Someone Else's D-Day

Yesterday was a first of many.

On Monday I took someone else to the specialized pediatrician for an autism diagnosis.  A dear friend of mine in Ocean View has suspected her child has autism and has been researching and studying it for the past two years.  She was WAY further along than I was on my D-Day (diagnosis day).  I was blindsided, but she went in knowing what was coming, more or less.  However, the anxiety and questions were still just as palpable as they were for me.  Knowing something is coming that is not good.  Knowing that the journey ahead will be difficult.  Knowing that this day will mark a change in direction for the rest of her life.  They say that a diagnosis can be relief.  It’s not a relief.  It’s like you are waking up from your worst nightmare to know that it’s real life.

The doctors are so kind.  Other families walk in and out.  There are toys all over the floor.  Magazines to read. Resources to pick up.  But your mind is spinning.  You keep thinking that how could others possibly act like everything is okay when your world is literally falling apart.  Life goes on unscathed but your heart is in two pieces.

For me it drug up some memories as just two months previously it was me in that doctors office hearing a diagnosis.  I remember glancing at the resources and thinking where do you even start.  I remember feeling like I wanted to scream as the doctor pushed Keller to do things I knew he wouldn’t want to do; couldn’t do.  I remember Keller’s exhaustion and my exhaustion.  I remember talking about autism for the first time and my head spinning.  I remember crying in the car on the way home not able to take in the words that had just been spoken over my son.  I remember not knowing how I could possibly face what was ahead.

And then I remember that I did face it.  The world kept moving along unscathed and eventually I did too.  I didn’t pick myself up and move forward because I was a superhuman, but because I was human and that is what we do. We pick up the pieces and we move on.  We make a plan and we carry it out.  We cry a lot and then we stop and eventually we even laugh again.  It’s a new world but it’s still a good world.  That is what will happen for my friend. She will pick up the pieces and move on.  She will find her inner strength through Jesus and make a plan.  And she will laugh again.

This time it wasn’t my D-Day but I am glad that I got to be there for someone else’s.  I know the pain and confusion but together we made it through and prayed at the end giving it to Jesus who is the lover of our souls.  I hope God allows me to be a part of other families’ D-Days.  The tears will fall but the laughter will eventually return.  God is good.