“I have not lost faith in God. I have moments of anger and
protest.
Sometimes I've been closer to him for that reason.”
Elie Wiesel
The
moment Henry began self-injurious behaviors I was shocked. Even still, while it isn't an entirely new behavior, the shock and sadness hasn't decreased. Seeing
your child hurt is unnaturally painful, and for it to be self-inflicted is a
most unfair situation.
My heart has
broken for him. I cannot even begin to explain the paralyzing horror that sets
in when my perfect, sweet child becomes so frustrated that the only way he can
cope is to raise his hands to his head and inflict pain upon his precious body.
I
immediately intervene and bear hug him with his hands pinned. Sometimes the
deep pressure can calm him, sometimes it doesn't Sometimes the behavior can
easily be replaced by a few rounds of “the wheels on the bus” and some wipers
going “swish, swish, swish.” Sometimes the only solution is time, a seemingly
endless span of time.
I break
down, I pray, I cry. I become angry and jealous and jaded. I wish a million
times over that this moment won’t ever happen again.
And still
it does, and we have to deal.
I make a
tear-filled phone call to my husband looking for the never-faltering support that
comes immediately upon answering his phone. I record the behaviors in his
developmental log, despite the feeling of betrayal that accompanies it when I
do so. I send a text message to a close friend looking for support.
Then the
best thing happens. Henry walks over to me, plops himself in my lap and shoves
a book into my face. He wants to read his Romeo + Juliet counting primer book.
He gets excited on page nine; because he knows we are almost to page ten. “Ten
Kisses” I read aloud and immediately begin to smother him with all of the
kisses and mushiness that a mother can. Thank God for these moments.
