Eyes Speak Louder Than Words

I haven't written in a while.  A long while actually.  A lot has happened and it almost saddens me to look back on my previous posts.  Things seemed so much simpler then.  They were simpler.

Now, I am writing as a mom of a severely autistic, teenage boy.  A completely changed and different boy.  A boy whom I love so dearly but has changed so dramatically.  But then again, so have I.

I remember when CJ was about 5 years old and I use to go on about the different therapies and diets that we were doing.  The new recipes I had discovered and how we were on the road to recovery with the assistance of our bio-medical doctor. I never did forget the look that these older moms would give me as I went on and on, and on.  I would ask them, “Well, have you tried the diet?  Have you tried chelation?  Have you tried these supplements?”
I can only imagine their thoughts. Their kids were well into teenage-hood or at the start of it.

They would graciously listen as I continued to share about the things we were doing.  Maybe they just didn't have the heart to put my fire out.  But, that look.  The unspoken words that were in their eyes pricked my soul and put a knot in my stomach.  Of course I tried to brush it aside, but I never could.  It was always there, buried in the hopes of our journey.

It was a look that said, "I have been there."  A look that had compassion and respect for what I was trying to do without realizing what was ahead of us.  A look of support, yet of deep sadness.  A look of exhaustion, defeat and acceptance.

That is where I find myself today.

We have fought long and hard to recover our CJ.  We have tried many supplements, therapies and interventions.  We flew to Florida for treatment at the late Dr. Bradstreet's office.  A pioneer in autism research.  We have done chelation, hyperbaric chambers, detox baths, Medical Medium diets and even CBD.  We have moved a numerous amount of times.  Many were for CJ, some were in an attempt to live the life that we wanted.  Denial can be a killer.  You can live in it until enough rude awakenings force you to shuffle and make a change. Or when you’ve come this close to a tragedy.

I’ve cried many times in my car.

Since CJ has hit puberty, beginning at 12 years old, we entered survival mode.  We tried to hang on to normal life but it was quickly spiraling out of control.  CJ started to progressively become violent. Things that never use to upset him, now sent him into a rage.  I was more frequently finding myself folded into myself on the floor like a turtle, withstanding the tornado of his attacks.  Protecting my head and my stomach always seem to be the things to instinctively protect, most crucial during my recent pregnancy.  All the while, my heart was breaking more and more each time.  "What has happened to my sweet boy?  Why is this happening?"

Nothing could've prepared me for this.  Nothing.  But, I now completely understand why those older moms had that look.  I get it now.  I get it because I now have that look too.