Awakened by the roaring sound of the lawnmower starting I rolled over and looked at the clock,
which brightly screamed out two o’clock in the morning. I didn’t have to think of what to do
anymore my body immediately jumped into action. I stumbled into the kitchen and put the water on
to boil for ice tea. I then slipped on my robe and stepped out onto the porch. I pushed back the tears
and forced a smile as I saw him pushing the mower with a grin on his face. He saw me and nodded. I
nodded back and said, “Ice tea will be waiting when you are finished.” It was one of life’s most
defining moments when I became aware that behaviors considered completely abnormal in society
had become normal in my own existence.
Normal had become being grateful he was mowing my lawn at two in the morning instead of
storming in the door screaming he couldn’t believe I had become a Satan worshipper. As I sat down
on the porch swing and continued to observe what I could see by starlight my mind raced back to
earlier times. Once past the minor complications of a forceps delivery he was a healthy, blond haired,
blue eyed, baby boy. I had the normal fears any new mother would have. I thought about how I
would handle middle of the night feedings and scrapped knees. I wondered how I would answer
difficult questions, or how I would teach him to believe in himself. I knew I would never use baby
aspirin, and I knew I would love him like I had never loved before. Although I had no way of knowing
what would lie ahead I did have the assurance I would be there for him through the tests of time. It
didn’t take long before the tests began.
He was a fretful baby, a fit throwing toddler, and a comic in elementary school. He was also a loving
big brother, a pain in the neck to his dad, and my heart. I was never told when he was diagnosed
with ADD at the age of nine that a bigger problem could be lurking in the background. Family
counseling in his adolescent years declared him the household Dennis the Mennis. Drug rehabs
during his teen years promised once he came to terms with our divorce his reckless behavior would
come to a halt. Watching him battle depression and a low self-esteem became a part of what made
him so endearing and kept me constantly seeking creative ways to parent. With drugs behind him
watching him graduate basic training with the Army National Guards brought a new lease on life for
him and a new hope of success for all of us. As the mower began to wind down I watched him wipe the
sweat from his brow and I closed my thoughts remembering it was the Army National Guards that
brought sense to years of irrational behaviors and a diagnosis that would change all of us forever.
He stepped onto the porch and without any expression said, “I am going to be a good son mom.” I
kissed him on the cheek and replied, “You already are honey.” I breathed a sigh of relief when I
handed him a glass of ice tea and he began to drink it. I waited anxiously to see if he was going to
enjoy the tea or accuse me of poisoning him. It was a good moment; he sat down and wanted to talk.
He told me of the latest conversations he had with people in their vehicles while driving on the
interstate. I was careful in choosing my questions as not to upset him. I asked him how he thought
sound could travel through car windows one to the other while driving at least sixty-five miles per
hour. He just shook his head, laughed and stated, “Mom you just don’t know the conversations you
are missing out on.” I embraced the laugh and tried to find a way for his statement to make sense.
He ended the conversation as abruptly as he had started mowing the lawn. He gathered up his things
and said he had to go; he had business to take care of. He hugged me and I watched him drive off
while wondering where his thoughts would be in the next few hours. I went back into the house
knowing in my heart that having a diagnosis brought me no closer to understanding what to do as his
parent than when I was dealing with his behaviors without an explanation. I fell to my knees, cried
and prayed.
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