Your Text Can Wait

April 19, 2010 was one of the worst days of my life.  It opened my eyes to a lot.  I laid in the hospital bed without a scratch on me.  Sure my back and neck hurt, but other than that, I felt fine.  But it didn’t matter.

I can still picture you.  Crying over your precious car.  Not bothering to come over and check on me, or the woman you sent me hurdling into.  Only the other woman and the officer asked how I was.  “I’m pregnant” I said quietly to the officer.  He asked if I wanted an ambulance.  Did I?  No, I can’t even afford it.  I’m just gonna go.  I look back and you are still upset as your car is being towed.  And all I can think is, you selfish bitch.

I remember being stopped in traffic on Southfield.  That the light was green but because of the construction we were at a stand still.  I remember reaching down for my Tim Horton’s Ice Cap, the only thing I was able hold down at the time.  I remember looking in the rear-view mirror as I did and braced for what was clearly about to happen.  With your phone in your hand eyes clearly on it as the light from your screen left a blue haze on your face.  I’m trapped, I can’t move.  I’m honking to try and get your attention, making people angry thinking that I’m honking at the traffic.  Watching you try to brake, but it was too late.

Then the impact, and the second impact.  You hit me and I was sent flying into the woman in front of me.  I remember thinking that I was kind of far away from the car in front of me considering it was bumper to bumper traffic.  That maybe I won’t hit it.  But no such luck.  I slammed into her just as you slammed into me.  You never came to talk to us.  The woman in front of me informed me that I hit her so hard her wig flew off.  That’s always the part that I talk about, making light of it.  But it wasn’t light.  It wasn’t funny.  It was terrifying.

“I’m pregnant,” I quietly said to the officer.  It was the first time I really felt it.  The first time I had really connected with it.   I was just about 9 weeks pregnant.  I had just found 2 weeks before.  And I was scared.  Just a couple people knew.  I was embarrassed and ashamed at 19 years old.  My mom said she would support me in whatever decision I would make, but I had to make it for myself.  Tears in my eyes, heart in my chest.  “I’m pregnant,” I quietly said to the officer, admitting it out loud, being the only time it felt real.

He made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal but asked if I wanted an ambulance.  I didn’t.  I was fine.  Right?  And I drove to campus.  I went to a few classes.  I went and spent time with my usual crew in the cafeteria, still in shock.  I called my mom again.  Should I go to the hospital?  “I would” she says.  So I leave school and drive myself to the hospital.  She meets me there.

I laid in the hospital bed, without a scratch on me.  Sure my back and neck hurt, but other than that, I felt fine.  But it didn’t matter.  Tears in my eyes as they do the ultra sound.  As I watch my baby dance across the screen for the first time.  “It’s okay” I’m thinking.  But no, not so fast.  I’m crushed as they tell me that it doesn’t mean anything.  That it can still die.  That injuries can still happen.  That I can still have a miscarriage.  And I think about you crying over your car as they tell me, the same way you would tell someone what you want from a restaurant, that if my baby dies they would do a procedure and take it out in chunks.  “Chunks” was what I was told.  I spend 7 hours in the hospital and sent home with several weeks, at least, of bed rest.

I decided in the hospital, when there was a possibility of my choice being taken away, that I had to get real.  There was no way I could give up my baby.  I don’t know why I even pretended like I could.  Adoption or abortion, it didn’t matter.  I decided then and there that baby was mine regardless of how anyone else felt about it.  Don’t pat yourself on the back for that.  I would have eventually come to the same decision.  It just came much faster.

That baby, is a boy named Keegan.  He brings such light to my life.  The sun rises on his face.  He is so smart, handsome, and sweet.  But sometimes I wonder, if your selfish act is the reason his brain is different.  His sensory issues and possible autism, could that be because of the trauma to his early developing brain? Were you the reason that he was a two vessel cord baby? Did the other vessel tear during that accident?  We weren’t even aware until quite a ways on.  Were you the reason he was small?  Or the reason that his legs were short?  Or the reason the amniotic fluid wasn’t fantastic.  Was that you?  I guess we will never know.

What would I say to you if I got the chance?  What would I ask you?  What was on your phone that was worth risking lives over?  Some Facebook post?  A text?  Were you talking and holding your phone down looking at it instead of holding it up to your cheek?  What was the deal?  What was so exciting?  That’s all I want to know.

What did your text say?

 

To My Sensitive boy

To my sweet sensitive boy:

I always want the best for you. I always want you to be who you are. I don’t want the world to change you.

The sensitivity in your soul is not emasculate. It means you have a big heart. It means you feel things for people. It means you understand when you have wronged someone and hurt them feel bad.  Don’t let the world make you think differently.

We went to a teacher conference of sorts for you recently. They said they would “work on when it’s appropriate for you to be upset.” That it would help with the sensitivity.

I don’t see your sensitivity as a problem sweetheart. Rather, a gift. I have the sweetest most amazing boy wrapped in that five year old body. And that sensitivity is a big reason why.

I think that is appropriate for you to be upset, when you feel upset. There shouldn’t be standards set on what you are feeling. It’s working through those emotions that help.

But this is coming from your “over sensitive” mama. My whole life I have been told that I’m over, or too sensitive. And I have learned to love me, for me. It has taken a long time. People were constantly telling me that what I felt was wrong just because they didn’t see things the same way.

I have owned that now. If someone can’t figure out how to see something from another person’s perspective, then why would I want to socialize with them in the first place?

I had to relearn that love for myself. I don’t want that for you.  I want you to have it all along.

