20 years ago...

I gave birth to my baby boy. Well, I was supposed to give birth. That wasn't in the cards for me. Greyson was almost 9lbs and my narrow-ish hips weren't having any of his big head. I ended up with a c-section after two failed epidurals and the worry of his sky-rocketing heart-beat every time I tried to shift to ease the pain. It wasn't a blessed birth experience by any means.

Here I am today, 20 years later. We woke up to the rumble of thunder and the grey skies out side my window don't look as if they will clear. Greyson has gone to back to bed and my partner, John, is already at the office. The quiet in my room is broken up only by the rhythmic and loud ticking of an old-school clock John insists on keeping in our bedroom. He likes a big clock on the wall.

My son's birthdays...and any other holidays for that matter, are complicated. This should be a day of celebration, him leaving behind his teens and stepping into early adulthood. He is 20; two decades old! When I think about my 20's and all the good stuff about that age - freedom, discovery, first loves, the tentative (but bold!) steps into independence, I feel quite a bit of grief on behalf of my son. He of course, is oblivious to what he might be missing.

Greyson lives with autism, an intellectual disability, general anxiety disorder, epilepsy, ADHD and a few other mild conditions. It's a lot for him to be in the world. It's a lot for his Dad and I as well as our partners. We are all in the same club with varying levels of membership. Grey doesn't have the ability to self-regulate which is the biggest challenge we all face. Everything in life requires at least a degree of skill in self-soothing. "Self" doesn't play much of a part in his nervous system regulation, at least not yet.

Now before I write another word, I want to tell you about him, the him underneath and beyond all these diagnosis. He is handsome, tall, with even features and a thick head of hair. He has a natural soothing voice and an uncanny knack for saying the right thing at the right time. (That goes the other way in all honesty and at times, is hysterical.) He is a funny guy, has excellent rhythm, loves music - albeit played in the car only - a healthy sense of curiosity and a love for word play. If you need to know how to sound a word backwards in approximately two seconds, he is your guy. Grey can mimic like a parrot. He is affectionate and gives great bear-hugs. He can present as completely neurotypical, especially if you are not looking too closely; that has been detrimental in many instances.

Let's just say, that despite all his conditions and challenges, he is an amazing human being.

And yet, I still mourn for him. On days like this, I imagine a world where Greyson is a typical 20-year old. Dating, working a job or going to school. The one where I'd have to worry when he doesn't come home until the wee hours of the morning. The one where I'd have to ask him..."are you being safe?" The one where I am looking up at him with love and thinking to myself, "my son is a man."

I guess I mourn for me as well.

From where we currently are, I don't see a future as mother of the groom. I don't believe I'll have grandbabies to fuss over and spoil. Even if I held the dream of being matriarch of a large extended family, the only future dream I am currently trying to manifest is finding a supported living situation for Greyson. That is a difficult dream to hold and make real. Residential programs for young adults with developmental disabilities are few and very difficult to secure. 10-year waiting lists are not uncommon and even if a spot comes up, funding is extremely challenging to find. The cost can be hundreds of thousands of dollars a year.

As I write this, one of my recovery mantras floats like a bubble into my head and suddenly bursts.

"We can do hard things."

I absolutely know this be true. Anyone on a journey of healing and recovery has lived through and will live through again...the discomfort and (sometimes) agony of moving through that which feels impenetrable. Hell, being human requires doing hard things a good percentage of the time. Sometimes the hard thing lasts forever. I recognize my hard things likely pale to what many humans have faced.

That's why I cannot give up on finding the supports that Greyson will need in his life, now, in future, and after I am gone. My heart and my head are in alignment on this one...anything is possible and what feels impossible might not actually be. I can grieve and feel my feelings but I know feelings are not facts. And I have the power to transform my feelings and thoughts into energy that invites possibility rather than repelling it. Who knows what the future holds for Greyson. I want and need to stay in this realm of possibility.

Especially today...on his 20th birthday.

Birthday or regular day, we'll do pretty much do what we do all the days, with a few extra treats interspersed. He's already had his "breakfast" - cheese wraps, hummus, cherry tomatoes, Earl Grey tea with milk and sugar and three oatmeal raisin cookies. He's asked for a "Simpson's" t-shirt I know they are selling at Old Navy. I've promised him an ice-cream cake from Dairy Queen along with dinner at a nearby burger joint. If the skies clear, we'll do a bike ride along the river; if not, perhaps a drive with our dog, Gracie. There are no surprises planned (we don't do surprises) and we won't be singing happy birthday (singing anywhere near Grey is a no-no unless you want something thrown at your head).

The party is the non-party.

And so what do I need to tell myself today? Simple is good enough, and a birthday can be an ordinary day and maybe that's as magical as it needs to be.

I've said it a million times to myself...age is just a number and what matters most is now, this moment.

And finally, what I know to be true today can be the open door that I walk through. It does not have to be a door sealed shut.

And guess what: the skies have cleared and the sun is out.

Yours in recovery and life,

Payton xo