We went to a restaurant we have been to before as a family. Just a local place - family friendly, noisy but not too noisy, affordable, and fun for everyone. It was going to be a great night of letting the girls order what they would like, family conversation, and hearing the girls giggle and talk on their special night. Well it didn't exactly turn out that way.
The funny thing about having a child with brain problems that include pressure issues, sensory issues, and many other things, is that you just never know what will set them off, when they will freak out, and if you will be able to help them through it or not. This weekend, our family dinner was one of those nights for Meagan. She. Just. Flipped. Crying, screaming, asking for the door, wanting to go, wanting to stay, wanting her wheelchair, wanting us to hold her... the list goes on. I knew from the first instant she started crying that there was going to be no calming her. Any special needs parent knows that moment. When it's just done.
As the dinner went on, she became worse and there was no soothing her. I still have no clue what set her off - if anything - or if it was just one of those "off" nights she has every so many days. In any case, I took her out of her wheelchair and walked outside holding her close as she cried and became increasingly upset. After several minutes, my arms were becoming tired so I went back inside to have Brian take over. He walked outside with her (where she still screamed), and the food arrived. As much as my mind was occupied with Meagan's mood, I acted excited when the girls' food came. I oooh'ed and ahh'ed over the yummy meals they had ordered, helped them get things situated, cut, served, and seasoned as needed, and then gave them happy smiles as they dove into their special meals. As soon as they were settled, I walked to the front of the restaurant where Brian was still standing with a screaming Meagan and took her so he could go eat. He insisted I sit down and enjoy with the kids, but, knowing he has less quality time with them during the week, and considering all of his hard working hours as of late, I insisted right back that he go enjoy a hot meal and fun chatter with his daughters. He handed Meagan to me and went to eat. I proceeded to ask Meagan "Are you scared?".... "Are you hurting?" .... "Are you tired?".... "Are you hungry?".... to every question was a repeated answer of what I had just asked ..."yes I ______" Basically, I had no clue what was bothering her. And she couldn't help me because she couldn't answer my questions.
After a short while, Brian came out and took Meagan so I could go back in. He pushed Meagan's empty wheelchair, carrying her crying all the way and headed to the car. I ordered boxes for my portion of the meal, settled the check, and took the girls to the restroom. We walked outside and made our way to the van. I was so happy the girls got a special dinner out, but at the same time, it was one of those parenting moments where I also felt helpless and emotional. I felt so terribly they hadn't enjoyed the time with both Brian and myself, that they hadn't had Meagan engaged and enjoying their joy, and that we had to do our family dinner in shifts among the mayhem. But then I heard a little voice from the back of the van.... "Thank you mommy and daddy for our dinner!" It was so joy filled and giggly. I then heard the other girls chime in with "thank you!" and "we had so much fun!" and "Is Meagan ok?"..............
It was at that moment it was apparent that nothing had been taken from them that night. Sure, in the "normal" lens of life, their dinner was disjointed, interrupted, and fractured. One parent was in and out, Meagan was missing as she was having the sensory meltdown of the month, and the dinner was rushed as we boxed some of our meals to go. What kind of celebration was that for these girls that had been through so much this year, and triumphed with good grades and personal achievement? Apparently, it was a celebration worth thanking us for.... and as the giggles and laughs continued from the back of the car, I realized that for them, it was the perfect celebration.
It is nothing new for us as parents of four other kids to have walked out of the occasional restaurant, or concert, or other events where sometimes our toddler children acted, well, toddler-like. But now as a parent of a child with brain and sensory issues, this is a much more complex issue. I remember leaving a restaurant with Reilly when she was a young toddler because she was overtired - but - I knew she was overtired. The next time would be better. She would outgrow it. With Meagan it's different. One day she can be wonderful. The next day it seems as though her brain is fighting itself, and there is just no calming her. Or the light is the wrong way in the window and sets her off. Or as much as she loves music, a certain sound rings in her ears just the wrong way and makes her scream. Or someone looks at her in a way she doesn't like. Or we say something to her that typically can be calming, but the next day sends her into the meltdown of all ages. The brain is just so complicated. And so are the consequences of its confusion.
As the kids woke up the next day talking about their fun dinner out, the memories of my face buried in Meagan's neck with tears of frustration erased. As they chatted about which moment had been their most fun at the restaurant, the frustration of me asking Meagan unanswerable questions calmed. I think the night of me walking outside our family dinner, but still seeing the unending joy on our older girls' faces about their special night out was a reminder that in most ways, they always walk outside. There was nothing detrimental to them about Meagan's behavior, and the fact that Brian and I had to trade off being at the table didn't ruin their night.
As the weekend subsided we had some pretty amazing things happen in the family. It was almost completely opposite to our family dinner out. But one thing did not change - the girls' joy. They know Meagan and they know our family a lot more than I gave them credit for. They know that not every celebration has to be perfect, and sometimes family dinners are a little different than what others may be used to. But that's ok. Because through all of this, the girls are still joyful. They are thankful. And they are selfless little girls with not one complaint.
I'm not really sure why we have seen these sensory changes in Megs - but a lot has been happening with her in the last few weeks and we have noticed when she does make strides or grow, her ability to handle input seems to be diminished. We are hoping as the new things she is trying settle out, so will her meltdowns.
As much as I carry the guilt of those moments I feel seem lost to the older girls, (which I think is natural if you are a parent,) Reilly, Kaitlin, Anna and Maura show me time and again that God has bigger plans. As Meagan screamed throughout their dinner out, I felt helpless strolling outside the restaurant windows wishing we could just be together as a family. I was concerned the girls felt the disjointedness of the evening that was supposed to be their special celebration. But then I looked in. The girls were laughing. Talking. Eating. Enjoying each other and the surroundings of a special night out. They were frankly almost oblivious that I was outside with their screaming sister worrying about their happiness. It was then I realized that walking outside, as frustrating as it can be, doesn't mean being marginalized. It doesn't mean having a barrier from joy. Walking outside just encourages us to go to the window, gently rub away the fog, and find the joy. Looking in and watching the girls have such a fun time together helped me do just that. Congratulations to the girls on such great report cards and thank you to Brian for always taking the walk outside with me.
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