"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide
forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
-Elizabeth Stone.
But what happens when the child walking around with your heart is
particularly vulnerable? When he cries because he’s not invited to a party, my heart breaks right along with his. When he simply cannot manage what is expected of him, no matter how hard
he tries, my heart breaks along with his. When unkind words cause him pain, my
heart breaks with his. I often wonder just how many times my heart can break.
But whenever it seems my heart can’t break one more time, something will
happen—something rare, pure and beautiful. He’ll be invited to a friend’s house
to play. He’ll successfully navigate a tricky social situation as if it were
second nature. Maybe he’ll even be elected Student Council Vice President amid
a field of 30 students vying for only four officers’ positions. Or who knows?
Maybe...just maybe...he'll shoot for the moon and try roller-skating. It could happen.
When Ben told me he wanted to run for Student Council office I was worried.
What if he didn’t win? Would his reaction upon hearing the news of his loss in
his classroom, among his peers, cause him embarrassment and alienation? I
worried, but I didn’t stop him. Instead I helped him. I made sure he brought
home the proper forms and signed up on time, ensured he followed all the rules
about posters, listened to him practice his speech and role-played all the
possible scenarios for when the winners were announced. I prepared him the best
I could and then sat back and watched. Admittedly concerned, but (as luck would have it) needlessly.
I was able to go to school and watch the assembly where the candidates presented
their campaign speeches. Ben didn’t seem at all anxious and did a great job, even throwing in an unrehearsed finger-point on “I want to be
your Student Council Vice President.” But on the morning the winners were to be
announced, he must have felt nervous because when I told him I needed to get to
work, but that his special educator would be there should he need help, he
paused, looked at me and said, “Can you come instead, mom?”
How could I refuse? I made a few calls and went to school with him. And I’m
so glad I did, but not because Ben needed my help dealing with
disappointment, instead I got to witness a truly exciting moment in his life. (But just barely, because while I was trying to appear cool, as if I was simply helping out in the classroom that morning, I left the room to make some copies and just made it back when the intercom crackled.) When the
winners were announced, Ben’s name was among them. The room erupted in congratulations from his classmates and his smile was positively electric. It was pure magic.
A couple of weeks later, perhaps buoyed by his Student Council success, he
decided to go to the school roller-skating party for the first time and he even
wanted to try skating. I was nervous, but I shrugged my shoulders and said,
“Let’s do it.”
Apparently I didn’t hide my dread as well as I thought, though, because Ben
asked, “Mom, are you terrified?”
I put an arm around him and said, “Not unless you are, Ben,” and off we
went.
That night, Ben did something I didn’t think
he’d ever do…he roller-skated. (I’m not even kidding.) And after a while, I
think he even liked it…a little. I got blisters on my feet from stalking
him—skating slowly behind him until he sensed me there and shooed me away and
then racing around to check on him again, I skated roughly three laps for each
of his one—trying to appear nonchalant while watching closely for signs of
trouble. Seeing him slowly (and oh-so-awkwardly) propel his body around the
rink took my breath away as if he were speed skating in the Olympics. Another incredible achievement for Ben that I certainly could not have predicted—and just when I thought I couldn't be
any more proud of him. He never ceases to amaze me.
I’m certain I will still periodically wonder just how many times my heart
can break as it walks around with Ben, outside my body in this great big world that often seems like it wasn't really made for him.
And while there’s no way to know the answer to that question, I know one thing
for certain...my heart can break at least one more time than Ben’s can.
So keep shooting for the moon, Ben. I'll be right here to scoop you up should you fall
(but far enough away so that your friends won’t notice—I promise).
