(Picture courtesy of Uncommon chick)
Its been a while since I posted. So much has changed and so much has remained the same. The last time I wrote here, my son was ill in hospital. Thankfully, his confinement there lasted just short of seven weeks and he’s on a cocktail of meds that are keeping him stable. The night terrors have disappeared, the panic attacks are mostly gone and his mood is better. I only said to himself the other night that it is really good to hear our son laugh again. He has the kind of laugh where his very heart and soul come out his mouth and if you hear it, you can’t help but grin or laugh along with him. Especially now. Now it just seems more precious.
The last year has been an unfamiliar ride, that’s for sure. I was a passenger on this one, and all I could do was watch and try and guide him out of the cold dark place he was in. That’s kind of scary. That powerlessness, that sense of having no control whatsoever, no ability to help my child, someone I brought into this world. It was made all the worse I think, because I knew where he was. I know that dark place intimately and its not somewhere we want our children to have to go. For those of us who have children and struggle with any hereditary illness, that is always the worst fear isn’t it – that they will inherit our illness and it will destroy their lives. Somehow we feel, or I felt at least, that he wouldn’t be strong enough to fight it. But he was, he is. Because I also made him strong. He is a part of me for sure and he has some of my infirmities but he also has some of my strengths. The ability to pick himself up, dust himself off, face into the proverbial wind and put one step in front of the other and leave that dark place behind requires true grit. Strength with a capital S. And he has it in spades. The doc says his depression may not be recurrent. He may not have bipolar disorder, it could just have been a one off. We won’t know that unless or until he has another bout. And how great that will be. Sounds strange writing it – but you guys know what I mean! I would celebrate the fact my son only suffered depression once in his life, because that would be something to celebrate. For sure….
Its coming up to the silly season and I know that for some this isn’t the best of times. In fact, it can be the worst of times. The dark evenings have a way of making their presence felt long before darkness actually descends. The gloom and grey of the day is heavy. The time that is so joyous for others can be torture for those who are separated from their families whatever the circumstances that brought about that divide – death, illness, distance. Its not always the best of times for me, but this year I have much to celebrate. This year I will take the wins where they come. I will push away the black dog that normally tries to sit on my shoulder at this time of year and I will celebrate with gusto. This year started off so badly and if I’m completely honest, it’s been a crappy year for so many reasons. But it’s also been a year with so many things to celebrate. So I’m choosing to hang on to that. My glass is half full this year. It beats it being half empty any day…..
Placid's Place 