If he would just stop, stop screaming, stop throwing things, stop struggling, just for a moment, I could hold him, I could rock him, I could whisper in his ear that he is okay, I love him I'm not mad, just let me hold you and smell your hair and it will be alright.
The medicine that was supposed to bring sleep has done the opposite. Jude is flinging himself against the wall and shouting at the top of his lungs. Sleep. god, we just want sleep. it has been so long since we have had sleep or even a moment to breathe, just to be.
Have you ever been tubing? A boat pulls you through the water while you hang on to an inner tube, bouncing and twisting and hitting the water while you cling for dear life. That is what this week has felt like.
Last night while Jude was screaming and tossing his (and our) things about I went and sat in the kitchen. Eden came and asked if he could tell me a secret. He whispered in my ear that sometime he gets mad at Jude.
Me too, I told him. Then he whispered that sometime, just sometimes, he wished that Jude didn't have autism.
I hugged him and cried silently, and Rachel walked by and noticed I was crying and brought me some tea, and eventually Jude calmed down and I lay next to him, kissing his head and telling him it is okay to be angry, but please don't break stuff, and he sniffles and says sorry, sorry, I'm sorry Mama. Jude Hill was afraid of the parts. What parts? I wish I knew.
He falls asleep and I pray, silently, and try very hard to just stop flailing, stop struggling, stop fighting, and let the lover of my soul comfort me, and tell me everything is okay, and it will all be alright.
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