My Mother Never Loved Me

As far back in my childhood that I can remember, I was stricken with the knowledge that my mother did not have love for me. I was always an annoyance. I was to blame for everything that went wrong. My constant nagging and whining caused my mother to have to lay on the couch with a cold compress over her face so she could recover from her headache. 

Soon, my father left to start a new family. This devasted me and I feared my father didn't love me either. My tears and pleas to my mother to let me go see him caused her to create mantras such as,

"He doesn't care, Linda. You are only hurting yourself by crying over that son of a bitch."

Thankfully, my Grandpa took me under his wing and showed me love that I desperately needed. 

As I grew older, I came to the realization that my mother suffered from severe mental illness and I tried to see that her illness prevented her from loving me but I could never understand why she always went out of her way to be extremely cruel to me. What was wrong with me? I must be a horrible person for my mother to hurt me. 

Recently, I was forced to see that for years, my mother had been going behind my back to "work" with my ex-husband (whom hates me as much as my mother hates my father) to separate me from my children. 

A few days ago, she and I talked on the phone. She became angry and irrational when I kept asking her why she would want my children to hate me and to be taken from me. 

She confessed she was doing it to punish me for wanting a relationship with my father. She started rambling on about things he did that were just illusions in her mind. As she spewed anger over the phone and prayed for her lord to strike me down, I felt my heart healing. I felt blessed for the fact that I was given answers and clarity. 

As I went along with my day, I was stricken with the fact that I allowed a label to pull me down for years. We tend to put labels on people and expect them to live up to that label and then when they fall short, we punish ourselves for the rejection. 

It is a more fullfilling life full of love you could not imagine if we let go of the labels and embrace the love and compassion we receive that is unexpected and not obligated. 

Letting Go

Many years ago on a Sunday morning, I packed my boys into my car and ran into the house to tell my husband something. 

"I'm sorry but I can't live with you anymore. I have given you many chances to stand up and be a man and take care of your family. Not only do you chose not to, you destroy every thing I work for. I'm taking the boys to my mom's for dinner. When I get back, I want you gone." I said nervously, hoping he would just go quietly. He started to yell, but I didn't listen. I slipped out of the front door and walked quickly to my car. 

Once I was a safe distance away, I allowed myself to breathe. I had no plan. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had enough. I had been through hell and I deserved a life. My children had been through hell and deserved a life. 

I told the news to my mother and sisters and the day consisted of what I assumed were looks of worry on their faces as they whispered of their doubts that I was making the best decision. 

Time passed and I have struggled greatly until I was blessed when my life coach appeared and helped me realize I had a path and I should follow it. 

Spiritually, I progressed smoothly. I embraced the magic life had to offer. I embraced that there was indeed a Higher Power. I witnessed miracles every day. I was humbled when I could touch someone and help them heal. To live with my heart open was liberating. 

Physically, my world was a disaster. Nothing worked out. I was still trapped in the house I needed to escape. All the plans I could see vividly in my mind never came to pass. 

Last year, my ex-husband let the house go into foreclosure just so I wouldn't have a place to live with his children. That was the straw I needed and I vowed to open my eyes to what I couldn't see. I admitted that I had no idea what was good for me. I had no business making any kind of decision. 

What I have learned during this time is that every one I physically surrounded myself with did not want the best for me. In fact, some wanted nothing more than to destroy me. I've gone through all the emotions and denials and I have reached a level of acceptance. The thing that I had the hardest time with was forgiving myself for allowing their words and actions to become my own. Why didn't I see it all happening?

Thankfully, I have a great group of friends and family that have shown me love, not because they have to but because they want to. Those are the best people to have in your life. 

Many times, I've have cursed at the sky and expressed my anger that it just wasn't fair. Every time, I bow in acceptance that it may not be fair, but it is necessary. 

Dr. Quershi

Shortly after my son, Pants' second heart surgery, he started to decline until one morning he completely crashed. He was flown to a new hospital that was his only chance of survival. I kissed my eighteen month old good bye as they wheeled him out to the helicopter. 

I jumped in my car and raced to the new hospital. For the first time, I was truly afraid my boy was going to die. I arrived at the hospital and found someone who would help me find Pants. I was directed to a set of steel doors that I was afraid to go through. I walked into the hallway to find a large group of people in white coats trying to fit into one room, which I knew was Pants'. No one said a word as I walked towards them. They all just moved out of the way so I could see my baby, intubated and quiet. I was terrified to say anything, for fear of what they may tell me. 

