Noah's Road

Over the last several months I have made a conscious decision to post less and less on this blog. Though this blog has saved me in so many ways by providing me with an outlet for both my heartache and my joy, and an incredible forum for Noah’s prayer warriors to cheer us on, ultimately this blog also makes it a challenge to move on from what has happened to us. We now live in a new place, full of paths lined with trees instead of ghosts, with a home big enough to house all the smiles and laughter that fills each day, and with a future that we are creating instead of a past that never seems to lose its grasp. And yet, whenever I return to Noah’s Road I am ever reminded of why we began this blog, of that moment I first began to type, as my baby lay in a coma and I sat with a tear-stained face and began to pour my heart out. Whenever I return to Noah’s Road I find my way back to the past instead of moving towards a future that once seemed so dark, but now, thank God, is silver-lined.

In the months I have kept my distance from here I have learned happiness that I had at one point all but given up on. And, Mike, my dear husband who once epitomized broken, has laugh lines around his eyes and wrestling matches with Noah on the floor of the boys’ playroom. On our quiet country property, Mike takes the boys for rides on the tractor and we walk the boys in the red Radio Flyer wagon on the newly paved street up to the horse farm to say “hiyeeeee.” The horses aren’t impressed with us as we are with them; in fact, we can rarely lure them from the field even for carrots – lots and lots of carrots. Noah and Avry move too quickly, their blue and green eyes flashing with utter amazement over the glorious creatures before them. The horses know already that two little boys are more trouble than they’ve bargained for.

We have found a church and a support system in the special needs community that not only makes us feel welcome, but incredibly blessed. For me, it is my friendships with parents of other special needs children that give me the strength and the perspective to move forward with a smile, despite the bad days that happen to us all.

Let me tell you about those occasional bad days: all too often they have nothing to do with having a special needs child. They have nothing to do with this unique journey that God chose for us. Instead, bad days come simply from the challenges of being a mother,  as my precocious, strong-willed boys and their hot-dog-greased fingers decide that all their frustrations –because being 2 and 3 years old is tough work – should be taken out on me. On those days Time Out is the equivalent of a four-letter word to all of us. And we say it a lot. When Mike comes home from work, as the boys cling to him like Saran Wrap, I dramatically whine about how I’ve been tortured, and yet I know too well that these are the moments I will someday miss. I know, too, that these moments are the answers to prayers we’ve said too many times. “Please God,” I’ve asked in the past, “let my Noah drive me crazy, just give him the chance to drive me nuts.” Well, AMEN. These days are simply the best I have ever known.

In August of 2009, under the post A Request for Prayers Mike wrote: “I want nothing more than my child to come up to me and say, ‘Welcome home, daddy, I love you.”’ But I’m not sure I will ever hear those words.” Though Noah is still very behind speech-wise, Mike’s dream has all but come true. Not only does Noah come running to the door when he hears the knob turn and click, but Avry does too. Both boys reach their arms up to Mike, squealing “Daddeeeee” in their sweetly shrill voices, full of grand excitement. And then, while sitting on Mike’s lap, Noah will extend his arm in my direction and say, “Mama!” as if showing me off. He smiles, hugs his father, and looks at me with beaming eyes.

In the time I have been away from Noah’s Road I have been relishing in every exhausting moment of raising two toddler boys. Who knew boys could dirty so many clothes and dishes?

I have also been brainstorming ways that I can continue to blog, but in a forum that allows me to let go some of the past and concentrate on the future, just like I do within the hours of my days. I have been diligently working on projects that I hope will bring other parents the resources that we have relied upon as a special needs family, especially the Ketogenic Diet, which has been our miracle. Noah has been seizure free now for 1 year and 5 months. He’s been medication free since Father’s Day. Maybe I’ll change the direction of Noah’s Road as my journey is shifting, or perhaps I will link a new blog to this one. It is all up in the air right now; I’m waiting to know in my heart which road I am meant to travel. I do know that as my schedule opens up with the boys starting school, I intend to put much more time into advocating the Ketogenic Diet and towards bringing parents who have lost their way, and maybe their hope, back into the light. Because even the darkest of clouds can dissipate, letting sweet, soft light shimmer through the haze.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 5th, 2012 at 11:49 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.