The lowest moments bring about change.

I don’t even remember what the tantrum was about.  It was just one of many.  It had been going on for about an hour.  Grace was beyond reach.  She was screaming and wailing, lost in her own terrible two year old world.  But I do remember my response that day.  I held her stiff and flailing body in my arms as we both cried.  My tears were ones of utter desperation and worry, hers were of fear and frustration.  But my words were loud and clear, although Grace couldn’t hear me through her own screaming, or even understand what I was saying. “I am NOT going to lose you Grace.  I promise you that I will not let you slip away from us.  Mommy is going to make you better”. 

I didn’t know how I would fulfill my promise to her, but I knew that I wouldn’t rest until I had.  I had no idea the road that promise would take me on.  The story I have to tell is a mother’s story of joy and heartache, strength and weakness and mostly of undying love.  I share it so that our story may help others.  


Gracie had tantrums like this all the time.  I know that two year olds do this.  But they don't normally have them multiple times a day, and have them last for hours on end.  The source of the tantrums were a mystery.  I later discovered a term for them.  They are called meltdown tantrums, or sensory overload tantrums and there's not a darn thing you can do about them.  You can't discipline them, you can't soothe them - nothing.  They just go on and on and on.  It's like a horrible nightmare.  Here's the worst part.  No matter how bad it is for the parent, it's 100 times worse for the child.  That's a scary thought.  


I remember one day.  I was 8 months pregnant with our third child.  It was a hot, sticky day and I was miserable.  I was sick, I was tired, I was totally and completely miserable.  I decided to walk down to the mailbox with the two children.  Emma (my oldest) wanted to go barefoot - too tired to argue I agreed and so we all headed out the door.  We got about two houses down the street when Gracie (two and a half years old) took off her shoes too.  She took one step and started screaming.  The feel of the "dirties" on her feet was too much for her.  But of course I had no idea what was wrong with her at the time.  I could barely bend over, but I tried to help her put her shoes back on.  She was so upset and confused that she wouldn't let me do that either, so she just stood there and screamed.  All I wanted to do was to get the mail and go home.  I tried grabbing her hand and pulling her along, but she planted her feet and wailed like a terrified, injured animal.  Finally I simply left her there, standing on a patch of grass while Emma and I went the rest of the way to the mailbox.  She must have looked like an abandoned child standing there all alone screaming at the top of her lungs.  But she wouldn't take one step.  When we got back to her the only thing I could do is pick her up like a sack of potatoes and lug her back to the house.  By the time we got home I was dripping with sweat and tears, Emma was wondering what on Earth was going on, and Gracie was still screaming.  I was so upset that I put her in the laundry room and closed the door.  I sat outside the laundry room door and cried.  Why was everything so difficult?  The simplest task - just going to get the mail - had turned into a complete nightmare.  It took almost an hour for Grace to calm herself down.  And the rest of the day for me to feel like a decent mother again.