"Sammy is heading down to the cath lab right now. Give your baby a kiss, Mom. He will be back in a little while." A doctor told him quietly as he smiled and squeezed my shoulder. I walked up and kissed my son. 

"He will be ok. I have him." The doctor told me as he followed Pants' bed out the door. I had no idea who this doctor was, but the first time ever in Pants' life, I felt that he was going to make it. 

Pants' artery that lead to his lungs, had closed shut and the doctor was able to open it back open. 

They finally brought Pants into his room. As the nurse tended to Pants, the doctor introduced himself. He was so kind and sweet. As he explained all that was going on, I found myself relaxing. It felt like I was finally allowed to breathe. 

Dr. Quershi worked primarily in the cath lab but he agreed to take Pants on as a patient. He genuinely loved Pants and he worked tirelessly to give Pants a life. His hugs and smiles that he would give me soothed me and kept me going. 

Two years ago, Pants was hospitalized for an unknown cause of septic shock and it was me that hugged Dr. Quershi to try to comfort him because I couldn't bear to see him leaning against the wall looking worried and defeated. 

Yesterday, I discovered Dr. Quershi had accepted a position in another hospital far away. I couldn't help to cry. How could I do this without him? Who would comfort me when Pants would need another surgery? Once again, I was alone. 

I allowed myself to cry and worry for a while until the realization came to me that maybe I didn't need Dr. Quershi's comfort anymore. Pants wasn't the same critically ill baby that was rushed into Dr. Quershi's hands years ago. I wasn't the same terrified, lost mom. 

This morning, I woke thinking not of my loss, but with gratitude that Pants and I were blessed with the time we had with Dr. Quershi. 

Certain people come into your life for only a short time to help you get through situations and then they have to go. I find it is best to have gratitude for the time you have with them, instead of mourning the loss of their departure. 

Dr. Quershi will always be in my heart. 

Break Ups and Rejections

My youngest son, Pants, spent the first twenty eight days of his life in the hospital. The day I was allowed to take him home, I was nervous, happy and overwhelmed. 

We were sent home with medical equipment and lists of doctor appointments. The nurse told me I had to call Pants' pediatrician because the pediatrician wouldn't let the nurse set up an appointment. 

The next day, I called the pediatrician's office. The nurse told me the doctor was not going to take my son on as a patient because his condition was too complex. This upset me, but I quietly thanked her for her time. I called my insurance company and requested a list of pediatricians and started calling. I called three or four doctors and I was rejected by every one of them. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't take Pants on as a patient. I started to feel frustrated and the tears started to flow. I calmed myself down and dialed another number. 

I got a hold of a nurse and I proceeded to tell her all of my son's diagnosis. She cut me off and told me her doctor couldn't take him on. This broke my dam of rationality. I wanted to yell at her, but I spoke loudly, 

"Look..we just spent a month in a basement of a hospital. I have doctors every where wanting a piece of my son. Why can't I find a damn pediatrician?!?"

"Your son's condition requires more attention than our practice cares to take on. I doubt if you find anyone who would be willing to take him on. Your son's main diagnosis is Failure To Thrive. Your son is considered terminal. You need to call the closest Pallative practice." The nurse told me, annoyed. 

I hung up immediately. I was dumbfounded. I had been rejected many times in my life, but never as painful as this time. I have been accused of living in my own little world, not really seeing normal reality. Which is correct, up to that moment, I never even considered that my son wouldn't live. 

My sadness over being rejected was quickly replaced with the question, "What the hell was I going to do?"

Pants "crashed" the next day so we went back to the hospital. Once his staff got him stable and he fell asleep, I told his nurse about my rejections. 

The next morning, a woman walked in and introduced herself as Dr. Cathy and she jokingly announced she wanted my baby. She was funny and loud and I couldn't help but fall in love with her. She was a pediatrician for the hospital's Pallative team. 

She and her team quickly became a part of our family. They kept me sane. They loved Pants. When I found myself sitting across from Pant's cardiac surgeon to discuss his second heart surgery, Dr. Cathy was with me, pacing the room, holding Pants, giving me encouraging looks when my voice would quiver. 

It has taken me many years to embrace rejection, to see it as an opportunity for some thing great. 

Rejection kicks your ass and makes you close your eyes and heart, never wanting to feel that kind of pain. Let yourself feel that and then stand up with your heart  wide open knowing that rejection was the beginning of a beautiful, new situation. 

