The Maze

That day was a sunny autumn day in October.  The farm was crowded as it was a school holiday so many people had ventured out to dig through the pumpkin patch and children ran haphazardly between playgrounds.  There was a small train for a turn around the farm. Hay rides, food, a petting zoo.

And there was a corn maze.

I was there was Ben, who was about four at the time, while the other two boys were at therapy.  We were joined by a friend and her two children, ages three and one. And for some nutty, not-very-well-thought-out, inexplicable reason, we decided to go through that maze.

We didn't make it ten minutes before the first, "I have to go to the bathroom," was said.  This was followed soon after by, "I'm tired," also, "I'm bored," and, of course, "Will you carry me?"

About this time, we were beginning to realize our mistake because this maze was like the size of a Super Walmart (minus women in house shoes and inappropriately short shorts).  I'd never done a corn maze before and I, foolishly, thought it would be a piece of cake.  I like puzzles, I'm relatively intelligent.  I can certainly outsmart a bunch of pieces of corn stalks cut in some fancy design.

Wrong. I forgot I'm also completely directionally challenged.

We wandered around for hours it seemed like (okay, probably 45 minutes).  We hadn't thought to bring supplies like water or snacks or sleeping bags (since it seemed like we'd be there all night).  We twisted and turned, ran into little signs held by obnoxiously cute scarecrows that said things like "Wrong Turn," and "Dead End," and "Try Again."

I think more accurate signs might have been, "Are you an idiot?" "You're going to die in here," and "Got you, sucka."

The children weren't doing well.  They'd reached the level where laying down on the ground was preferred over walking and their complaints were loud and often.  I didn't blame them.  If I hadn't been, you know, one of the adults, I'd have been laying down on the ground with them.

We only passed a handful of other people on our journey.  Some of them seemed hopeful and some of them seemed confident.  I just felt lost and a little panicky and all I wanted to do was get out myself on the right path and get the h-e-double hockey sticks out of this place.  Finally, finally, we did.  I don't remember if we made it to the end or if we found a "You can't hack it" short cut.

Somehow we made it out and made a pact to never, ever, ever step foot in a corn maze again.  A promise I have kept until this day.

Last night when I couldn't sleep and lay awake thinking and thinking which turned into worrying and doubts, a feeling settled into my stomach and I realized it was how I felt in that stupid maze, that lost, panicky, I-just-want-to-be-on-the-right-path feeling again.

There are just some days when I feel completely lost and panicky, when it doesn't feel like I know the right thing to do.  I'm struggling with questions about schooling next year for the boys.  Questions with answers that might involve some major changes around our home and in our lives.  I worry if we are making wise choices in how we raise our children, if they'll need exorbitant amounts of therapy when they grow up (instead of just average amounts of therapy).  I worry about our finances and that the house is still a mess and that the laundry isn't folded.

I worry about our future.

I worry about their future.

And I feel stuck too.  I lay awake and wonder if this will always be my life.  I love my husband and I love my children but having two children with autism will be my life forever.  I'm scared that my life is that stupid corn maze except I'm never getting out of it.  I hear people say, "When the kids are out of the house . . . ," but that's not a sentiment I can latch onto.  I will likely always have one of my children at home.  Does this make me selfish?  Does this make me a bad mom because I have these thoughts?

Short answer: I don't know.

Longer answer: I don't think so?  I think part of having a child with lifelong special needs is that I have to grieve what won't be, accept what will be, and embrace it.  It sounds so simple and yet it is the hardest thing I will ever do.  Even when I think I've completely accepted things, I haven't.  I backtrack.  I panic.  I fear.  I lose faith.

I know mazes are full of traps and maybe that's what this fear and anxiety is.  It's a trap that keeps me from taking joy in what I have right now, this day, right in front of me. The only thing I can do is keep taking steps forward and keep trusting that God will guide me out of this.