It's All In The Cake

I took a deep breath and looked at the clock. It was almost 6 a.m. To most, this would be the start of a new day. To me, it was an ending of the last. I was standing at the kitchen sink, loading in the last of the dishes my daughter had finally brought out from her room. It would have been nice to have them several hours ago, but that was okay. I wasn’t mad. In fact, it even made me smile a bit. I was just happy to see she got them there and that she was comfortable doing it on her own accord. There was a time when even this seemingly simple task was much more than just taking dishes from room to sink. I am proud of her. She has come so far. But my heart still hurts.

Sarah’s life has not been easy and I have certainly made my fair share of mistakes along the way. It has been a very long road. We are in a good place now though. I closed the dishwasher and started it up. That was it. The last task of the “day” is done.

Now it was time to celebrate. We made it through another 24 hours without crisis. Go us! I walked over to the frig, pulled out the cake dish and a bottle of wine. It was my favorite guilty pleasure. Sarah had made this delicious chocolate treat earlier. She was settling into bed now and would sleep for the next eight to ten hours. This was my quiet time. A time of reflection, rejuvenation, and momentary pep talks to myself. I set the dessert and the bottle on the counter and grabbed a plate along with my favorite wine glass from the upper cabinets. The house was quiet. There was solace in the rising of a new day as I could hear the birds singing their morning melodies. They always sounded so happy. I fixed myself a plate, grabbed a fork, poured a glass of wine, and decided to steal this moment out on the back porch, watching the sunrise before crawling into bed.

The air was already filling with heat telling it would be yet another hot day. That was okay. I liked the warmth as it hugged me with comfort. I sat down at the patio table as the horses whinnied to give me a morning greeting. I loved being able to come out and see them, enjoy the country air and smell the sweetness of the grass. Life was good. I could finally breathe. After a heartfelt sigh, I took a sip of my wine and started on the cake. It was positively delicious. A moist devils food chocolate dream with the creamiest chocolate icing I had ever tasted. Sarah was a brilliant baker. Sarah was a brilliant soul. I thought back to when she first started baking, before her diagnosis. She loved baking but hated following any sort of instructions. It didn’t matter if they were written on a box or words spoken. She somehow figured how to make it work though. She invented her own way of doing things…when she could. Sometimes that was okay and sometimes it wasn’t. Sarah had a difficult time with a lot of things, especially with other people. School was tough for her. Life was tough. She loved to play softball, was an amazing pitcher on her way to a scholarship for college. Before it all fell apart. I had no idea what a balancing act our world was at that time. I didn’t know or understand everything that she was going through. I had no idea the challenges and horrors she lived through each day and all that were yet to come. I just didn’t know. I mean, I knew something was wrong but I just couldn’t figure out what it was. Things just didn’t make sense. She was in therapy, I was actively involved in her life, we had a very close relationship, she had unquestionable love and stability surrounding her. She was always encouraged and accepted for who she was, or so I thought. We didn’t argue around her and never put each other down. Our words were kind and our values were clear. We had a good life, in a good environment filled with wonderful people. None of that seemed to matter though. Sarah struggled so hard. No matter who I talked to or what I did to try to help her, it seemed like it just kept getting worse. Everyone would always tell me to just relax. It was a phase. She was just being a teenager.

***

“Sarah, your school just called. You didn’t turn in your homework, yet again! I don’t understand! I sat down with you last night. I saw you do it. Why didn’t you turn it in?”

“I don’t care mom! I hate school and I hate everyone there! I told you I wasn’t going to turn it in. I don’t care about them and I don’t care about their stupid rules!”

“Sarah, you have to go to school. I just don’t get it. You are very smart. You know the work, you do the work. Why wouldn’t you want credit for it?” I was exasperated. “Even more, why would you take punishment for not doing it when you have it right there in your bag?”

“Just leave me alone! You don’t understand!” Followed by the slamming of her door.

