Monday, September 20, 2010

We recently took our family to a fundraiser for Anthony's school. Although I am certainly supportive of the idea of bringing in money for the school, I have to get past my own reluctance to attend.

I am of course used to being around Anthony. I deal with him all the time, and I frankly don't think about him very much. I suspect that sounds somewhat unfeeling, but I don't know another way to cope with this human being that should have had his place in our family as the eldest child.

I try to let his birthdays slip by without notice. I avoid associating him with life events that other boys go through, and I minimize any time spent comparing him to his siblings. I no longer have a dream I wrote about previously, by the way.

But when I go to Anthony's school, I see many other children for the first time, and I have two emotions. The first is, perhaps surprisingly, sadness for the parents of those children. This is a circumstance in which I think misery does not love company. The second, however, is a resurfacing of buried feelings toward Anthony. It took a few years to get over the realization of what we had with him; seeing others similar to him only provides me with an unwelcome reminder.

I suspect that I am not the only parent with these issues, because my wife and I have noted that the attendance at these events falls far short of reflecting the number of children at the school.

On a slightly different but nevertheless related note, though, I am extremely impressed with the capacity for caring that the administrators and staff at this school have. I am also aware that there are those who work with special-needs children because they have one or more such children themselves. I don't think I could find it within myself to regularly deal with others in addition to my own.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Anthony gave me two writing topics in one day recently, although I had not originally planned to write about the second because of its unpleasant nature.

The first incident came after I had gone to work. It was our daughter's birthday, and she had opened presents in the morning. My wife called me a couple of hours into the day to tell me she found that Anthony, who had been left unattended briefly while she did laundry, had apparently dumped out a small sample bottle of perfume incidentally included among our daughter's presents. Since the perfume had been free to us, cost wasn't the issue. However, our daughter liked the fragrance, so we felt sorry for her. It is one thing for adults to deal with frequent aggravation of this sort; we wish Anthony's siblings didn't have to go through it as well.

The second incident began with Anthony in the car after my wife picked me up from work. I noticed that he was passing rather foul-smelling gas. I customarily take him to the bathroom shortly after returning, but I realized the matter was unusually pressing this time when I saw him get out of the car with a wet spot at the back of his pants. I got him to the toilet quickly, but suffice it to say I thought it necessary to give him a bath afterward.

I wondered aloud to my wife about the cause of Anthony's extremely loose bowels. He has for two or three months reverted to infrequent movements, so I have occasionally given him stool softener or Miralax. Nevertheless, it had been probably a week since the last dose of anything in that regard.

We puzzled over that question, but had forgotten about it to an extent when we were later again discussing Anthony disposing of the perfume. What had he done with it? The scent was still lingering in the room, but nothing indicated he had poured it out in the sink or on the floor.

Then came the moment of clarity: Lack of evidence and loose bowels meant he had viewed the bottle of liquid as something to drink.