SPRING

This post. It’s not like my usual posts. I can’t seem to make the sentence form paragraphs, and paragraphs form thoughts, but I’ll try my best.

Let’s say you have a scenario going on in the living room where all four (or five or eighty-seven) of your family members are happily getting along. Life is great. And then you hear a noise upstairs in the bathroom and you go to investigate and you find that someone left the water running, and the water has spilled over the edge of the bathtub, down the hall, and is now pouring down the stairs.

You don’t mean to neglect the family downstairs, but you’ve got to fix the bathroom before the bathtub literally falls through the floor to the kitchen below. You’ve got to be all-hands-in and go back to the living room as soon as you can.

That was SPRING.

And you are my living room.

Spring was all-hands-in, fixing the virtual waterfall threatening to flood the house.

I haven’t meant to neglect you.

But Spring. And flooding. And.

Last year – or was it this year – I told you about our new diagnoses and our new journey and how it all feels like driving a car through a bowl of pudding. There’s no lane. There’s no owners manual. It’s slow and unproductive and 195% exhausting.

But Spring.

Spring has been meetings with the school interventionist, and graphs and charts, and “Oh, look how he’s progressing!” And he was… mostly. And then there was that time a few weeks ago when I stood in front of the school board at the end of the school year, 4-page letter in hand full of statistics and facts and heartbreak, voice breaking, angry tears welling up, to inform them how my child is falling through the cracks, how he is NOT progressing, and we have to. Have to. Have to. Help him. The board invited me to stay after for a private meeting, where I read every page of the letter with a strong voice, tear-free, to stand up for my boy and ask that they look at him, not his test scores and develop a plan to bring him out of the cracks.

Spring has been house hunting in this town and the next, praying and asking God where He wants not just us, but where does he want N.

Spring has been wondering, desperately searching to see if we need to pick up and go again, to find help for him and to find home for us… or wondering if we need to stay put and let God work through this place for this thing we all need, despite the negatives.

Spring has been an aching and longing for home, knowing that God gives us what we need (a good school that can help my boy)… not what we want (to if not go home, then to find home).

Spring has been wondering why God had not yet given clear answers when I sure had clear questions.

Spring was also when, in the midst of one of our house hunting excursions, I slipped on an incline consisting of 100% red clay and 0% sod, breaking my wrist in two directions and forcing a cast for two straight months, (nooo, we did not buy that house) and later spent a week in the hospital because I couldn’t stand up straight without falling over, or make a coherent sentence without really thinking about the words I needed to say. (Don’t worry, I’m on the mend.)

Spring was when I bought a front-closure bra because I couldn’t put my own bra on for two months with a finger-to-shoulder cast.

Spring was when the blog went silent, and the KSW Page went mostly silent and I averaged five hours of sleep at night but could not gather my thoughts coherently for you because the weight of all. the. things. was overwhelming.

Spring was when I closed my eyes at night, head to pillow, and could not silence the thoughts spinning wildly out of control.

It’s almost Summer. Three more weeks til Summer.

May it not be Spring.

XOXO,

Karen

 

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