***

It was like no one could see what I was seeing. It made me think I was going crazy at times. I remember so many times, wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. She was not raised to act out the way she did…to think the way she thought. It was so strange. We had such a tight bond yet there so many times I would get so frustrated and was so confused. I didn’t know what to do. I could see her pain. I could feel her sense of loss. It was like she was disappearing right in front of me and there was nothing I could do. I will never forget that feeling of helplessness. Even now, it still creeps in from time to time without consent.

But Sarah… Sarah is my greatest hero, my biggest inspiration and the brightest light of my life. Not a day goes by that she doesn’t amaze me. Particularly right now, with each bite of this cake. I remember the first time I realized her demons were bigger than us. Bigger than she could fight. She was fading. She was 15 years old. I had walked in on her as she was getting ready to take a shower.

***

“Sarah… Sarah, what is going on?” My daughter was standing in her bathroom completely naked. There was nothing to her but skin over bones. She was looking in the mirror as she slid her fingers through her hair. She looked over at me, a clump of hair in her hand. It was all falling out. Tears filled her eyes. My shock couldn’t be hidden.

“Mom,” she cried in defeat. “You just don’t understand. They are all so mean to me. Everyone hates me. They pick on me all the time, throw things at me, call me names. I don’t why they all hate me so much. I just can’t take it anymore. I hate myself!”

I didn’t know my heart could shatter that hard, I grabbed her and held her so tight, so strong. “Okay. Look at me.” I grabbed her face and looked straight into her eyes. They were black and sunken in, yet red and swollen from the tears. I saw her.

“Sarah. I promise, you will never have to walk into that school alone ever again. I see you. You are done there.”

***

It would still take several years and countless trials before we would get her diagnosis. She never gave up. Finally, 2 months before her 21st birthday, her diagnosis came through. Sarah is autistic. She has what is called Asperger’s. Along with this has come the added complexities of anxiety, depression, ADD and PTSD. Most would take this as a tragedy. We, however, took it as some relief. Finally, we could make a plan. The plan changes a lot, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it does not. Sometimes we have to throw the entire plan out the window and start a whole new one. But Sarah is brave. Her resilience is profound. She lives in this overwhelming world, that is so big and so loud. Sometimes she feels like her entire body may explode. People don’t understand her, most don’t want to. She spends the majority of her time alone, exercising her brilliance with her reading, writing novels, crocheting clothes for her dolls or solving quests in her gaming. Though she prefers a life of solitude, relaxed and quiet with safety around her, she gets lonely. She is a real person, with real feelings and real thoughts she does not always understand. The disconnect is very real in her world, wondering why people don’t understand how she uses her words. They cannot accept her without a verbal filter and her words of truth. She wears her heart on her chest and tries to cover it with armor to protect herself. But she feels like she has to build a new shield every time she leaves her house or speaks to someone, even online. The world is big. It is scary. People are cruel and impatient. But it doesn’t stop her. She never quits the fight and she never concedes to the darkness. Instead, she crochets baby blankets for the ones left behind, provides a cozy haven for animals with special needs, writes stories to help those who just want to get away. She lends a hand in any way she can and is always trying to find a way to help others. To give them strength and hope of their own to hold onto. She sings off-tune and dances like no one is watching. She laughs with a genuine soul, right from the gut. Her smile shines all the way to her eyes. Her authenticity is perfectly hers. She is real. There are many things my daughter may never be able to do. She may never know that feeling of independence the first time we drive a car by ourselves. That first date…the first kiss… She may never live without fear or judgment. No special dress for prom, no graduation, or days of shopping and getting our nails done. Never the experience of childbirth and holding her daughter in her arms, for the very first time. Yet she carries the pain knowing… what she may never get to know.

The sun is coming up now, fresh dew glistening on all the foliage somehow reminds me to get some sleep while I can. I don’t know if I will ever get over the guilt of not doing better for her, knowing more, fighting harder or being as strong as she is. Yes, Sarah is my hero. She is my inspiration and my greatest accomplishment. I may not know what the future will bring, what new challenges are always just around the corner, or perhaps if we will even make it through certain moments. But I know this. I will always love her. I will always have her back and she will never not amaze me. I will always believe in her. We will never forget to dance… and we will always have our chocolate cake.