Today is Samuel’s party at his therapy facility. Tomorrow, he will be three years old. I made cupcakes, and they were beautiful. I worked so hard on them, wanting to make this day special for him. I have a hard time when his birthday comes. The array of emotions is difficult to describe. I am so very proud of him and his precious life. I am ever heartbroken that he doesn’t understand this day. I am filled with an aching grief that I am thankful he cannot see, cannot know right now. 

I dropped the cupcakes. I couldn’t hold it all- Sam, his diaper bag, drinks, and 24 cupcakes in a perfectly displayed cupcake holder. So, I dropped the cupcakes. And, I cried. A lot. But, I know these tears really have nothing to do with cupcakes at all. Having them fall was the proverbial straw. 

I relive each month and year that has passed, as his birthday draws closer. It is not intentional; it just is. I think of all the things I want for Samuel in his life. And, how I would give my own life just so he can have a productive well-rounded one. I think of the infantile seizures he had as a newborn, the feeding difficulties. I remember the day that I absolutely knew he was not developing normally, and I remember the terror in my heart. I think of last year’s birthday and the head banging and screams. The stimming and rocking and crying. 

After the tears dry, I will remember to be thankful for the progress he has made. The smiles. OH, the smiles! The joy of his presence in our home. The undying love that Scott, Maggie, and I have to give him for the rest of our lives. The security of knowing his heavenly Father holds him safely each day, as he learns and traverses his path. And, his therapy facility. The staff will never truly know the impact they have had on our family. They make me know that Samuel is covered in love each hour he is with them. There really is so much to be grateful for- the greatest of these is Samuel, my son. 

I set the dvr to record a documentary on PBS about 4 adults living with autism and the realtionships, or lack thereof, they had or would like to have with a significant other. 

As Samuel sat on the couch, slipping into his world of hyperfocusing, arranging and rearranging his many giraffes, we began to watch.  I made it 10 minutes, and I abruptly asked Scott to turn it off. I walked into our bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and sobbed. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe. 

Scott came in, and he adamantly said, “I deleted that show!” Bless him. He wanted to fix the cause of my heartache. But, there is not a thing that can be done when a mother’s heart hurts, except for prayer. Only talking to my Savior can help my brokeness, and even then, it takes time to overcome. 

One of the “rules” I have subconsciously followed during these months of Samuel’s life, especially after diagnosis, is to plan for the future without pondering what the future holds. There is a finite line between the two, and my mind often blurs it in the sand, causing worry, sadness, fear, and even anger. This documentary- these men with autism- threw me into what may be in my son’s future, and I wasn’t prepared.  

So, I move on.  Because lying down in the midst of my grief will only give me permission to wallow in it. I can’t. I won’t. Not today, anyway.  

The New Year is here! And, as we usher it in with cheers and jubilation, I am caught pondering the joys and heartaches of 2015. The hardest of years, along with many adventures. A life-altering genetic diagnosis, a whirlwind of therapies and specialists, moving cross country, new schools, a cellist in the making, a guinea pig, allergies, flu after flu after flu, sustained and new friendships, national parks, new hobbies, and the ever-present snow, snow, snow. This is just a plethora of what the last year bestowed upon the Blands. 

Earlier today, I perused blogs of these past 12 months. The advancements our Samuel has made developmentally, socially, and emotionally are astounding. From head banging, no eye contact, and little sound, to joyous, connected, and his first words. 

Maggie has flourished in Colorado. She is happy, well-adjusted, and is the queen of snow angels. She is learning that she can do all things through Christ. He will sustain her. I am learning still, too. 

I am rarely without many words, but tonight, I can’t seem to appropriately express the way I feel. I will just leave you with this. My God is so BIG! He walks this journey with me, often scooping me up when I cannot tarry the path any longer. I am living proof that He will bring peace to the broken hearted and make all things good to His glory.  I thank you for the prayers and precious words throughout the year.