Originally posted to my Facebook on August 19, 2026
The Facebook algorithm has begun feeding me lots of posts from: parents of medically complex children, Autism related groups, parents of children on the spectrum, and adults on the Spectrum themselves.
Most of them are good reading for me, primarily because we have shared experiences. And occasionally I'll come across wording for something I'm unable to explain; such as this gem shared yesterday (8/18):
Anticipatory grief is grieving a goodbye that hasn’t happened yet. (thx Amanda https://www.facebook.com/amanda.new.5846 )
To most people, this is probably self explanatory. To me this (experience) was revelation, the first time it happened. Though it hasn't been any easier to deal with each additional time - other than I recognize it, as a (personal problem) pattern.
My sister was convinced I'd had my heart broken, when I came home from my first year of college. I'm guessing she was looking at what I was doing (and not doing) and compared it to her own experience. And then told me so. At some point, if I didn't say it out loud (to her), I certainly thought it - 'Well . . . you would have to be 'in love' to have your heart broken."
So little did I know about love.
I think you can find yourself surrounded by people that influence your life for the better and not realize how much you begin to depend on them (the friendship safety net, or web), until you try to envision your future (without them in it). Then your mind begins to employ all kids of useless strategies to prevent that from happening - the future without them. Except in my case, with disordered thinking (and a huge lack of self-awareness) I live more in the day-to-day functioning realm. 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof' or however that goes - I'm so often overwhelmed by the moment, I forget to look ahead.
So, when I came home from college, the routine changed, the friend group was gone, the homework and long walks across campus were absent. Attending church with only my peers (and no children, parents, or elderly people) dissolved. Everything was different. It wasn't a single variable that changed.
I felt . . . strange. Absent. Lost.
How I'd begun to think of myself (or associate my identity, I guess), changed. And this seems to happen every time my greater peer group changes - as best I can tell. Church congregations, for instance; college classmates, (divorce, obviously), siblings living close by, etc.
If you don't know how you are feeling to even label it, it can be a challenge to describe it, or tell someone else how you are feeling - so they can help. You just begin to adapt to your 'new' normal and hope that in time you find some other people (or whatever else is missing).
This hasn't quite turned out to plan.
In each new season, there have been new family demands, and work demands, and church opportunities (we don't call them demands; 'volun-tolds' perhaps, but not demands). As for most adults (as I assume), personal friendships sometimes get relegated to the back burner of priorities.
I remember a friend insisting his young wife go and hang out with her girlfriends. 'Because she needs it', was his instruction. That also seemed like revelation to me, because up to that point, I looked on that as pleasure rather than necessity. And in my disordered thinking, pleasure was what you were required to give up when 'righteous' demands were high.
So as demands started increasing, pleasure became a very low priority (along with my mental health, sociologically speaking).
And now, I'm in another season of life, where I completely understand (as much as I'm able) the anticipatory grief that accompanies having children with Special Needs. There is a very real possibility that you may walk in the room some morning, and life may have escaped your loved one while you were sleeping. But that is just another in the bridge-too-far for my 'sane' mine to deal with. And with children, you simply can't plan for every contingency.
But I've noticed another pattern (or coping mechanism) . . . or mal-adaptive behavior, really. When I'm presented with something that feels real (to me), I short circuit the entire anticipatory grief process before it can begin. I let myself believe I'm living the fairy tale version of my life - not just fiction, but complete fantasy. And very soon I'll wake up. And I think my subconscious finds that sickeningly reassuring somehow; because as long as I'm able to mentally reinforce that (delusional) reality, it seems to carry me.
And I'm just back to living in my own make believe world.
Where everything is fine.
And we (my little family) are content.
And we want for nothing.
Because if we did want/need something, and I sincerely asked, Heavenly Father might desire to give it to me (just because He loves me and/or my kids).
And sometimes, it is just better not to ask.
Because sometimes Heavenly Father gives you exactly what you need, because the only words you can sincerely pray are 'Thy will be done,'
because
sometimes praying for anything (else) seems a little like lying to God . . . if that is even possible.
As if He didn't already know.
Sometimes disordered thinking leads to incredibly (dis?)ordered praying (and/or weeping, which just results in headaches).
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