I have written a lot about meltdowns in the past. Fortunately with time, maturation, and a lot of behavioral training, our son rarely has a true meltdown these days. He may start into one but has developed the ability to pull himself out of it and calm himself down before reaching the point of complete loss of control. He has made so much progress. I look at his behavior in comparison to his same age peers and truthfully, sometimes it's hard to see any differences. His emotional, physical, and social growth have been amazing.
Instead of a meltdown, these days we are more likely to experience what I think of as a neurological misfire. The biochemistry of his brain sends misfires that don't allow it to function the way that it should to function successfully. He can't shut his brain down. Imagine someone very tired yet unable to sleep. Making irrational statements that have no basis in logic. Incapable of following simple directions. Overly emotional and stuck in a cycle of the same behaviors, same words, same actions. Repetitive and without logical end. No longer crying, yelling, losing control. Just stuck in a thought that can't be brought to an end.
Because our lives are driven preventatively in an effort to head off these moments, they don't happen very often but sometimes life and circumstances have a way of forcing them on you. Sometimes life hands you the prefect recipe for a neurological misfire.
We have lost some important loved ones in our life over the last six months. In December, we lost a grandmother figure, Ms. Sunny. She was a volunteer at our fire company for decades. At the age of 91, she died in a car crash bringing to an end a beautiful life. This loss had a big impact on our youngest son. Every month at our fire company breakfast, he helped her keep the juices and fruits stocked and ready for the breakfast patrons. As a retired school teacher, she had unflagging patience and support for our son. He loved working with her and looked forward to her hugs and teasing. Her memorial service was held recently bringing the loss back. This Saturday was the first fire company breakfast since her memorial service was held.
This month, we also lost my husband's great-uncle Ralph who was also a grandfather figure. His loss happened quickly after a sudden heart attack and quick decline. He also often helped out at the fire company breakfasts. Our son loved teasing him and talking with him. His memorial service and funeral were this past Thursday.
I knew those losses had an impact on our son but events like those and the resulting feelings, thoughts, etc, display themselves differently with our youngest. We don't get classic stages of grieving that most people experience. It comes out sideways through behavior.
Yesterday, our son had the opportunity to perform for the PMEA District 8 band performance at Knoebel's Grove, a local amusement resort. His middle school band was performing and then enjoying the day in the park. It was a great time. The kids had fun performing; ate a quick lunch; then went off to enjoy themselves riding rides. Our son spent the day riding rides with our oldest son's girlfriend, her mom, and myself. We had a fun day together. He was so happy.
He was also very over stimulated. As we walked into the park, he was on his toes, spinning in circles. He was running into people and pointing and clapping. In spite of the excitement, he held it together beautifully.
We had set 4 pm as our official time to leave because his Dad had a fire company chief's meeting at 6 pm and we needed to be home in time for him to clean up and head to the meeting. That was understood and wasn't an issue. At 3:30 pm, we gave our son the heads up that we were planning to leave in a half hour and asked him what our final choices would be for the day. He decided that he wanted a drink and to ride the Skloosh, a large water ride. We agreed; said goodbye to his brother's girlfriend and her family; and headed towards those two final stops. Just then, it started to rain. Big, fat drops, that quickly turned into a downpour. We stepped underneath the overhang of an ice cream stand but large drops could still reach us. This was no big deal because we were already soaking wet from riding another large water ride earlier. Those large drops hitting him were a major source of physical stimulation. He couldn't stand that they were hitting him. He was practically standing on top of a stranger in an attempt to get out of them. Fortunately, she was very tolerant and patient. When the rain slowed and we started to leave, without riding the Skloosh, he seemed fine. A bit over excited, but fine.
As the evening progressed, he seemed okay. No real problems. No concerns. Fine.
Then bedtime hit. We followed our routine. We read a story together. I kissed him goodnight and gave him hugs. Our usual routine. He hopped out of bed and chased me down the steps declaring, I need another kiss. I told him it was time to turn it off and go to bed. A few minutes later, he's back. He needs a kiss. He needs a hug. He's spinning. Go to bed. You don't need to sleep but you must be upstairs in bed. A few minutes later, he's back. Same routine. Trying to start discussions. I need a kiss. I need a hug. You didn't hug me. He's spinning. It continues. I'm losing my cool. Becoming frustrated. He just won't stop.
He can't stop. He's having a neurological misfire.
For over two decades, I have successfully taught kids. I'm good at what I do. Very good. But none of that matters with our son. None. Of. It.
Part of the reason that I have been successful in the classroom is because I can feel the energy of my kids. Many times, I know without them speaking, what is going on with them. I can feel if they are happy, sad, too excited, not excited enough, etc. and I feed off that energy and use it. I am also very logic driven. These are the expectations. These are the rules. Here's the routine and what we do. I am consistent and firm but loving. It works. But none of that matters with our son.
What works with 99% of kids in the classroom does not apply to his biochemistry. It doesn't work when his brain misfires. Because I feel his energy. It works against me. He becomes over stimulated, over excited, and I feel it. I have to work to keep my energy level. I see him spinning, can feel him slipping out of control, but I can't help him rope it back in. Logic does not apply. Consequences do not matter. He is stuck in his thought patterns and can't pull out and he pulls me into that energy with him.
I get stuck in logic. Why can't this child just follow simple directions? Why can't he just listen?
Because he's have a neurological misfire.
He's stuck in sensation and energy. I'm stuck in logic. They don't go together. I can't seem to reach him.
That's why I have the most amazing husband in the world.
He calmly steps in. He's not effected by our son's energy to the degree that I am. He uses his own calm energy to help calm our son's energy, not even attempting to use logic to reign him back in. He just rides out the crazy wave with our son and lets him work through it. It's like riding a tornado as it uses up it's own energy. He waits it out; slowly calms it down; works it through.
I can't do that for our son. But he can.
It's 3 am and I can't shut it down. It's my last week of school. Today is our Foundry Day at the park with my classroom and their parents. It's their graduation ceremony and day of fun. At the end of the day, I have my evaluation meeting with my supervisor. Tuesday, a camera crew is coming to my classroom to record some footage of what we do. There's a lot going on in my world. A lot of transitions. A lot to prepare for. I lot to plan for. Unfortunately, with a son like ours, none of that matters. Our needs do not come first. You can't grieve for yourself. You can't stress for yourself. His needs always take precedence because he leaves you with no option or alternative. If I am honest, I resent that.
*sigh*
But he can't help the brain that he was born with. It's a beautiful brain in so many ways. But it's a brain that is very hard to live with. At 2 am, I finally put together all the pieces of why he is spinning and I feel guilty. And tired. And worn down by life with his brain.
But today is a new day. And we move forward as a family and as a team. And we keep working on helping him understand and control that brain. Meltdowns rarely happen these days. Eventually neurological misfires with reduce in frequency as well. We'll get there. Because we get tired but we get tired together and we don't give up. That's what families do.
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