Wednesday, September 25, 2013

On Anger

I have always had a hard time accepting the cold, hard fact that Adi has special needs. I mean, I get it, I know he is developmentally disabled, but I rage against it. I get really, really mad. I wrote about it some time ago.

So now we add in leukemia. And boy howdy, does that piss me off. I mean, really? This child? This child, who is beyond excited to find some abandoned trash that he can use for his garbage trucks? This child, who, on the night we raced to the emergency room saw me crying and asked, "Mommy, what's wrong? You're sad?" I know that my beautiful son has done nothing to deserve this, and so I assume that the test must be for me. There must be something I haven't yet learned. And it makes me so angry that I have terrible trouble opening my heart to anything else.

I also get that this isn't about me. But I look at Adi, who came home today after his intrathecal and was clearly in pain, and I see how within moments he shrugs the discomfort off and heads to his room to play with his trucks, and I want to lash out at everyone in the whole world. I have no patience for happy people. I definitely have no patience for other people's whining about things that I'm sure are important to them -- their own inconveniences of daily livings that I really don't care about. It turns out that there is actually a hierarchy of complaining.

I spent some time in the last few days wallowing in my anger and bitterness. My parents are coming at Chanuka, and I wanted to go to Ikea while the kids were in school so they could buy me closets we could eat meatballs. Guy and I were supposed to go to China in December. I had a couple of big new clients. I was supposed to start working with a business coach. I understand that all of this is stupid, I get that. But it makes me mad and sad and I don't even know what.

And then, I am constantly overwhelmed by the kindness of people around me. The way my community has leapt into action, bringing us food, taking care of my kids, arranging after-school care for my boys, quietly doing all the little things that need to be done. The texts and email I receive daily from everyone around me. And their faith! Oh, their faith. They know, they know in their hearts, that everything will be okay. That my little boy will beat this. That we will emerge some months from now, stronger, better, healthier, and on the other side of this mountain. They talk about how modern medicine is amazing, how their cousin/nephew/sister/whoever also had cancer and today is cancer-free. And I smile, and I say, "Yes, God willing," and all I can think is the thing we are not allowed to acknowledge, the thing we are not allowed to say.

Yesterday, Adi spent a good 40 minutes singing about everything that was happening around him, to the tune of Carlibach davening. "Yoni wants a turn on the iPad, Shir should give him a turn, Yoni is knocking on the door now, and Shir should open the door." On and on, and Lior and I sat listening to him and laughing. It is unthinkable that... yes. Unthinkable.

And yet, the thought burns in the back of my head, waking me from sleep and eating me from inside.


"Just" Aunt Sharyn said...

Abbie, Uncle Bruce and I have been following this latest saga and have no words deep enough to express our feelings..other than to say "we love you and your family and that you will be in our prayers".

"Just" Aunt Sharyn said...

Auto speller misspelled your name, not I.