I started writing this over a year ago, so unsure of what I wanted to say. I finally got it all together.
When Bug was 4 we put him in pre-k. We knew he was a little behind with his speech, but thought he was like any other kid otherwise.
A few months in we spoke with his teacher, and she told us that there was something wrong with him. Well… that’s not exactly the best way to tell a parent there’s a concern. She also failed to give us anything specific as to what she was talking about. So we assumed she was an ass and pulled him out.
We got him set up in speech, but his speech teacher wouldn’t tell us anything about what she thought was going on. All she would say is that he was improving.
When he was five we went to talk to his Kindergarten teacher, I let her know that I had concerns with his fine motor skills and his speech. That was the hardest year of my life. Just to give you a comparison, my parents died young, I was raised by a narcissist who had rage issues, and was abusive. That was easy compared to Kindergarten.
He had ongoing behavior issues, everyday was a red mark in his folder. I hated that folder. He failed every subject. I was getting letters sent home from his music teacher. I was talking to his counselor about testing, I was calling the special needs administrative office, and I was strong in my google fu. I googled everything I could think of with his symptoms, except the one I didn’t see.
I never saw him as being special needs. I saw my little boy who just needed help catching up. At the end of the school year they finally gave me a diagnosis. Moderate Intellectual Disability. I remember sitting there, reading everything, all the test results, and weeping. I had some experience with special needs kids growing up, but there’s something about that gut punch when you start realizing that everything you dreamed of for your child, is now going to have to change dramatically.
At the same time I was watching Osito, turning one and not speaking, not wanting to eat food, hating water, and knowing that he was Autistic. I prayed, cried out to God, how can I be the mother of two special needs children? I’m not strong enough. The thought of having two boys running around that need so much of my help was and is so daunting. Who am I that I should shoulder so much? How can God truly expect this of me?
I have come to learn that God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called. I am not strong enough to be their mother, but God is my strength. I’m not strong enough to go through nursing school, be the Student Nursing Association President, help my friends, be a wife, and have a house… but God is.
God is strong enough to take my babies farther in this life than I can hope or dream. He loves them so much more than I can imagine. He’s my refuge when it gets too hard and my biggest cheer leader when I get it right. No matter what, my hope is in him alone.