You are sensitive. And that is okay. It does not make you any less than anyone else. You just see things differently. Because of that you may love harder, hurt easier, and truly become disgusted with those that don’t understand. It’s even okay if you don’t react in the way you want to. I cannot tell you how many times I have cried in an argument or when talking about something heavy because I get overwhelmed.  I felt weak because of it.  It is not weakness, love.  It is strength.

What’s important for us sensitive souls is to do two things really. Stick up for yourself. People will take advantage of you. Or they will at least try. It has taken me a long time and I’m still working on this myself. You will become resentful of not only that person, but yourself. It will eat you up inside. So say no, it’s okay. Tell someone it’s not okay to talk to you the way they are. You don’t have to feel guilty about it saying and doing what is best for you. The second thing…and this is so so important…do not make excuses for people because you understand them. Just because you can understand why a person did what they did, or said what they said, does not excuse their behavior. You can forgive them. But forgive them for your own peace of mind and move on. If they can’t acknowledge what they did, don’t give them an easy out.

Don’t let the world harden you. Surround yourself with people that brings that big heart to the forefront. Let no one tell you, how to be you. Only you can do that. And most importantly, make no apologies for who you are.

Love,
Your mama

My son hates everything I love

My son, the very thing I live for, absolutely hates nearly everything I love.

Art fairs, street fairs, state fairs…pretty much any fairs.  Movie theaters and malls.  Anything loud or crowded and he’s out.

I live and thrive around people.  I love some of the small, silly interactions you have with strangers.  I love crowds.  I just love people watching and seeing how events can bring people together.  I just like people, period.

My son screams at children that look at him.  Or hides when anyone he doesn’t know comes near him.  He tends to like adults and tolerates kids he knows.  But he hates being around a lot of people regardless of age.

I love exploring.  I love the invigoration of a new place.  I love experiencing new things. I like spontaneity.

My son hates leaving the house most of the time.  And the only time he tolerates it is when he is given plenty of warning.  New places are the worst.

I love when I am warm and toasty and snuggled up under the covers.

My son says his skin is itchy when he gets warm.

I love going out to eat.  I love someone else cooking food I can’t make.  I love trying new food from all different cultures.

My son does not like restaurants, especially if there are a lot of people or it’s too loud.  He gets the same thing everywhere we go.  Pizza, chicken nuggets, fries.  One of those.

I LOVED spirit days at school.  I was so excited for him to experience them and do fun and silly stuff.

My son is not down with the silliness.  He is not okay with doing anything other than the regular routine.

But also…

My son loves video games.  He loves Mario Bros and Minecraft the most.  It is one of his only true interests.

I can’t stand talking about video games constantly.  I will play them from time to time but day in and day out? No thank you.

My son likes being cold because he is a constant hotbox.

Being cold seems to physically hurt me. If it is 80 degrees outside and there is the slightest breeze, it’s cold and I’m putting a sweater on.

My son likes playing cars at home.  He likes playing in the yard with his toys.

I can’t stand being in the house all the time and I’m not particularly good at playing with cars.  And if I’m going to be outside I would rather be at a park than in the yard.

My son likes the consistency of knowing the foods he is going to eat that day.  Pre-approved by him.

I hate making his lunch for that reason, I feel like I’m feeding a hamster eating the same boring thing everyday.

And…

My son gets nervous in new situations and gets extreme anxiety about them.

I cried the first time I had to put gas in the car by myself even though I knew what to do. Even though I had run in to pay for gas all the time.  I get anxiety when doing new things.

My son is perfectly fine with noise, as long as he is the one making it.  A lot of the time, things are too loud for his comfort.

I can’t stand certain sounds, unless I am the one making them.

My son tenses up when people touch him, especially on his shoulders.

I tense up when people touch my upper back, or if they are too close to my face.

My son doesn’t like looking people in the eye.

I don’t like looking people in the eye when they are feeling intense emotion, especially if it is anger or frustration.

This is sensory processing disorder.  It is such a small taste.  Sound like complaining?  No, it’s not.  It’s just easier to explain to others.  We each make exceptions and do what we can to make each other happy.  My son is amazing and so unbelievably sweet.  He does things he can’t stand because he knows I want to.  As do I for him.  I believe what he says when he is uncomfortable with something.  I may push him a bit but I let him be who he is.  In so many ways I see myself in him.  These sensory issues he has, I struggled with them as a kid.  Even now I still have some problems.  Just on a much smaller scale than it is for him.  I know it is difficult for parents of special needs kids for different reasons.  This is just a piece of our difficulty.  And Sensory kiddos can have all kinds of extreme issues from food aversion to issues with textures of clothing.

I can admit that our likes and dislikes don’t always blend.  But we know how to work with each other.  This also is why it’s important to make sure that each of you have your own time to do the things you love.  We as parents put so much on the back burner. We feel like bad parents if we want to do something we love, that our kids don’t.  I’m here to tell you it’s okay.  You do not have to become your kids.  You just have to love them.  It is okay to live a separate identity from them.  And while I am writing this for others, this is a reminder to myself too.  It’s okay to be you and live a life you love.

My son is like land.  He is rigid, with roots down deep holding him firm.  Inconsistencies cause the land to wither, break apart, have to start anew.  I am like water.  Easily flowing from one experience to the next.  Crashing into new things with excitement.  But we both soften around the edges.  The water slows when it reaches the shore made from sands that have loosened its grip.  The land and water marinate in a spot that works.  We marinate.  And it works.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.