The world should stop, right? When something bad happens to you? Man, how quickly you find out that the world doesn’t stop. Not even for a millisecond. It’s like you are standing in the eye of the storm. Quiet. Calm. And everything and everyone around you is moving at speeds unheard of. I remember the day my dad died. I couldn’t believe that people were just walking around like nothing happened. Like everything was fine. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they know that the world as I knew it had just completely fallen apart? That things would never ever be the same again? I thought I would never be ok again. It was a moment in my life when I felt like I couldn’t move on. It was over.
Time keeps moving, whether you want it to or not. Before you know it, a month has gone by and then 6 months and then a year and… and then all of sudden, it’s been almost 14 years. Almost 14 years since my dad died. It seems like it was just yesterday and an eternity ago all at the same time. I didn’t think I would ever feel a hurt that deep again. Like I was in the eye of the storm. Quiet. Calm. Like the world should stop. Little did I know…
On a cold Wednesday in February, it would happen again…
So, 6 month wait for the autism diagnostic clinic. In the mean time, we got started with in home speech therapy. It was once a week for an hour. I saw a tiny little bit of progress, but that tiny little bit gave me hope. Hope that this was “just a phase.” Hope that my little girl had nothing wrong. We got a call in late January that there was a spot open the first week of February for the clinic. The clinic was on a Tuesday. The clinics last all day. You see every therapist you can think of. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy, a neuropsych doc and autism specialists. Each person spent about 30-40 minutes with us. They drilled Brenly with questions and we weren’t allowed to help her answer. So overwhelming. All in all, I thought she did fantastic. There were a few things she didn’t know but we didn’t think anything of it because she was barely two and a half. And, actually, by the end of the day, I felt pretty damn good about how she did.
One of the docs couldn’t make it on that Tuesday so we had to meet the next day for one session. Then, after the session, we took Brenly home. The way it works is after the sessions you take your child home and come back. Then the results are shared with you. Phil and I were optimistic. Brenly did so good in her sessions. Such a smart little girl. I was overly optimistic instead of realistic, especially since I already knew what was coming. How could I be so unprepared for something I knew was coming?
We had a quiet ride back to Easterseals, besides a little bit of talk about how well Brenly did. I think no matter how she did, we were going to think she was a genius. Maybe out of hope. Maybe out of desperation. Maybe because she was ours and we were biased. Who knows? We parked. We took a deep breath. And, in we went.
On this cold Wednesday evening in February, it was our D-Day.
They took us to a small room with about 5 other people, all of whom were in on the sessions with Brenly. I pictured them right before we walked in…”If Mom flips shit, you calm her down.” Pointing to the next person, “If Dad flips shit, you take him.” I almost laughed out loud at the thought of Phil flipping out because he is not that kind of person. Not even a little.
They each took their turn talking. They went over the sessions. Honestly, I’m not sure I heard a word. Or maybe I heard it, but I wasn’t comprehending any of it.
I heard the last person though. Loud and clear. It was like she was screaming.
“At this point, we are going to go ahead and diagnose Brenly with autism spectrum disorder and sensory processing disorder.”
There it was. Official. Diagnosis Day.
The eye of the storm. Quiet. Calm. Everything around me a blur. The tears fell. Silently. From my eyes. From Phil’s eyes.
To be continued…
The Beautiful Life of Brenly 