The Valley

I have some quite wonderful pictures and stories to go with them to post on this blog.  It will take some time...because there are so many.  Because there are so many wonderful people who love our wonderful little girl and who know how to show her a wonderful time.  Those are the peaks in this roller coaster we're living.  In fact, the roller coaster mainly consists of summits.  Last Friday was one of the tallest peaks of this ride so far (more on that later).  The dips between those peaks are small.  Usually.

Today and yesterday, though, are deep emotional valleys for me.  If you have been around me these last few days, maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't.  Something has been weighing on me, deep down, where I don't want to dwell on it...so I try not to.  Because I can't DO anything about it.  It's not a problem that can be resolved with some phone calls or organization or planning.  I'm not a control freak.  I'm perfectly content to do my best to combat an issue and know that I've done my best.  The outcome is what it is, and my God is a good and loving God who does all things for my good and the good of my child.  But this particular issue...well, it's a problem that I have been so desperately afraid of facing since October 9, 2009, the day we found out that Emma had spina bifida.

Emma was invited to play with the kids in her preschool class.  Did you read what I just typed?  PLAY.  PLAY.  With other 2-year-olds.  Who don't understand how to play with a little girl in a wheelchair, or a little girl who can only crawl on the floor.  There are precious 7-year-olds out there who understand, but her peers don't.

A very, very nice mom in Emma's class sent out an email inviting all the parents and their kids over to play.  My kneejerk reaction was, "Aw, fun!"  WHAM!  Then I was hit with the vision of Emma sitting in her chair, alone, watching the other 2-year-olds run in circles, jump in and out of a sandbox, climb a ladder, go down a slide, and pick up toys off the ground.  (Did you know that Emma can't pick up a toy if she drops it?)

As I posted recently, I do not grieve Emma's fierce independence.  I do, however, grieve the injustices that are inherent to her existence.  Hear me when I say INHERENT.  Right now, it's no one's fault.  I want her to play with other kids, especially when they're too young to know much of a difference between her and them.  I welcome her curiosity in things, places, and people outside of our environment.  That all sounds great until I have the vision again - my innocent child, alone, at the edge of the yard, with her beautiful blonde curls tied back in bows, hands at the ready on her wheelchair wheels, watching, waiting for an opportunity to do something "normal," judging whether she can do that one particular thing right there that that kid's doing. How long does it take your child to take one step onto the grass?  A millisecond.  How long does it take mine?  Forever.  Never.  Because she can't push her wheelchair through it.  I'm so afraid of Emma's epiphany...you know it will happen one day.  There will be a blinding realization in her innocent little mind, and she will be forever changed.  Perhaps she will feel like she's been punched in the gut.  Perhaps she will feel defeated.  Maybe angry.  She will forever know that she is disabled and will always be at a disadvantage, and there is nothing that anyone can do about it, especially (and ironically) not her.  That single, solitary, earth-shattering moment in her life is the point of no return, and I am desperately afraid that it will happen at a playdate.

Call this a pity party.  Call me lame.  Call me a whiner.  Call me when you go through it yourself.

The slow ascent to the next peak?  The memory of another of Emma's classmate's mom, the mom of a little girl with 2 big brothers, the wife of someone I know from childhood....the mom who insisted more times than I can count that just her daughter and Emma get together and play.  Not because she took pity on me or Emma.  But because we live so close.  And because her daughter needs the influence of a little girl who likes to play with dolls and tea sets, instead of 2 big brothers who like to play with dirt, poop, sticks, and dirt.  Who cares about a wheelchair?  As long as it's not covered in dirt, sweat, or duct tape and can be used to have a tea party, nothing else matters.