Alone at the party.
"Well that sucked" I said, after getting into the car after attending a graduation open house for a friend's son.
I only just realized how upset I was this morning, while I was pruning my crab-apple tree in the front yard while still in my pajamas.
So I'm trying to give people the benefit of the doubt, as I do in most cases, but c'mon.
We load up the family in the wheelchair van that is becoming increasingly irritating to me. Drive the two mile course to get to our friend's house, find a parking spot where we can unload appropriately. We've arrive. It's full, there's a food truck parked blocking the driveway (and any chance of an accessible entrance for Dermot's wheelchair), so we off-road it, as we so commonly do.
The guest of honor is on the driveway surrounded by his admirers, Parents not in site. We try to get Ryan to go and give him his card with a healthy sum of money in it, He's too shy. We find the basket to drop the cards after maneuvering thru the small well-dressed crowd on the rather slanted driveway. Joe decides we'll be more comfortable in the backyard, I agree, but getting back there is tough.
"Excuse us" Joe announces a few times. People move, but stay silent and study Dermot as his head is bobbing all directions due to the rough terrain. Okay, we've located the parents, who just happen to be the only adults we seem to know at the party. Five minutes in of standing alone as a family, the mother comes by to greet us, five minutes later she's moving on to her next task.
"Okay, I'd like to leave as soon as possible" I announce to my husband. "I get that", he relates back.
Ryan and Owen go to the neglected swing set and start swinging back and forth. Joe goes back to the inconvenient food truck to fill up on pizza. I am standing alone with Dermot in a crowd (which just happens to be the loneliest feeling ever) for what feels like an hour. The graduate's dad is close, we've only just texted a friendly banter last evening, so I'm sure he'll be by to greet us right after his current conversation. Nope. Walks the other direction. All I want to do, is leave. I don't make it a practice to put myself in vulnerable positions like this anymore. I've been here before. Hell I've written many posts about this very feeling before. I would like to leave. NOW.
Joe returns, we talk as a family when a mother comes and greets Dermot. Joe and I are skeptical and he mentions that her son has a chair that's similar to Dermot's. And he had a TLSO brace for his spine, and she misses when her son was this age because "you can still hold them when they're this small". Hmm. Okay... Joe asks where he is "oh, he's at home" she answers. She must have learned to keep him away from these situations as her son is 21 now. She points happily to her other two boys who are attending.
I wonder to myself if that's what we'll end up doing at some point. Leaving Dermot at home.
It would be a lot easier for us to leave him home. Then we wouldn't get stared at. We could drive the truck instead. we could walk thru the grass without a worry in the world. It would be easier to mingle, and for sure easier for people to introduce themselves to us. We could blend in. be like all the other people at the party.
But we aren't. We are a family who faces extraordinary challenges on a daily basis. Challenges that have made us into strong, compassionate, honest, kind people. The difference between us and them is that we wheel around our challenges, we wheel around our heartbreak, we wheel around our strength and compassion. You see our honesty sitting next to us. Feeding tube, spine brace, drool bib and all. They can hide their brokenness behind their perfect outfits and the expensive cars, we would never know about their imperfections unless they chose to share them. Lucky them. Or lucky us, I can't decide.
I do know that all of this takes courage and energy. Some days we have it and use it and it works out great, Some days we have it and use it and it works out NOT so great. The bummer is: we never know which way it will turn out until we try it. So we'll just keep trying it. Because sometimes it turns out great.
I only just realized how upset I was this morning, while I was pruning my crab-apple tree in the front yard while still in my pajamas.
So I'm trying to give people the benefit of the doubt, as I do in most cases, but c'mon.
We load up the family in the wheelchair van that is becoming increasingly irritating to me. Drive the two mile course to get to our friend's house, find a parking spot where we can unload appropriately. We've arrive. It's full, there's a food truck parked blocking the driveway (and any chance of an accessible entrance for Dermot's wheelchair), so we off-road it, as we so commonly do.
The guest of honor is on the driveway surrounded by his admirers, Parents not in site. We try to get Ryan to go and give him his card with a healthy sum of money in it, He's too shy. We find the basket to drop the cards after maneuvering thru the small well-dressed crowd on the rather slanted driveway. Joe decides we'll be more comfortable in the backyard, I agree, but getting back there is tough.
"Excuse us" Joe announces a few times. People move, but stay silent and study Dermot as his head is bobbing all directions due to the rough terrain. Okay, we've located the parents, who just happen to be the only adults we seem to know at the party. Five minutes in of standing alone as a family, the mother comes by to greet us, five minutes later she's moving on to her next task.
"Okay, I'd like to leave as soon as possible" I announce to my husband. "I get that", he relates back.
Ryan and Owen go to the neglected swing set and start swinging back and forth. Joe goes back to the inconvenient food truck to fill up on pizza. I am standing alone with Dermot in a crowd (which just happens to be the loneliest feeling ever) for what feels like an hour. The graduate's dad is close, we've only just texted a friendly banter last evening, so I'm sure he'll be by to greet us right after his current conversation. Nope. Walks the other direction. All I want to do, is leave. I don't make it a practice to put myself in vulnerable positions like this anymore. I've been here before. Hell I've written many posts about this very feeling before. I would like to leave. NOW.
Joe returns, we talk as a family when a mother comes and greets Dermot. Joe and I are skeptical and he mentions that her son has a chair that's similar to Dermot's. And he had a TLSO brace for his spine, and she misses when her son was this age because "you can still hold them when they're this small". Hmm. Okay... Joe asks where he is "oh, he's at home" she answers. She must have learned to keep him away from these situations as her son is 21 now. She points happily to her other two boys who are attending.
I wonder to myself if that's what we'll end up doing at some point. Leaving Dermot at home.
It would be a lot easier for us to leave him home. Then we wouldn't get stared at. We could drive the truck instead. we could walk thru the grass without a worry in the world. It would be easier to mingle, and for sure easier for people to introduce themselves to us. We could blend in. be like all the other people at the party.
But we aren't. We are a family who faces extraordinary challenges on a daily basis. Challenges that have made us into strong, compassionate, honest, kind people. The difference between us and them is that we wheel around our challenges, we wheel around our heartbreak, we wheel around our strength and compassion. You see our honesty sitting next to us. Feeding tube, spine brace, drool bib and all. They can hide their brokenness behind their perfect outfits and the expensive cars, we would never know about their imperfections unless they chose to share them. Lucky them. Or lucky us, I can't decide.
I do know that all of this takes courage and energy. Some days we have it and use it and it works out great, Some days we have it and use it and it works out NOT so great. The bummer is: we never know which way it will turn out until we try it. So we'll just keep trying it. Because sometimes it turns out great.
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