I was sitting alone in a nail salon when a large group of people walked in. They sat in chairs, one by one, and took up all the seats across from me except one. They enthusiastically beamed as they shared with the staff how they were all related and were taking time to enjoy a little pampering together. I watched them, probably a little too much, as I was very intrigued….(yeah, I know that sounds creepy. I really don’t think I was being a creep, though. I hope not anyway. Just a little curious and unusually alone).
They had two small children with them. A little girl, who was probably just a few months old, and a little boy, who appeared to be about four or five. The little boy was visibly the most excited about getting a pedicure. He sat in the Hello Kitty chair that my little girl loves to sit in (okay, yes, she demands to sit in it) and grinned ear to ear when he told the nail attendant he wanted his toes to be painted green for St. Patrick’s day! He was giggling and loving all the attention his decision was giving him. He engaged with just about every one there in an innocent, happy childlike way.
He reminded me of my son. I think it was his eyes. He had the same twinkle in his brown eyes that I see so often in Grey’s eyes. He had a sweet, yet ornery demeanor, very much like my Grey too.
I sat there for about 30 minutes vacillating between exchanging glances with my fellow customers, watching Fixer Upper on the television above me, trying to ignore the conversation in another language that was going on loudly at my feet, and just closing my eyes to enjoy my own pampering. However, I couldn’t help but continue to observe the little, happy boy with green toes. And, then all of a sudden, without any warning, I started to cry.
An overwhelming sense of sadness came over me, as I began to think about how my little boy struggles to have the types of conversations and interactions that the boy with the green toes was having. I started to let the “what ifs” and “whys” flow in to my mind and found it very hard to shut those thoughts out. What if my little boy didn’t have one little part of his brain injured? Why does white matter have to matter so much? It is so small and yet it has such a big impact. Why did this happen to him? Why can’t I see my son have a life without the struggle of a brain injury? Why can’t I see my son ask for green toes and revel in the glow of healthy bliss while skipping and dancing around? What would my little boy be like without the injury that we still have no real explanation for?
And then I did what I have allowed myself to do only a few times before. I imagined a healthy Grey. No delays. No struggles to communicate or move or understand. I quickly shut those thoughts off, for they are too hard to bear and, I know, I know, they are not fair or helpful.
Mourning the loss of the son I had imagined- the baby, the boy and the man I dreamed of during those nine months of carrying Grey – comes and goes in waves. Most of the time, I have nothing but amazement and gratitude for the child I have been given. He teaches me, humbles me, and makes life absolutely more wonderful every single day. I watch him overcome challenges and am amazed by his accomplishments. I look at life so much differently, so much better, than I did four years ago, because of him. He fills my soul with joy and love and inspires me to be stronger than I ever imagined I could be. He helps me cut out petty, unimportant issues and focus more on what matters most to me. However, there are days, like yesterday, when I mourn the life I wanted for him, and quite frankly, for me to be a part of, as well. I feel angry and sad and guilty and hurt for him and for me. It is not fair that something happened to my beautiful, innocent boy that made life more challenging for him. At that moment, I felt robbed and as if someone had taken away so much from us.
One of the only other times, I expressed this mourning, I was with a group of cohorts in graduate school. We were learning about group counseling. We were asked to share anything that we wanted to discuss. Grey was about a year and a half at the time and I was struggling with not having more answers to the questions I had regarding his delays. He had been working with his physical therapist for about a year and was still not walking or talking. We did not know he had a brain injury at that time. I think I avoided most of my feelings about Grey’s delays for a very long time. And when I did feel sad, I felt guilty for being sad. When it was my turn to share I informed my classmates that my son had developmental delays, but that I didn’t know why or what to expect and that I felt very selfish for envisioning a life for him, that I wanted for him and for me, that he may never be able to have. I wanted to cheer him on and watch him play soccer as a little boy, play baseball with his friends in high school, go to college, have a successful career fulfilling a calling in his life, and watch him marry the love of his life and be a father, among many other happy events. I wanted to cherish, love, and be engaged in every moment with gratitude in each of them. I was sure I was going to be judged. I felt awful for feeling not having those types of moments would be sad. One of my classmates, a male, said he felt that me wanting those things for my son was not selfish, but that they showed I loved him. Other loving, precious comments flowed in. I have always held on to my classmates responses, as they mean so much to me. Don’t be afraid to share kindness… you never know how much it may mean to someone.
I have so much to cherish, it’s just that what I am cherishing is a bit different than what I originally imagined. I know I don’t have a choice in whether or not my son does or does not have a brain injury. We have this one life and these cards. These precious, beautiful cards and I have a million choices to make. So, I choose to make choices that give my Grey the best life he can have. I choose to surround him with people who understand his needs and love him. I choose to help him grow and learn to the best of our abilities. I choose to not discount him and always believe in his potential. I love when he tells me what he wants to be when he grows up… and I believe in his ability to do what he tells me he wants to do. I choose him always.
I took my perfectly manicured feet home and told my husband about the experience. And then I told him through my tears…. “his name was Grey. As they were leaving, the family said to the little boy with green toes, “time to go, Grey”. His name was Grey.”
There is a quote by Kiersten White that I love and makes me think of my Grey. “I’d choose you. In a hundred lifetimes. In a hundred worlds. In any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” Yes, I would absolutely, wholeheartedly choose my baby. I think just about every parent feels this way. Being able to carry my children and bring them into the world to love, teach and care for is the greatest gift of my life. However, on that particular day I wanted him to experience life a bit differently. I have incredible peace and gratitude for being given my son exactly the way he is.
With Love,
Sara