Prayer

Before I consciously started on my journey, I never got into prayer. To me, prayer was something spiritual leaders did formally. The closest I thought I came to prayers was reciting the Rosary before Mass on Sunday mornings. 

One point on my journey, I was discouraged because I couldn't figure out how to pray properly. If I couldn't pray properly, how could I have a connection with the Divine Source (God)? 

My son's hospital was a hour and a half away from our home. For years it seemed I spent most of my time behind my steering wheel. Looking back, I see that all those moments behind that steering wheel were the moments I prayed. Quietly, I held great conversations with God, my Angels and Loved Ones. I questioned, begged, and expressed my gratitude. I freaked out, I cursed, I pleaded. As I would pull into the parking garage or my driveway, I would feel lighter or stronger, which ever the situation I found myself needing to be.

Prayer, to me, is simply much needed conversations with God. Prayer is an individual practice that is sacred. 

Every morning, I silently have a conversation with God, but I started to resist it and slowly turned into a chore. So instead of praying, I started to reflect on why this sacred ritual had become a line on my to do list. 

One night, as I struggled to fall asleep, the thought came to me that my prayers had turned into unanswered requests. My conversations had evolved into what I needed. All day, I would subconsciously wait for my requests to given to me only to be disappointed. 

I forced myself to come to the realization that I had no idea what I really needed. I had to see that most of my choices were horribly wrong. 

I grabbed my pen and paper I keep by my bed and wrote: God, the Divine Source, thank you for all that I have been blessed with and all the blessings I have yet to receive. I invite all my Guides, Angels and Loved Ones to continue to walk beside me and help me on this wild journey. 

Instantly, my morning prayers changed and became sacred and necessary again. 

However you choose to hold conversations with The Divine, do it. I've never heard of anyone saying a good heart to heart didn't help. 

Children's Soccer and Misogyny

This past spring, I coached my middle son's soccer team. I watched my son blossom into a great soccer player and the kids on my team touched my heart. 

A father of one of the kids acted weird towards me from day one. He would try to take over my practices and would encourage his daughter to disrespect me and her fellow team mates. 

One game, the father stood on the opposite side of the field screaming at my team to do the opposite of what I was instructing them to do. When his daughter did what he commanded, the other team was able to score. This sent him into a rage. He started yelling at his daughter as she stood on the field yelling back. I pulled her off the field hoping to diffuse the situation. This just diverted his anger towards me. As I tried to focus on the game, I heard him cursing at me as his wife joined in. His wife, not receiving any reaction from me decided to walk around the field to curse and scream at me more. After the game, I immediately went to the woman who was in charge of the association. She told me he requested to coach this Fall, but she wouldn't allow it. 

Fall season was approaching so I contacted her requesting to coach. She told me that the father was coaching and since I had issues with him, she was not letting me coach. 

I found the national soccer association and spoke to the man in charge. I told him the situation and he informed me that what happened last season was over. He told me their association needed to protect their coaches from a couple of moms that were trying to railroad their coach. 

I replied that there were many witnesses that saw this man harass me all season and witnessed his anger fueled meltdown. My team witnessed the whole situation. This wasn't about railroading, it was about misogyny and teaching our children that it is wrong and it will not be tolerated. 

Jehovah Witnesses and Hell

One afternoon, when my son was just a baby, I returned home with him from a long, stressful stay at the hospital to find an unknown car in my drive. I parked my car beside them and asked the woman what I could do for her. She was a Jehovah Witness trying to save my soul if I would just follow her. I politely told her that I didn't have time to listen as I opened my baby's car door. She peeked in and saw the monitor, oxygen tank and some kind of bag hanging. This excited her and she proceeded to tell me how The Lord would save my son and I from eternal Hell and damnation.

This, of course, released all the pain, fear and frustration that had been boiling inside me for months. 

"There is no Hell when I die! I live in Hell! Go stay one night in a hospital and listen to people tell you your son is dying and allow them to inflict pain on him! I don't know what sickens me more, your fancy clothes, fake smile or your need to try to use my son's condition to sway me to your religion! Go away and never come back!"

Eight years have past since that moment and I honestly forgot about it until I was startled with an unexpected knock on my door yesterday. 

My baby, who turned into a boy opened the door as she introduced herself as a Jehovah Witness. 

I graciously accepted her pamphlet as I said, "Thank you for your time and message but I must go or my son will climb into your car expecting a ride and ice cream." She laughed and walked back to her car. 

