I don’t know.
I’m not afraid to admit it.
I don’t know.
I don’t know what it’s like to be Tucker.
I often don’t know what to do
I often don’t know the answers.
I often don’t know how to help him.
I often don’t know what to say.
(Seriously, that’s one of the funnier things I’ve seen in a long time.)
Yesterday a good friend of mine called me a ‘blogger.’ I was shocked and I said, “I’m not a blogger.” She laughed. She laughed in the same way my husband laughed after my 1/2 marathon when I said, “I’m not an athlete.”
Okay…I guess I am a blogger (but I still don’t think I’m an athlete). But there are plenty of times that I just don’t know.
Lots of folks reach out to me for advice and help and I’m SO honored to be part of their lives. But the honest to God truth is – it’s a crapshoot most of the time. I happen to get lucky…a lot. My husband likens it to loving me, “It’s not that hard – you just have to pay attention.” True…I get lucky – because I pay attention.
Pay attention to his voice.
Pay attention to his body language.
Pay attention to what just happened, what happened four hours ago, and what happened last night.
Pay attention to what is coming.
Pay attention to his clothes.
Pay attention to his facial expressions.
Pay attention to what he has had to eat.
Pay attention to how long it has been since he has eaten.
Pay attention to his body temperature.
Pay attention to it all…because he rarely tells me, but he tells me in so many other ways.
So, if you are a parent reading this blog wondering how I ‘know all I know.’ Please know this…I have screwed up twice as many times as I’ve been successful. I have made the wrong call. I have not known what to do. I have cried behind doors because I hate it all. I have even tried to hug it out of him…maybe if I just loved him a little more his life wouldn’t be so difficult.
Just in case you’re thinking of trying that – it didn’t work. But it sure did feel good.
I share and tell our story to give people a glimpse, to create conversation, to foster an understanding, and to hopefully develop compassion. Not just for Tucker – but for humans, in general.
Because we all have a story – and we’re all just trying to get through it all.
I ask Tucker every couple of days if he wants to read the blog. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t – he always laughs though. He always nods his head. Yes, I’ve even shown him some more of the difficult writing – when I write from my heart about the days that’s it’s very real or when I write about how much I hate that he has this thing. He knows what I write and I’m never ashamed or afraid to show him.
Because we’re real.
I asked him if he wanted me to quit writing. He said, “No way. If you can help people understand me, that’s awesome.” Then, I decided to share this story with him. I recently received a message from a reader who has a son that is seven years old and much like Tuck. She wrote that she often reads the blog to her son so he knows he’s not alone. Now, every once in awhile he asks, ‘What’s Tucker been up to?’
Tucker’s eyes welled up and he said, “I hope that boy has a mama who loves him. He’ll be just fine if he does.”
There you have it…that boy will, most certainly, be just fine.