Waiting for the Train

I write and talk a lot about anxiety on this page. Anxiety in children. The only anxiety I know personally. The only anxiety I live.

I refer to it as a train sometimes. A big black ominous one. And my son is standing on the tracks.

I am next to him, holding his hand.

I don’t know if he sees it or even feels it coming. But I can. I can see it coming, picking up speed. But I am helpless. There is no stopping it just like there is no moving my son from the tracks.

So, I hold his hand and I brace for impact. And I refuse to let go. I hold onto him. That’s all I can do.

That’s his anxiety. That’s our life.

The train is coming right now. I can sense it. My son is asking for the zoo and to go to outer space and to ride a fire truck. He changes his clothes a dozen times a day and carries around pages ripped from his favorite magazines and stacks up DVDs in piles all around the house.

He has me write things on the calendar and set timers for fun.

Little signs that something is coming. I feel the need to protect but I don’t know from what.

So, I hold his hand. It’s really all that I can do.

Before I became a mother, I didn’t realize all the different ways we would hold hands. They were once so small and now they are all most as big as mine.

I hold them in parking lots. And on sidewalks.

He holds mine when we dance in the kitchen to a song I cannot hear.

I hold his as we wash his hair together, practicing the back-and-forth motion.

He holds mine when he’s really excited. He brings them to his mouth and gasps into them.

And I hold his when he’s ripped off much of the skin around his fingernails. See he won’t wear band-aids. And he can’t stop ripping. Just seeing it hurts my stomach.

I sat with him for much of today. Just near him. Watching and protecting him from himself.

Before we have kids we have this picture in our heads. We will need to protect our kids from falling off their bikes and strangers in alleys. My role was clear. I would be brave and protect him from the world.

But in reality, our reality, it’s me holding his hand. Sitting with him. And waiting for the train.

Refusing to let go.

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.