My life with the Sullivan boys

Three and a half years ago, I was alone. Alone with my anxiety and fear, alone with unanswered questions, alone with what to do next. Countless hours of surfing the Internet for others, others like me, mothers like me. I knew if I stayed alone with all of this, I wouldn't survive. I found one "special needs parenting" chat group that proved to be quite worthless. I called local organizations that advocate for kids with disabilities, there was a support group for Down Syndrome parents, quite a few groups for parents with kids on the Autism spectrum, another for ADHD. I called the local chapter for epilepsy, nothing, except a group for adults that had epilepsy. Alone I was. I asked Dermot's therapists if they knew of any place for someone like me, puzzled looks were my answer most of the time. I asked Dermot's teacher, she promised to connect me, if she found a match. I kept going. Talking to anyone I knew with "special kids". I met with my friend...

I just bought a wheelchair ramp. And I cried. I looked at this ramp several times online. I looked at my friend's ramp that's just like it. I looked at this ramp at a mobility store. It's heavy, 28 pounds heavy. I'll have to slide it in and out of my van, attach it to my bumper, unfold it, roll Dermot's wheelchair down it, then fold it back up and slide it back inside. I'll do this at least four times a day. I had to decide when I'd had enough, I had to decide when my back had had enough, and most alarmingly I had to decide when my bladder had had enough. Lifting a 68 pound awkward wheelchair up into my van while pressing it up against my bladder to get some leverage is unpleasant. There's hurdles in this journey as a special needs mom and I've discovered they come and go. Some are easy and I don't give them much thought and some I have to sit with for a while, let them fester or grow. Then I overcome. The ramp means more people will look, th...