This broken heart
Saturday, I had one of the moments all parents, and especially parents of special kids, dread the most. I watched my parents drive C away in one direction while Husband drove me away in another, and I wondered if it was the last time I would ever see that little face. Trying not to think about how he could survive without me if the worst happened, I blew C a million kisses as Husband drove me to the emergency room to find out what was wrong with my heart.
My heart is broken, you see. I wasn’t sure in exactly what way at the time, but I know now. This won’t kill me now or later if managed well, but it will change my life in some as yet unknown amount. Even after four days in the hospital, I still don’t have all the answers. I never will. It’s the same with C. Not one of the specialists I saw could tell me why my heart has gone and done what it has done any more than anyone can tell me why C has autism. It could be genetic, it could be previous damage, it could be something else altogether. Why a 40-year-old woman who has absolutely zero risk factors now has a disorder/disease/condition most often seen in men well over 60 seems to be beyond the expertise of the various experts who came to visit with me while I sat in my hospital bed doing my best not to cry. And I often failed at that task.
Now, just a couple of days before Christmas, I am gratefully and happily home at last, back in my own bed surrounded by my favorite boys – Husband, C and Dog. And while I continue to marvel at how C’s path in life seems so echoed in my own, I am reminded of and old saying that seems particularly apt here. Simply put: “The heart knows no reason.”