24 or 12?

Chet's birthday is tomorrow. I still remember the tiny, sickly, and utterly so filthy he was crusty little fellow thrust into my arms by the director of the adoption agency. I remember the feeling of equal parts elation, fear and exhaustion. I had waited so long, and at last, had a son. I remember fingering his wavy hair and staring at his big dark eyes, and how he would quickly look away from me.

As a new parent I had no clue what to expect. The director of the agency said he just needed a room of toys and he would be fine. He needed lots more than that. The first year he was so desparately physically ill. He was frightened and unable to communicate his needs. He had no concept of how to play, having received insufficient early stimulation.

But it would be years and years before the depth of his needs and his disability would become known to us. Then I would have to face the fact that my dreams for him, dreams of a college education, driving a car, moving away from home, would have to be adjusted. Dreams for his future changed to receiving SSI, to finding ways to help him remember self care, and to help him find work or volunteer opportunities in our city.

It isn't that I am sorry for him or for myself. It isn't that I feel cheated. Life is what it is and in all respects, despite the challenges, my life is greater for his being my eldest son. Hopefully, he feels the same way, though this morning I somewhat doubt it.

On Tuesdays Chet volunteers at a local agency that provides meals to seniors. He helps in the kitchen in a variety of tasks. The chores vary enough to keep things interesting, not enough to confuse him, which can happen easily. Instead the confusion happened as a result of the car pool that he participates in. A few weeks ago the ride came significantly earlier than usual. We had no clue this was going to happen and Chet is adament that the driver never told him this would happen. He wasn't ready, they would not wait, and the ride left without him.

Although this has never happened since, his anxiety over not being ready "on time" has escalated bit by bit, week by week. I usually remember to reassure him the night before that I will as I have always done, get him up on time. Chet also has to have a glass of juice before he gets up every morning as on occasion his blood sugar drops and he passes out. Needless to say, knowing that he needs juice before he gets up has certainly taught me to be on time and consistant so waking him late is not something that would typically happen anyway.

However I forgot to remind him of all these details last night before bed. He obviously spent the night consumed with worry that he would not get ready for work on time. The result was a horrific morning where he became so out of control he couldn't even go though he was physically ready.

He came gallopping down the stairs 15 minutes early. This meant the juice had literally hit his system only seconds before. His breakfast was not yet ready and his noise woke his younger brother. I calmly explained that he needed to follow the same routine that he always did. Breakfast wasn't ready yet and I would call him down as I do every. single. day. He stomped back upstairs and now I had a sleepy KC bumbling around the kitchen, grumpy that big brother woke him in a startling fashion.

Chet came back downstairs when I called him and ate. He was reminded to stay on task and all would be well. Except that in his frenzy about work he forgot his morning tasks. Some things, like his hygiene he had totally skipped and had to be sent back to do. Other things he mixed up and did out of order, which meant he was messing up other family members who typically use the space before or after him.

He convinced himself that Lissa's high chair was in his way and attempted to move her out of his way on his own. Not only does he not usually walk on that side of the kitchen, Chet is never allowed to put his hands on the little kids or the space they occupy. He doesn't know his own strength and since he has trouble physically feeling things he could hurt them accidently. It was at that point, when he was reminded that Lissa's space had nothing to do with his morning preparations, that he melted down completely and lost control.

Much yelling, crying, body fluids running all over the map, waving of arms. Truthfully it became a point where it wouldn't have been safe to send him. When he loses control like that (thankfully something that doesn' t happen all that often nowadays) it takes most of the day for him to recalibrate. There is no way he would have safely worked in a kitchen with his temper hair trigger like that.

The behavior he exhibited isn't the worst thing in the world. It is about what I would expect from a 12 year old. The sad part is that Chet isn't 12. He turns 24 tomorrow. But in the areas of emotions and self control, it will take a lot more years to help him make the journey toward increased maturity.