I watched her drive away and I wondered if I have evolved or had my change in my reality alters my situations. 

Religion

Every morning, a nondenominational paster would quietly stop in my baby's hospital room. He would smile sweetly and ask me if he could pray for my son. I would muster up a smile and thank him. 

Eventually, his routine included him walking around the bed to place his hand on my shoulder as he whispered, "Bless you my dear girl. He is with you." My defense mechanisms and anger would make me tense up and I would fight to say how I really felt. I turned my back on God when I was told my baby would go to Hell because I had a nun baptize him. 

One morning, my defenses were down and as the pastor placed his hand on my shoulder and I allowed myself to feel the love God was trying to send to me. 

I started studying many religions hoping to find one I could connect with so I could be close to God. Months went by and although I connected with teachings of various religions, there wasn't one religion I could stick with. 

I found myself starting to lose it as they wheeled my baby away from me into an operating room. One of his regular nurses grabbed my shoulders and informed me of a quiet and rarely used bathroom. She told me to go there and get my shit together. 

I practically ran to the bathroom relieved it was there. I cried and cursed. I thought how good it would feel to tear the sinks off the walls. The pastor's words washed through my mind as I felt a warm calming vibration travel down my spine. I was washed away with the revelation that my chapel was this bathroom. The moments that I allowed myself to feel hope was God. My constant ache of loneliness was replaced with his presence. 

Years have passed, and I've been blessed with the ability to have conversations with various people regarding their religions. We walk away with a deep connection and a greater connection with God. 

Recently, I came across a conversation of a dear friend and his neighbor. In essence, she told my friend that she loved him but he was going to burn in Hell because he didn't follow her religion or beliefs.  

This burned me for many reasons. The main reason is because there is only one God. I believe religion should be used to bring like-minded people together, to raise energy and love. I could be wrong, but I don't think God wants us to kill each other or condemn each other over religion. 

In my lifetime, I have l experienced Hell and I have experienced Heaven. Life isn't about being rewarded or condemned when we die, it's about living through our Hell and Heaven moments here on Earth; to let go of our agendas and embrace each other with love and compassion, no matter what religion you follow. 

Labels

The story of Lillith resonates with me for many reasons. I came across her one night as I sat in my baby's hospital room. As I read about her defiance against naming everything, especially herself, something told me to hang on to that. 

A couple of years ago, I found myself sitting with a group of doctors and therapists as they put labels on my son. I went home devastated. With the encouragement of my friends and family, I tried to embrace the labels that was placed on my boy and I spent days contacting people looking for help. What I found were places that I knew my boy would not thrive in. 

I snapped and went completely mad. I became determined to keep my boy close, to teach him all he needed to learn without labels, all the while silently dreaming of his perfect teacher and classmates. 

This went on for quite a while until my boy was finally blessed with his perfect teacher and classmates. I was slightly nervous when his first IEP meeting came about. Before the meeting, the school psychologist sat down with me to discuss my boy. Before he gave his opinion, he asked me what I thought about what the professionals labeled him as. 

"I don't agree that my son is cognitively disabled. He's damaged due to the fact that he spent the first two years of his life cyanotic. He had been on the heart/lung bypass three times. Research shows the bypass knocks development back at least six months. I agree he has autistic traits but I refuse to label him as autistic. The problem I have with the word "autistic" is every child is different and needs individual help but the word lumps all the kids together in a box." I struggled to say to the psychologist. Never had I had a professional ask me my opinion and I was praying I didn't mess up. 

"Your son was diagnosed as cognitively disabled and autistic because he failed the standardized test which it is based on verbal answers. Since your son is nonverbal, he failed it. With your permission, I'm going to change his diagnosis to his chromosome disorder followed by multiple disabilities. This way, professionals will have to look at your son's abilities rather than his diagnosis." My reply as the tears ran down my cheeks was a request to give him a hug. 

I have come to find, putting labels on anyone limits them and confines them. It prevents people from really connecting and getting to know each other. 

Putting labels on people can hurt you. I despise asking for help. For me, it was a sign of weakness and it was embarrassing. So I put my trust in people that had labels. I was rejected and hurt by these people with my labels. I came to realize that just because I put a label on someone, doesn't mean they are that label. Some people can't live up to those labels or even want the responsibility of that label. 

We are all individuals, different in our own rights. We owe it to each other to connect and discover each other wisely..without branding. 

