He Was There

When I wrote about my mom’s 80th birthday, I talked about how wonderful it was to see her celebrated.

What I didn’t talk about was what it took for Eli to be there.

And since that’s why I started this blog to begin with… let’s chat about it.

If you’re parenting a neurotypical child, you probably get an invitation, mark it on the calendar, remind your kid to wear something halfway decent, and head out the door.

For a lot of special needs families, there’s a whole lot more that happens before anyone ever leaves the house.

This party was especially tricky.

We hadn’t seen or really spoken to my mom’s side of the family in a little over six years.

That’s exactly half of Eli’s life.

To him, this wasn’t a room full of family.
It was a room full of strangers.
Roughly 75 of them.

So – as we do – we started preparing weeks before the party…

We talked through what the evening would look like.
Who would be there.
Why everyone was coming.

We rehearsed simple phrases he could use if someone introduced themselves.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Excuse me, I need to go find my mom.”

We talked about how it’s okay if conversations feel awkward and how it’s okay to walk away and take a break.

Because the party was at my parents’ neighborhood clubhouse, we already had an exit plan.
If everything became too much, he could simply walk down to Noni and Poppy’s house.  No questions asked.

When we first got there, he did great.
He played pool with Aiden and a few cousins.
He stayed busy.
He smiled.

But as more and more people started filing into the room, I watched him slowly get quieter.

If you’ve lived this life long enough, you notice those changes before anyone else does.
You see the wheels turning.
You see the social battery draining.

About an hour into the party, he quietly asked if Aiden could take him back to the house.  So that’s exactly what happened.

No convincing.
No guilt.
No “Just stay a little longer.”
No “Noni will be disappointed.”

Because she wouldn’t have been.

Did he introduce himself to every relative?
No.

Did he mingle?
Also no.

I don’t think he spoke to a single person he didn’t already know.
But he came.

He walked into a room full of people who were complete strangers to him because they mattered to someone he loves.

He stayed until he couldn’t anymore.

And then he recognized his own limit and asked for what he needed.

To most people, that probably doesn’t sound like much.

To us…  That was success.

My mom understood that better than anyone.
She didn’t measure his love by how long he stayed.
She measured it by the fact that he came.

And honestly…
So did I.

Nickel from the Jar: Sometimes success isn’t staying until the party ends.
Sometimes success is simply showing up.
Sometimes it’s recognizing you’re overwhelmed before you reach the point of meltdown.
Sometimes it’s trusting your people enough to say, “I’m done.”
And sometimes loving someone looks like celebrating the people who matter most in a way that doesn’t look like everyone else’s.

Susan