One moment things are moving forward. You are trying to learn how to live with the unknown. You are trying to replace the constant worry with mostly gratitude today and a little intermittent worry now and then. Then something takes you by surprise. Isn't that how grief works anyways? It's always something you didn't expect that will take your breath away.
In this instance, for me, this week, it was his self assessment on his report card.
So far, I think grade 2 is: "good because I love composting."
One thing I am doing well at school is: "composting because I love it."
Okay, I think. That's random. I wonder if they just did composting that day. He's never really mentioned composting before, but, oh well.
Then the final question.
One thing I can do to help improve at school is: "gym because I can not play some of the games."
My heart drops. There it is. HIs awareness. His frustration. His assessment of what's up. And all at once, again, that part of my heart that is reserved just for him, breaks into a million tiny pieces.
My boy wishes his body could do more and I can't help him with that. I can't fix it. I want to fix everything for him. I am his mom. But I can't, and I HATE that. So instead, for a day or two or maybe a week, I will sit in the heartbreak. I will acknowledge the reminder that just because there is no known answer, that there is still something there. Lingering in the background. Something that makes it hard for my boy to play the games in gym.
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