All About You FRIDAY – On Being Brave

There have been pivotal moments in my life when I’ve needed to be brave. When situations called for boldness and decisiveness, it would have been nice to flip a switch in my heart that made me so sure of something that fear melted away. If you think I’m about to share my secret to bravery, you might be disappointed. I’m pretty sure I’m not an expert.

Sherry, do you have a few minutes? Joshua wants to FaceTime you.

That was a text message from my son’s caregiver that greeted me two weeks ago as I plopped down in my office chair at the end of an 11-hour day. I was confused.

My son is autistic. He lives in a group home with four other autistic men and 24/7 care. He is verbal but not conversational and though I have “chatted” with him on FaceTime before, never had he actually requested a conversation.

I dialed his caregiver and in seconds, there he was.

“Hi, Joshua!” I greeted him with a smile. He had grown a full beard but otherwise looked the same.

“Hi,” he replied

“Are you having a good day?” I asked

“Yes,” he answered

“Nice beard,” I said. He had no answer for that one. But then again, that wasn’t really a question.

“Joshua,” his caregiver prompted, “Do you want your mom to come for a visit?”

“YES!” he replied, his voice louder but the expression on his face largely unchanged.

“You want me to come for a visit?” I repeated the question.

“YES!” he said emphatically.

And in that moment, my heart went through a million emotions.

It’s been a little over a decade since I’ve seen my son face-to-face. The decision to put him in a group home was one of the hardest decisions of my life. He grew up a happy, busy child who loved music and Legos and the routines that anchored his existence. He was my world.

In young adulthood, for reasons that nobody can really explain but probably related to hormonal surges, his OCD became severe, often locking him into patterns for hours until he could complete the obsession to his satisfaction and move on with his day. For instance, the second he came home, he would hang his backpack up on a hook, touch the four corners of the living room rug four times, touch his butt to the front door and then walk through the kitchen and tap the trash can a few times. He would then hinge at his hips as if to bow to someone before he could continue with his day. One time I tried to interrupt him and he looked at me like I was crazy. Screamed in frustration and started all over again.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

“I have OCD,” a friend said to me once. “I feel like if I don’t do the obsession, something really bad is going to happen.” And that is exactly the urgency I would see in my son’s face as he went through his routines. He had an obsession that had to be done before he could shower and then before he would go to bed. If he got reprimanded for something, he would have to go through a series of things before he could settled down.

In his early 20’s his OCD was coupled with seizures that began and then he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He developed rage fits that would last only a minute, after which he would snap out of it and return to his sweet self. Often he would console me afterwards. But not before I had been pushed, kicked and hit. My sweet boy battled so many challenges and it was apparent that I was not equipped to deal with them on my own.

“They grow up quickly when they start to live away from you,” his social worker told me. “It will be good for both of you.”

And it was. He settled into the group home quickly, enjoying the camaraderie of other men like him. He lives in a large home with a fenced in front and back yard. His caregivers are angels in disguise, lovingly meeting his needs.

I was cleared to visit after two months and I was excited to see him in his new environment. I put a small piano in his house and brought my guitar and we sang songs for almost an hour, just like we did at home.

And then as I started to say goodbye, he frantically began packing up his things. At first I thought it was because he missed me and wanted to come home. But visit after visit, as this became the routine, it became apparent that seeing me triggered an obsession that he had to go back to my house and do his routine.

The staff would have to distract him and take him for ice cream before I could “escape”. And the last time I saw him, he had become wise to my pattern. He had his bags packed up and before I could even put my coat on to leave, he ran out to the car and stood in the rain yelling, “Open door! Open door!” It broke my heart.

They took him for ice cream. And as I drove away, I made the decision to let my son live his life without the disruption of my visits. Once he came home and I was gone, he would calmly put his things away and go on with his day.

That was eleven years ago.

“You never cut the umbilical cord,” a patient said to me as I told her the story. And she was right. Once a mother, always a mother. Even if you have to love from a distance.

Over the years, a scab has grown over that part of my heart. I miss my son even as I realize our interaction is not one filled with normal emotions. I pray often that he feels my love and that he knows I haven’t abandoned him.

I couldn’t believe the anxiety I felt leading up to my visit. I was a mess. Would he be angry at me? Would I wreck his day? Would he greet me with a hug? Outwardly, I was doing life, but inside, I was anything but brave.

So many prayers went up on my behalf. Despite that, I found myself praying the same prayer over and over. Please help my son to be ok with this. Bless our reunion. Forgive my lack of faith, I prayed. But I was scared. And excited. And scared.

I packed up an Easter basket full of candy, a book and some legos. We walked in through the garage door as his caregiver excitedly greeted us. He was sitting on the couch watching cartoons with his knees pulled up like he always did.

“Hi, my boy!” I said as I sat next to him. He turned and looked at me and for a second he looked like he had seen a ghost. He let me hug him and kiss him. Oh, what a sweet feeling that was. Years of walling up my heart ripped the scab off in that one move. His response was neutral.

I handed him the bag of gifts and he slowly went through all of it, looking at the candy and the book briefly. I opened up the small Lego kit and he put a couple of pieces together. We took a selfie.

Then without a word he stood up and walked to his room. His caregiver followed him as I looked towards her expectantly.

“He’s emptying his sock drawer,” she said. My heart sank. He was beginning to pack up his things.

“I should probably leave,” I said. She nodded in agreement.

15 minutes. I got 15 minutes.

We snuck out the garage door and quickly got into our car and drove off. My heart was racing.

Please tell me if he’s ok, I texted, my heart and mind racing with images of the fallout of my visit.

He’s fine. I’m so happy for him that he got to see you. When he emerged from his room and saw we were gone, he calmly put his socks away, came out to the living room table and began enjoying the treats I brought him.

Prayers answered.

For my son, nothing had really changed in a decade. As for me, it’s going to take a minute for my heart to return to normal.

I have lived long enough to be convinced of God’s wisdom and divine intervention. I don’t question His will in my life. But I will have some honest questions to ask when I see Him face-to-face. Questions from a mother’s loving, longing heart.

So, have I figured out how to be brave? This is what I know.

When life hands you big challenges, the bravest thing one can do is to share your fear with those around you. You will be buoyed by the prayers and encouragement. You will feel the strength of others. Your tears will be validated. And life will go on.

Bravery isn’t about standing on your own. Quite the contrary.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I will leave you with this.