almost every time her dad goes to work. She cries and rages against her feelings that he is forever lost to her. She sleeps every night with a framed picture of our family that was taken 2 years ago that includes grandparents and my sister's family. It's the only way for her to be content with the fact that they are out there and not lost.

"We not the same"

She knows there are differences. Those differences shatter her as much as me, probably more. Yet, it is those differences that cause her to stare at a rose colored sunset in complete awe until it disappears and weep that its over. Those differences gave her the gentlest touch that bonded her littlest sister to her more than anyone else. That difference gives her an intuition to emotions that has led her to hug me when I needed it and nobody else knew. The difference is what caused her to lay in the floor beside her injured puppy all night and stroke it while it still shook in terror after its attack for hours, gently wiping away blood and spoon feeding her water.

I wouldn't uncross that wire for anything.

"We not the same" but in some ways she will be better than any of us could ever hope to be.