Bleary

Someone suggested to me today that I’m grieving. I’m trying to decide if that makes sense. I’ve been clear on the fact that we knew Gavin was dealing with what was probably Asperger’s Syndrome, so the diagnosis was more a confirmation, even a relief. The ADHD piece doesn’t really bother me at all. It’s more a personality description than a medical diagnosis. I could look at AS that way, too, I suppose. However you slice it, it just means more work for me as a parent. And I’m tired. For the past week or more it’s been a Herculean effort to just handle the basics. Kids’ laundry doesn’t get put away until it’s time to do the next round. Cat boxes may or may not get cleaned out on any given day. Dog gets walked just far enough to pee and then we’re back inside.

The other morning, a friend and recovery fellow asked me what I needed. I must have looked like a complete idiot, staring at her. I realized I have no idea what I need. So I just started crying. Honestly, I can’t think of one single item or gesture or service that would help me. Nothing practical or realistic, anyway. I keep coming back to good old the Star Wars retort to the question, “Is there anything I can do?”: “Not unless you can alter time, speed up the harvest or teleport me off this rock.” I mean, I think I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing and I don’t know that there’s really anything for anyone else to do for me unless they want to adopt and raise my kids and send me off to Scotland with a million dollars.

Yeah, I’m probably grieving. It’s new. I don’t like it very much. But mostly I’m tired. So I’m gonna go to bed now.