A Day to Celebrate

As a young mom, I always wanted to make my children’s birthdays memorable and special. I worked hard to make each birthday unique and creative. My son's 3rd birthday had a fire truck theme. He ran around in his cute little plastic red hat and we had ice cream sundaes. He spit everywhere when he tried to blow out his 3 blazing candles. It was eighty five degrees on that April day and the kids ran around in shorts in the sunshine.

His fourth birthday was set in space. It was cold and snowy and I had 8 little four year olds in my cramped one car garage (which was also freezing) helping them decorate little space hats and playing space games. I think I may have fed them freeze dried ice cream and Tang but that could be something I made up.

The last birthday party I remember was pirate themed. We dressed the kids up like little pirates and decorated treasure boxes and searched for treasure. The ice cream cake was shaped like a pirate ship. He never was one to like actual cake. His present that year was a Fisher Price pirate ship with little pirate men and treasure chests. The ship is still in my parent’s basement in a giant Rubbermaid tub – waiting for grandchildren to inherit the joy in those plastic figures.

My memory of birthdays gets foggy here. I know that at some point having birthday parties with friends stopped and birthdays became about the family dinner and presents. My desire to throw themed parties was over ruled by the birthday child who preferred playing video games and reading books to having friends over.

Today marks the twenty-third birthday of my eldest child. This day has become a marker of one more year my child has stayed alive. After several hospitalizations and lots of therapy, staying alive is not something we take lightly. Every day there is a very real possibility that my phone will ring and I will find out that life just became too much to bear for my firstborn son.

So this day has become bittersweet. It marks another year of life, which I deem a precious gift from God. But it also marks another year of inner torment and suffering for my son. He struggles with acute anxiety and depression and was diagnosed as probably being on the autism spectrum not too long ago. Life has always been hard for him.

He has a brilliant mind. Reading by age two and doing complex algebra in first grade, you can see why he never quite fit in. His mind was always racing and learning, but his social skills were far behind. He was sensitive and other kids used that to his disadvantage. He was the target of bullying from the time he was six years old, once receiving death threats from another child. I was a young mom and did the best I could to try to protect my child and help him learn to deal with a life that was hard.

Getting into a gifted school in fourth grade helped him for a time. He was with others who were smart and loved to learn. They could talk to each other about the things they had in common. But still outings with friends were rare. He spent much of his time alone, reading or on his computer. Online friends and fantasy became his constant companions.

Because he was so funny and quick witted, he got along well with adults and it was hard to realize that anything was different about him other than his IQ of 165. They say now that he probably has very high functioning Asperger’s.

It wasn’t until senior year of high school that depression and anxiety started to paralyze him. His father had left and that relationship was strained at best. The stress of college (despite his near perfect ACT score) made it hard for him to get out of bed. Sleep became impossible and I finally convinced him to get on some medication. It helped for a while but didn’t fix anything.

He attended college for almost three years, but finally had to drop out. My sweet little brilliant boy had become a broken, angry and hopeless man who saw no other alternative then to end his life.

I never thought that I would be the mother visiting her child in the psych ward alongside the drug addicts and schizophrenics. I thought my proudest moment would be when my son graduated with honors from a top university but instead my proudest moment to date was the day he called me and told me he was checking himself into the hospital for an extended stay. This was a huge step, he recognized he needed help and he chose to get it.

But those days of choosing to get help don’t last when someone has severe depression. There is no magical pill that makes it better. I can’t step in and fix the problem with money or even with my time and presence. It is not a problem anyone can fix and it becomes a long road to trudge down one heavy step at a time with no glimpse of a destination. There is no guarantee that he will ever hold a full time job, finish college or even be able to pay for desperately needed therapy.

So today is my son’s twenty-third birthday. A milestone for sure. A marker on the journey. But also a reminder that the journey is long and hard and painful. I want to sweep in and take the pain away. Bring hope and comfort and joy into my child’s life. But I can’t do it.

Sometime in college, despite being raised in the church, going to Awana, church camp and youth group, my son decided there is no God. This adds another layer of complexity to trying to help him find hope. Where is the hope when there is no God? Bible verses that bring me hope and comfort, cause him to scoff and roll his eyes. Or worse, look at me with pity that I might be so deluded to believe in a God who came to save us. Like I am a Disney princess waiting for her prince to come.

It is easy to let the cloud of darkness that envelops him, come and devour my soul and suck away every ounce of hope. For a long time, I went into hibernation mode to keep the darkness away- functioning at the most basic level so that I could accomplish work and deal with life. Establishing boundaries around my heart so that I didn’t allow the despair to overtake me.

But as is always the case, the time of hibernation comes to a close and glimpses of spring work their way in. Even though the circumstances haven’t changed, I find myself smiling for no reason. I feel the sun on my face again. I start to remember why I believe in a God who created the singing birds, the glimmering water and the budding flowers. I start to hear God’s voice whispering in my ear that I am not alone. He loves my child even more than I do and yes, he does have a plan for him. He promises to carry him and watch over him, because I can’t fix him no matter how hard I try.

God didn’t promise me a life of happiness and roses. And I will admit, that makes me furious and tempts me to go into victim mode. I want to stomp my feet and whine about how it isn’t fair. But I then remember that he does promise to walk with me through the valleys. He promises to help me grow and shine in the midst of hardship. He promises that he is preparing a place for me where there is no more sorrow and no more pain and that life here on earth is fleeting. I choose to focus on those truths today and to celebrate another year of life for my child. Another year – difficult as it may be- where I can show him God’s love through acceptance and steadfast hope even when he is treating me badly and pushing me away. I can let God’s light shine through me in the darkest of circumstances and no matter the outcome, no matter if that phone call does come someday, I can know that love marked my son’s life whether he let it in or not.

I am eternally grateful for the twenty-three years I have been allowed to love my son – through the laughter, the tears, the frustration and the joy. And while today might not be a happy birthday, it is a day to celebrate just the same.