I'm Awake

My youngest son was born critically ill. Every day I would sit beside my baby's incubator and listen to doctors tell me all the reasons why my son was dying. Every day, I would watch him fight and overcome every reason that was trying to kill him. 

Every night around midnight, my son's nurse would tell me to go to my room at the Ronald McDonald house nearby. The night my son was six days old, I walked down the quiet sidewalk feeling completely exhausted and numb. A thought came to me, "There must be something to this world to make him fight so hard to stay in it." This thought startled me and made me stop walking. 

I brushed it from my mind and continued to walk to the house. 

I laid in bed wishing I could just go back to my son, when the thought washed over me again. Up until that moment, I didn't fully live. I had two other sons that gave me the only reason to function in this world. 

I feel asleep, only to awaken a few hours later to a person whispering in my ear, "If you want him to stay, you have to tell him to." This person terrified me and I jumped out of bed to find the intruder. Sudden pain from my c-section took over my thoughts and I struggled to get to my son. 

The doctor rounds were particularly brutal that morning. They told me my son was internally bleeding and his organs were slowly shutting down. 

They left the room and I looked down at my baby. I remembered the invisible intruder and wrestled in my mind if I had gone completely crazy. I quietly leaned over to my baby's ear and whispered, "Sammy, it's your mom. I'm sorry but I can't go home without you. I love you so much..please get better and stay with me." Every thing disappeared around me, there were no sounds, just an overwhelming sense of love. His nurse walked back in to his room and I quickly wiped the tears off of my cheeks. 

The next morning, I was greeted with the group of doctors that informed me that for some reason, my baby took a turn for the better. He was on the mend and they scheduled his first heart surgery. 

I didn't consciously acknowledge that those moments I experienced were my first spiritual moments..my first step in my awakening. To be honest, for years I just worked towards giving my son the life he wanted to honor his choice to stay. 

Eight years have past, along with struggles and pain that I've embraced as life lessons. I've lost so much and yet I've gained twice as much. I still have much to learn, but I'm in my place where I can help those in need of my guidance and love. 

This morning, I embrace my relationship with God, not what I was forced to believe as a child, but how He fills my soul with love and keeps me elated with His many miracles. 

Hatred and Social Security

I have been trying for three and a half years to receive Social Security for my son who has a rare chromosome deletion that has caused him to have many disabilities. 

This past April, I walked into the social security office determined not to leave until I had a check. 

I sat down with a woman and we went through my whole file. 

"Do you still live (address of my home)?"

"No, it was auctioned off a few months ago. My ex said he was paying the mortgage..he was not." 

"Do you still have an account at Charter Bank?" 

"No. My ex started dating someone in management at the bank and she, without my permission or knowledge, deactivated my bank card and closed out my account."

The look the woman gave me after stating facts such as these made me smile or chuckle. 

We went through my son's medical history..every diagnosis, surgery, hospital stays, medications, doctors. It all rolled off my tongue with ease although I apologized that I didn't remember exact dates occasionally, only the months and years. 

Finally, she covered her mouth as she read something on her computer screen. 

"Your ex has been submitting his wages onto your account making it seem that he still lives and supports you. This is a rough estimate, but you are owed around $19,000!"

As she spoke, I was washed with the memory of telling my ex years ago that the social security office needed him to submit a paper stating that he no longer lived at my residence. Apparently, he didn't, but instead took the time to submit his wages monthly for years so I would not have money to support his children. 

I started to cry. Thoughts of sadness washed over me. How could someone have that much hate to do things that hurt so many. 

"I am a walking contradiction..laughing at bad and crying at the good." I smiled as I thanked the woman and left. 

I drove home thinking of what $19,000 could do for my family. I could get my son glasses, communicator, music lessons, a dependable car to take him to doctor visits that were hours away from our home.. The list went on and on. 

Instead of receiving the money into the special bank account they instructed me to get, I received five percent of what is owed. I called the office many times. I couldn't drive to the office because I'm afraid my vehicle wouldn't make it.

I was finally told that Social Security will be sending me a payment of what is owed to me once every six months. 

Fear and anger washed over me for obvious reasons. Last night, as I sat outside as my boys slept, I cried and contemplated just giving up. 

The thought came to me that it would take around nine years to receive all that is owed and by that time, my son will be eighteen. If I didn't touch that money and just let it sit collecting interest, my son could have a hefty amount of money to use when starting out on his life. 

