Life is like a roller coaster

 Winter 1999-2000

He’d waited his whole life for this moment. The heavy black marks on the wall inside the pantry room door testified to his steady progress from year to year. He had almost driven his mother wild with his agonizing complaints each birthday when he did not measure up. Finally! 141 centimeters! This year, he had stretched past the magic mark. He was finally going! 

The tiny car inched upward with a rhythmic chug-a-chink, chug-a-chink, reminiscent of the age-old. “I know I can, I know I can.” The wide-eyed lad was leaning eagerly forward, trying to will the car upward, waiting impatiently, anticipating reaching the peak of the roller coaster. Things weren’t happening quickly enough for him. “Can’t we go any faster,” the young lad complained.

 Chug-a-chink, chug-a-chink – and, finally, whooooosh!! That wide-eyed look quickly turned to a look of terror; hands previously motioning impatiently to hurry the car along were now white-knuckled, grasped tightly around the safety restraint. “Ahhhh!!!” He had already had enough!

After many ups and downs and twists and turns, the young lad stepped shakily out of the car. He had been both terrified and exhilarated. Nothing could stop him from going again.

I have lived my whole life consciously avoiding the emotional tumult that comes with riding a roller coaster. It is not sane to willingly put oneself in a contraption that so obviously defies the laws of gravity. How could such an ordeal ever be enjoyable? I would expect, as any rational person would, that such an experience would bring only strained muscles and stomach upset. And this is a good thing? 

It occurred to me recently, however, that life as a parent of a child with special needs is, like a roller coaster ride, a series of ups and downs and twists and turns, sometimes exhilarating, sometimes filled with a sense of sheer panic. 

Over and over again, for the past 15 and half years, I have waited, anticipated, wanting desperately for “something” to happen, that “something,” like a phantom in the mist, shifting and fading just out of reach. What was it, this phantom? What was I waiting for? I could never recognize that elusive “something.” 

As my daughter approaches each birthday, I wait to see if she will “measure up” to the standard that society places in front of our children. As each milestone is reached, I feel so exhilarated – this is progress! We are almost there! Laura has worked hard. I have done a good job.  

Up we go, leaning forward, willing ourselves to reach the standard. Excitement grows and we prepare to celebrate. Before long, the miraculous becomes common-place. We reach a sanctuary in the tumultuous journey and sit back and catch our breaths. But there is always that elusive “something.” Before long – whoooosh!! Off we go again. 

My journey as a parent of a child with special needs has been challenging and rewarding, inspiring and overwhelming. It has definitely had its ups and downs. And, like any sane person, I wonder why must it always be so? If only there weren’t so many twists and turns, maybe we could find a balance. There is always something. “Something.” If I could just figure out that “something,” perhaps then I could look ahead and know for certain what excitement life will bring us, and actually be prepared. 

I must, from time to time, put myself through an exercise in looking objectively at where we are today as it relates to where we have been and where we are going. I look at the goals we set five years ago, remembering my fear when we set a goal of Laura walking independently to the end of our street, to a friend’s house. 

I remember, one year ago, watching, with my heart in my mouth, as Laura walked two blocks to the corner store, all by herself. And I see that now it is nothing for her to take the city bus downtown and to the mall, independently. 

Where Laura will be five years from now will be defined only by the limitations we do or do not place on her. I remind myself that, as long as we do not lose sight of our destination, the ups and downs and twists and turns will not become unyielding obstacles, but little excursions along the way. 

There will always be “something” that causes upheaval in our lives. It may be a lack of resources, or misunderstandings, or people who cannot share our vision for Laura’s future. I must remember that, no matter what, Laura will achieve her goals, because that’s just who she is. 

I am both terrified of what may happen in the future, and exhilarated about the possibilities.  

I never wanted to go on a roller coaster ride, but here I am. And nothing can stop us from plunging ahead.

Winter 1999/2000