In Case We Were to Ever Forget

C has been home now for just over a week. For the most part things have gone well, particularly considering the plans for him to start attending our local treatment centre summer program from 9am-3pm each weekday was put on hold until after some things got sorted. I am a little bitter about that delay, as is C, but that’s a different post.

For the most part, as I said, things have gone well. A blow up maybe once a day or once every two days. Some spikes in his anxiety that put us all on edge but also some insight on his part as to what is going on at that moment – mainly an ever so slight acknowledgement that his OCD is trying to wreak havoc on him. That acknowledgement is HUGE, no matter how slight, as it has been something we have been working towards for YEARS. So there were a couple of days where I started to question the big respite/day treatment plan we have submitted for C. Maybe we were going overboard, maybe he’s improved and its really not that dire anymore.

Then mid-week both A and I started out with what we thought were seasonal allergies but ended up being summer colds. UGH. Then a long time co-worker and friend of A’s passed away – he had been ill but no one expected his death so quickly. It was and still is a shock. Of course, throughout all this we still have to parent our boys. As I sit sniffling at the computer and A languishes on our bed, both of us willing the other to get better to take care of things – during all that – C and J continue to make messes, fight, lose things, whine – you know, act like kids. But with C it is even more. He just CANNOT understand that our pain and illness, while they really have nothing to do with him, are very much real. No we are not going to just get up and get things every two minutes. Yes, our tempers are short and patience is non-existent.

We begin to come down harsh on him. Almost berating him for not understanding why things are not normal in our house right now. Then we beg him to just try to make do. Then we threaten. Then I cry and he becomes distressed by my tears. Still though he doesn’t know how to make allowances. He becomes angry and physical, he begins to threaten to run, he honestly cannot back down and has backed himself in a corner. He doesn’t know how to adjust his expectations, how to need us less. This whole weekend (and its only Saturday) seems to be a reminder, in case we were to ever forget (like I started to this past week), why we feel so utterly tired at the end of each day and why we need such high levels of supports in place.

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