10 years ago, I was the customer service and marketing manager in the family print shop and Quinn and I celebrated our 10-year wedding anniversary with a delightful party at the Joslyn Art Museum and I wore a fabulous dress. I celebrated a breakthrough in my health and was in the few “perfect weight” years of my life. (Well, to be honest, I had one singular year of perfectly healthy weight. Ah well…but this post isn’t about my body
Today I’m going to share a little about loss and what Marcus teaches me about how to deal with death and grief.
It seems to me that, regardless of what was to come next, this would have always been the most important day of my life. I got to hold him for a moment; I counted ten fingers and ten toes. He was the most precious boy ever born. I called my father to tell him that he was Grandpa Mark to a beautiful boy named Marcus, so named out of love and gratitude. All was going according to plan.
At about 8:00 a.m., the doctor came into the room and told me there were some concerns.
When you have a child with an intellectual disability the tests come early and often. Medical tests, intervention tests, IQ tests.
IQ tests are the worst. On the parents. I’ll never forget Marcus’ first IQ test, he was three. He communicated mostly with action/expression and sign language. But not that day, well I take it back. He was clearly communicating, just not compliant. An important differentiation that, as his mother, I could see but the Ph.D. in the room clearly could not, Or did not.
One moment that stood out, the psychiatrist held before Marcus a doll with its head off, laying