Rachel is a child of God, blessed wife and stay-at-home mom to three, the oldest of whom has a variety of needs surrounding her visual impairment (resulting from her severe prematurity), ASD, and mild intellectual disability. She blogs at This Journey Our Life, to share her personal journey of special needs parenting, encouraging others who find themselves on a similar path.
Desperate for help, I felt the urge to run.
The walls of my world were caving in around me. Helplessly, I looked on at my daughter who needed to be rescued.
“Will somebody please help me?” I tried to cry out. Instead, my throat choked on its scream.
It was like those nightmares where you want to run but your legs won’t move; where you need to scream, but you can’t.
Silently I stood back.
My daughter was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
She needed help.
But it’s hard to help when you don’t know how.
I scanned the crowd, searching for someone who would stop to offer their assistance.
If someone shows me what I need to do, I’ll do it! I thought. Anything to save her.
Why isn’t anyone stopping? Why doesn’t anyone care?
Weary from searching, I wanted to give up.
These were my feelings throughout a large part of the past school year. Overall, Cami’s struggles had grown more complex, and every solution appeared impossible. Help seemed out of reach.
I was frustrated and fighting despair.
But a phone call changed my perspective and brightened the pathway I had been trudging along.
Immediately following a difficult conversation with one of Cami’s teachers, I called my mom. In between heaving sobs I updated her on the situation, sharing the most recent struggle.
Answers were uncertain, but I knew my daughter needed help.
I needed help.
I told my mom, “I wish it was as easy as running outside to a crowd of people and screaming at the top of my lungs:
SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME, SHOW ME WHAT TO DO!”
Her response hit me hard:
“Rachel, it is.”
The truth of her statement sent chills down my spine, and my throat tightened as more tears spilled down my flushed cheeks.
There is someone Who is waiting to help. Someone Who will show me what to do.
That night I ran to Him.
And still I run.