The pendulum swings

One year, One week, one day, one hour.
It's astounding how much perspective can shift in such a little time.
4 years ago, it started officially. The search for help. The fear of what we would find out, the fear of what could be waiting for us.
3 years ago, I had a plan of attack, but no real answers. Life was calmer, a lull in the storm.
2 years ago, I got the answer I didn't want. Autism. After that intial flurry of testings, meetings, and planning we started to see slow progress, a lessening of all the anxiety and tantrums, a gradual acquiring of awareness. A shift from living in crisis mode to family life again.
1 year ago, wow. An avalanche. Changes for the better. Still some bad days, but I could breathe. I could hope. Our family could make plans. That may not sound like much to someone on the outside, but it was heaven to me to know I could get out of the house and do family things without a "sensory pack" and an emergency back-up plan. Most days.
6 months ago, one month ago. The difference is night and day. This year has been good for my baby girl. I hoped it would be. She's on track, she's holding her own in a regular Pre-K classroom, with no supports other than OT and speech once a week. And Mom for a teacher. She knows 21 letters, she can count to 30, she can ask for help, she will play with friends-when she wants to. She can not get her shoes on the right feet.
She can paint, she can get sand on her hands, she can ignore the A/C running and the squeak of her crayon to listen to her teacher's directions. She still talks to herself all day long. She says please and thank you-when she wants to.
It was a good, good day today. Tomorrow may not be as great, but so far so good. *Fingers still crossed*

That door

I just got sucker-punched. Again.
I don't know at what point in the "journey" of raising a child with special needs that you can have a little distance, a little perspective, see things from a point of view instead of from the heart. I watched the movie Temple Grandin tonight. Cried like a baby. Totally related with the mother-took her pain into my chest and mixed it in with my own. Absorbed it in. Re-opened old wounds and poured a little more lemon juice in the hole for old time's sake. Why do I do that to myself?

It's a bad place to live-that "what if" world of self-doubt, guilt and grief I discovered the day I went into labor 3 weeks early and delivered a child that struggled to breathe on her own. In the five years since then I've shut that door to that world, firmly. Repeatedly. Turned my back on it and embraced the "that's the breaks Jake" attitude of learning, helping and growing as a family. Such progress and pride, not just for the amazing steps my daughter has made. I am proud of myself too, dammit. There was a time when I lived in that bad place. And cried myself to sleep for months. And prayed incessantly for a cure, for a way out. And walked in a fog of sadness, railing that MY daughter would not be the smartest in her class or the sweetest girl or even not be the one everyone made fun of and called names. And yes, that was the most pathetic and disgustingly selfish time of my life, but also my darkest hour. To have my own child be one that I couldn't teach was my worst nightmare. I felt absolutely useless and helpless.
So, lots of time and work have closed that door to that bad place. But sometimes I still peek in. And I still hate it there, and it still takes my breath away and demoralizes me. So I slam it shut again and go on out in the world.
Focusing on what is helping, what comes next, how far we've came, and how happy my whole family is. Remembering the blessings and counting this journey as a blessing and an opportunity to help others understand. Those are the nails and locks on that damn door. I hate that door....