This morning, I'm embracing the idea that somehow I will find a way to pay my bills and provide what my son needs and I'll continue to do what I need to do to ensure that he has a life in which he will happily use the money to venture out on his own. 

I've come so far to give in now. And the devilish curiosity in me can't wait to see how I do it all. 

Rare Disease Awareness

This week is Rare Disease Awareness week. My youngest son, Pants has a microdeletion 16p11.2. Some of my fellow 16p Moms have posted on Facebook welcoming questions and comments regarding their children's condition. I thought to post the same, but I know I have bombarded my friends and family with the details of Pants condition. I have been wondering what I can do this week to bring awareness and the thought came to me this morning that maybe I should tell people why awareness is so important. 
I was told by a cardiologist while my Pants was still in my womb that he had severe heart defects. As if being informed that he would require many heart surgeries wasn't enough, she threw in the word "syndromes". You see, heart defects are a huge indication that a syndrome is involved. 
I cried as my doctor performed my amino and his nurse held my hand. I didn't want it done...I didn't care if he had a horrible syndrome. I didn't want to hear my "options" if the amino came back positive. He was my baby. He would be perfect to me. The amino came back with no known syndromes. And no one talked about syndromes after that..we'll until my Pants was born.
Pants was born five weeks early via emergency c-section because I was hemmoraging. They quickly took him away from me and bombarded me with the huge list of physical reasons why he would not make it. As I struggled to get out of my bed, Pants cardiologist came in and helped me into a wheelchair. 
"Grace, (by this time his card and I were on a first name basis) they said he's broken. They say he's going to die..." She quietly showed me his x-ray. My heart broke when I saw his deformed spine and as she went on to mention cleft palate, facial and other deformities. 
The next morning I went to the children's hospital to be with my baby. For a week, I was told they thought he had a syndrome called Triple C. If he had this syndrome, his quality of life would be nonexistent and since he was barely hanging on, I should consider letting him go. 
I hated his genetic doctor. In my mind, he was the reason Pants doctors were considering giving up on him. The genetic test results came back negative and the doctors became quiet about syndromes and focused on Pants getting better. 
Months went by and I knew I couldn't ignore that Pants had some kind of syndrome. I took him to get tested again, but the test did not find anything.  
A year and a half went by and I got the courage to take him to see another genetic doctor. At this point, I wanted answers. I wanted to know what to look for. Many times, Pants would come down with some kind of illness that the doctors couldn't understand why. 
The new genetic doctor sat me down with his test results.
"Your son has a microdeletion on his 16th chromosome. The reason this didn't show up on his previous tests is because this test has just recently been created. The problem with this is there's only around twenty five cases reported in the world. I can tell you what he has but I can't tell you what this means for your son."
I cried and I was pissed off. It all seemed like a cruel joke that would never end. 
One day, while I was researching his syndrome, I found a mother who had a daughter with the same syndrome. She created an online support group. The mothers started sharing their children's conditions and obstacles. Our group slowly grew, along with vital information about our kids. I found myself informing Pants doctors of his condition that I learned from my fellow Moms. I had Pants checked for conditions that could be a problem for him down the road. Information is power. 
I see new Moms joining the group regularly and it saddens me for the fact that they have to go through this but for the most part, I'm thankful that they have a place to go. 
So looking back, I see the need for awareness because no mother should ever be put in the situation where she is told she is alone, she doesn't have answers but frustration, and she should give up hope and just give up.
And a final note to my fellow.16p Moms, thank you for your strength and love and your determination to not only help yourselves up but to help those who come behind you.

Two and a half years ago, Andrew and I sat at a table with a group of doctors and therapists as they told us that based on their standardized tests, they determined that my son, Pants was cognitively disabled and he had autism. I cried..I wept actually. I wept because once again, I found myself alone. Who they described was not my Pants. I went there desperately searching for help and answers and their suggestions were not what Pants needed.
I stopped weeping and I searched for help. As I searched for help, I taught my Pants everything he needed to go into kindergarten. Last year, my help finally appeared. Pants' perfect classroom. I sat with the school's therapists, teacher and psychologist and I fought back the tears as I listened to them describe Pants almost perfectly.
A year has past and I sit wide awake with excitement thinking of our meeting in the morning.
Times can be harsh and cruel and my struggles have been great but those moments can never compare to the joys and appreciations I have been blessed to experience. I truly live in a magical place where miracles happen all the time, well when I step aside and let them happen.