The Curse of the Label

He's a little off today. There's more daydreaming and a sort of checking out; more obsessing over objects and cartoons; and less eye contact and focus on people and voices. He looks a bit out of place, like he's somewhere else in his mind.

I know this look, because I've worn it myself, and I bet most people do occasionally. I wear it sometimes when I'm tired and my eyes need a break; so I stare out the window and let the natural light draw me out of a moment of chaos. I wear it when I'm nostalgic, or contemplative, or when I just want to be quiet and soak up my surroundings and the moment. And I've worn it extensively when lost in an abyss of depression. That's when I refuse to come out or wake up, because being lost is more appealing and comforting than reality.

He's tired today and not feeling well. It's the end of the week, and he's worked hard in school all week. He's shown signs of progress and improvement. Together we've all been learning how to handle transitions, and most have gone beautifully this week with minimal stress. We have pushed him a little, and he has risen to the challenges. He deserves to check out for a while. He's earned a bit of reverie and solitude. If he is like me, it will be a tool he uses to recharge. But....

What if it's a sign of regression? What if he's already beginning to lose the skills we've been developing this week? Or worse, what if he'll be losing skills he acquired ages ago? These are questions I never would have asked before the label.

And what if he is like me? What if--on top of everything else--he is also plagued with depression. Dear God, I hope not. I hope that--if he is never potty trained or a high school graduate or independent--he will at least be happy. The fear of passing down my melancholy makes me want to do everything in my power to get him to, "Wake up! Come back to us! Snap out of it!" Now.

I am optimistic about my son's recovery from the "A" word. I know he is gifted, and he is a gift; not just to me or his family, but I believe he is a gift to humankind. He has a purpose and work to do in this life, and I will punch anyone who begs to differ in the throat. He has already affected the lives of many in a positive way. He is a joy, and he will continue to be so. I don't doubt that for a minute. And o.k., his lot isn't that shitty. Overall he is physically healthy most of the time, and he leads a very full life. But that doesn't make the questions or fear go away or his struggle any less significant.

I will become more comfortable with this. I am determined that I will not always succumb to the fears that come with the label, every time he has a breathing treatment and goes a little wild, or when he's tired and wants to withdraw. I won't. For one thing, typical children do those things; but more importantly, I will not allow myself or my family to become slaves to the fear of the unknown! But the wound is still fresh, and even my general knowledge is still so limited.  So I will allow myself to ask the questions today and acknowledge the fear and sadness; and then I will quickly move on to this beautiful spring day, full of promise.