We need our ‘Article 5’ letter from an Embassy that will now be closed all next week for mid-Autumn Fest in Chi*a and then Columbus Day in the U.S. One lousy piece of paper stands between me and my travel approval to go to get Dolly. One letter, and now a whole extra week. Unreal.
There were some high points though. We got to eat dinner with a family that has almost as many kids as we do (I said almost), one comes from a hard place, and they have others who have had to overcome hurdles like some of our kids have. Those moments are nice, because it makes me feel less alone. It helps to admit the struggles and frustrations we have raising not only kids from hard places, but just kids in general.
It feels good to just be with people. That makes it sound like we’re hermits, and we were for quite awhile. Bubbly made it impossible to be with, or around, people for a very long time. As I spoke with a family member earlier in the week, she reminded me that it would be okay to just let Bubbly be who she is when we’re out and about. I reminded her how intense Bubbly’s episodes can be, how when she loses it, she loses it. She reminded me that people, especially family, would understand. I agree, given enough explanation, they would understand. The problem is, I would have to explain her situation, and I never have. I would have to admit it.
I would have to say that I have a daughter who was so badly abused that she is now living on the Autism Spectrum.
Damn. I hate the way that sounds.
I would have to admit what she lived through, and what she continues to live through. I would have to actually say it. Do you know how many times I’ve actually said it? Hmmm…I can count them on one hand. I know, I know, here I am putting it on the internet for all to read. But, if you were standing in front of me right now, and I told you, I would have to say it…in words…out loud. And what if you had questions? Or God forbid, if you said something absolutely insane like ‘I’m sorry’. I might cry, and that would be an actual emotion. Crying is for the weak. And even worse, the crying would be associated with what Bubbly went through. I might be sad. I don’t do sadness. I hate it. Ever. I speak vaguely and matter-of-factly about what happened to our girl. I can also count on my hand the number of times I’ve cried since I came home with Bubbly, Giggles and ShyGuy. Emotional overload from them caused me to become a little emotionless. I think about, and talk about, their feelings so much that I’m just plain tired of emotion, even my own.
I’ve pushed it down. I think about, and act on, her abuse on autopilot. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to know. I don’t want to have to name her special needs or explain how we think they happened. I don’t want to hear how sorry everyone is for what she lived through. I don’t want anyone to pity her, because she would hate it. Most of all, I don’t want anyone to think she’s not absolutely perfect…
because I think she is.
who doesn’t want to admit it, because maybe, she’s kind of hoping it will all go away.