This Is Regression

I can’t tell you the last time this kid and I did a puzzle.

It’s been a few months at least.

I have a dozen excuses why.

It’s summer and playing outside with a hose is way better.

Covid hit and life got turned absolutely upside down and inside out.

I am writing a book. Jamie is running a business. Sawyer is playing hockey and golf and flag football. The baby never stops moving.

Then there is homeschooling. I’m not good at it. I want to be clear. It is not a strength of mine.

I am drowning too. I could lie and say I’m not but what’s the point. I haven’t been alone since March. Not for three minutes. I’m tired too. Yup, all of it.

And then there is regression. That dreaded word. It started three weeks ago on a Wednesday. It stopped our world in its tracks.

Cooper was waiting for a package and it didn’t come. It sounds so simple to anyone who doesn’t live it. But it was anything but simple.

It was a bad night. It’s been hard ever since.

Suddenly I was holding onto this little boy for dear life. I was googling headaches and seizures and tracking aggressions and crying in the shower because I felt like I wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting for him to be seen and to be helped.

He’s lost most of his words. They are in there. And when he’s ready to tell me something, I will help pull them out.

But it’s been dark here for weeks.

To me it feels like screaming into a waterfall and being able to see the people staring at us but no one moves.

It’s like we are slipping away and all we need is a life raft but there are none. Unless I want to sew it myself. While drowning and holding him up. That’s a regression to me.

On the outside we appear fine. But it’s all consuming.

He’s coming out of it. I can see glimpses. But I don’t want to let my guard down either. So I will hold my breath and we will keep swimming.

Last night I spoke with amazing mamas who have teenage kids who are living our future and they motivated me.

They reminded me that Cooper’s success depends mostly on me and he needs more. He needs charts and calendars and timers.

He needs me to sit on the floor and do puzzles and practice his letters and to encourage speech 4,000 times a day. We need to empty the dish washer doing hand over hand and walk around the neighborhood. He needs more.

So, this morning I did just that. I got back to basics. Three puzzles. 30 minutes. Tickles. Hugs. Chasing and giggling.

And while we played, I felt like I could breathe again. I had my life raft. Now if I could just hold onto it.

He will make it. I know it. Because he’s amazing.

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook, subscribe for exclusive videos, and subscribe to our newsletter.