Will it Rise?

Nick's parents gave us the best gift for Christmas this year. A whole week kid-free.

On the days leading up to our week of respite, I imagined Nick and I going out on the town in Seward, sitting at a pub counter, socializing with other residents of this community we love. And yet, what we really needed was time at home. Time to complete sentences, time to take walks and enjoy each others company, uninterrupted.

When we weren't working, we played outside-- skiing, biking, snowshoeing, taking evening beach walks by flashlight. We didn't even go out on New Year's Eve, despite the opportunity to be social without our children. We managed to stay awake till midnight, only after taking a late evening nap.

We lit a lantern and let it go at the beach, along with our wishes for the New Year. When the lantern finally filled with enough hot air to fly out of our hands, it dove down towards the icy water, and I thought, "Well that's just our luck. Typical. A moment in the air before a major crash."

But right before the lantern landed in the waves, an air current rescued it, and we watched as it rose high above Resurrection Bay, until it disappeared out of our sight. That too is our luck. Right when it feels like we are going to fall flat on our face with despair, a ray of hope pulls us into the air.

During our week without Elias and Olive, I realized how shallow I usually breathe, always waiting for the inevitable breakdown, for us to dawn our firemen hats and run into the flames. For seven days, I didn't have to take care of anyone but myself. What a gift!

And the kids did great with their grandparents. Elias helped with chores. Olive created art in every room. They all went sledding and to church and played dominoes and watched baking shows. Elias was more animated than he has been for weeks, smiling and asking a thousand questions.

During our week back together as a family, I made the mistake of saying to Nick, "Elias seems to be in a better space, especially with his sister. He was trying to find a rubber-band earlier and he even asked Olive to help him find one."

That may seem small, but its huge. His go-to person for help is Mom, even if I'm in a different room and Nick and Olive stand beside him. He especially dislikes Olive's offers of help, and in a way, I can't blame him. He's six year's older than his confident able-bodied sister. Its frustrating that she can see, move, problem solve, communicate faster and better than he can. And she loves to offer help, not always out of kindness, but from a competitive one-upmanship.

And yet he needs to rely on his sister for help as we move forward in this complicated life of ours. She is his only sibling, his blood ally whether he likes it or not. And it seems like he's getting a little better at accepting her assistance.

But you'd think I would have learned by now not to say out loud that Elias seems in a good space. Why jinx progress. Right after I said the words, Nick reminded me not to speak of such things, and sure enough the following evening our monster boy returned.

For no reason it seemed, at least to us, though for our son who experienced birth trauma, whose introduction to life outside the womb included needles, masks, wires, tubes, whose brain began to shut down when his heart stopped, what seems like a minor inconvenience can be equivalent to a charging bull.

Nick opened his pack of pull-up on the wrong side. Thats it.

And when Elias picked them up and they fell to the kitchen floor he did his mad clapping then came charging, claws raised.

No words or reason can pacify Elias when he reaches the red zone and he's growing too strong to contain. What do we do with a man-child hell-bent on hurting his family? His family that he loves and depends upon completely?

Elias spent a moment on the porch, in below freezing weather, not of his choosing, but when he pounded on the glass window, we let him back inside, along with his fury. Nick locked Olive in our bedroom as I tried to hug Elias out of his brainstem. "I love you, I'm just hugging you. I love you," I repeated as he strained against my arms. He didn't give in to my attempt to pacify him. And I couldn't keep him contained.

He eventually completed his cycle of rage and snapped out of "fight or flight",  retuning to a drained sullen version of the boy we love.  

Its been a handful of months since his last violent episode, so this is the hope we hold, that the time between rages will extend longer and longer till it becomes the norm. But will he outgrow these unexpected shapeshifts from curious kind kiddo to the trapped bear in the living room? And what if he attacks the wrong person, or leaves more than a scratch on those of us he loves? His hands are almost twice the thickness of mine and he put one of his paws around my neck briefly as I stood between him and his sister.

The not knowing when he will explode weighs on Nick and I, like an invisible boulder we carry with us wherever we go.

Will it someday get lifted away on a current of transformation, and rise into the evening sky, so that even our guarded eyes can no longer see the heavy stone?

Will it rise?

Wil it rise?

Comments

[Susan Eanes]

💜

[Candi]

It’s so hard. I know my oldest sister whose now-18.5-year-old adopted son with fetal school syndrome has some of the same problems. He does competitive gymnastics so the guy is super strong, but sometimes he just has episodes of rage, triggered by the smallest thing. He ripped the door handle and grill off her car while we were out camping this summer when he was upset or frustrated about something. But the rest of the time he’s usually a sweet kid who likes nerf guns and legos and listening to music.

Hang in there....

Hugs,
Candice

[Kim Buron]

Sometimes your articles are written just for me.

[Christy]

Candice thank you for sharing this story as I sometimes think everyone else has it easier. The combination of strength and rage can sure be scary, especially with these guys who aren't fully in control of their response systems. Give your big sister a hug from me:)

Kim I'm honored to write in a way that connects with you. Hugs to you as well!

And love to you Susan.

[Carolyn]

Yes, hang in there, as you seem to do so well.
Keep it up. You are doing a wonderful job.

So wonderful that you and N had a week relatively care free, doing what you love to do, free in the great outdoors.

Thanks! You and Nick are lanterns for many parents and others.
Elias and Olive, too!

xxoo C and W
Charleston