Amanda & Jeremy

It's strange. We work long hours for companies that can easily replace us. If we're lucky, we like what we do and receive a fair wage. If not, we do it anyway.

We choose joy.

Sometimes after work, we continue the work required in our family. We respond and act quickly when our child is in distress. We don't sleep when our child is in respiratory distress. Yet, we listen when others tell us how tired they are.

And we choose joy.

Life with a medically complex child often forces us to slow down. Sometimes, life slows to a complete stop. These times are difficult as we watch the world around us move on while we stand still.

But still, we choose joy.

A trip to the zoo means loading more medical equipment into our vehicle than exists in an average hospital room. Suction machines, spare batteries, trach vents, pulse oximeters, nebulizers, etc. The list goes on and on. For our family, it includes transporting two power chairs in a borrowed pickup truck (to be driven separately) with a ramp that works but is super sketchy because the chairs weigh 350 pounds each. By the way, a trip to the grocery store requires the same load. We're spectacles of society, sometimes pariahs.

Time and again, I meet other fathers in our extended community, from all different backgrounds, all different professions, with all different anything - you name it. We not only share our experience of having a child living with spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), but also we share our joy. Not all of us for sure, and not all of us all of the time, but enough that I'm compelled to talk about it. Maybe some of us are faking it, but I'll receive it all the same. Our joy is what keeps us connected to our family and to each other.

Our joy inspires me.

Every parent's journey is different and has its own challenges. I tell myself that negative thoughts and emotions are a normal part of life and can be a natural consequence of a person's experience. Extreme challenges, such as life-threatening medical conditions with children, can naturally threaten my ability to focus on the good because my mind has been redirected to focus on those situations. These experiences can take a toll on mental health, making it difficult to maintain a positive outlook on life. Sometimes I feel like thinking positively is as laborious as training for a marathon.

I try to remind myself that when you're out of shape, it's hard to run a mile, let alone a marathon. You must train to run a mile, so you can run another mile, and then another, until you eventually run a marathon. Consistent training will inevitably improve performance. Likewise, when you train your mind to focus on the good, you can create a positive mindset. A positive mindset is not about wearing rose-colored glasses - it's about training the miles and miles of thoughts in your head to go where you want to be. At least that's what it feels like to me.

A mind's ability to think positively is as varied as a person's physical ability to run. Some people are naturally built to run. These natural runners step on a start line and cruise a mile time that takes others weeks to achieve. Some people can run barefoot or in minimalist shoes, while others need high support shoes. Some runners rarely get injured, while others manage ailment after ailment.

I don't need to compare myself to others to get better at it. I become incrementally better as I train my mind. As much as it may benefit others to be around me thinking more positively, I am the one who truly profits from being positive.

Training to run often creates a strange love for running. I also try to train my mind to push through and work hard, regardless of negative thoughts and emotions. Sometimes I find myself running on a day I felt tired or on a day it was raining. And not because I love running, but because I practiced being a badass long enough to know I can do hard things, even when I don't feel like it.

Just as a runner increases his or her threshold to endure running, I can increase my threshold to maintain positive thinking when faced with extreme challenges. When we actively work toward positivity despite circumstance, our mind has no choice but to follow. This is crucial to keep my mind from going down a sudden, sneaky, scary road not worth racing.

Some of the strongest runners known aren't necessarily the ones who won races; they are the runners who persevered because of their single-mindedness. It is possible to have a mind like a runner who fights the good fight and finishes the course. And I will!

As a parent, I have finite time to nurture my children. This is true regardless of having a disabled son, who naturally requires more of my time for his physical and medical needs.

It’s difficult to give each child individualized attention when they are often together, but I find expressing my attention in small ways makes a big difference. My middle daughter loves to hold my hand. Even when I’m with all my children, if I ask to hold her hand, she can sense my attention and love directed specifically to her. Although subtle, my simple intentional action is noticed in her little heart.

Individual time for each child is sacred, so the time deserves to be called something special. When I’m out with one of my daughters, I call it a “mommy-daughter date.” Highlighting the one-on-one time with a special name helps my daughter recognize the dedicated time just for her. Even if the time together is short, the impact is eternal in my daughter’s heart.

It’s important that my daughters recognize that their brother also needs to be nurtured and have quality time, beyond what’s necessary for his medical care. Just like them, he gets “mommy-son dates” too. Just like them, there are specific ways I intentionally express attention and love to him.

Being intentional helps me nurture well, regardless of who needs more of my time.

We navigate life as an interabled family in a moment-by-moment way.

We do what we can, when we can; but, more often than not, we choose fewer activities and fewer people. This forces us to be deliberate and be intentional with whom and how we spend our time.

We spend time with people who recognize our life runs at a different pace. People who consider accommodations so our disabled son, Asher, can be included in activities. People who are willing to help when things are hard. These are the people who won’t be bothered by coming to our house instead of a park when it’s the best accessible option. These are the people who will swing by on a moment’s notice to pick up our daughters, so they are not stuck at home when their brother is sick. These are the people who understand we can’t always do it on our own, and they are willing to be our village.

Our family ebbs and flows based on Asher’s health. When he is doing well, we are full steam ahead. This is when we register the children for a special activity in the community, we take a spontaneous family trip or we try something new. When Asher gets sick, everything slows down, sometimes to a standstill. We try to divide and conquer when possible to maintain activities for our daughters, but at the same time, we’ve learned that slowing down is a team effort, and as a family, we are in it together.

Activities often require a delicate balancing act. Asher usually needs modifications or extra assistance to participate in activities. Many times, his sisters want to do things that their brother can’t do. In spite of these challenges, we often celebrate our parental victories when we make the impossible possible. But there are times we help our children understand our limitations or their limitations literally make some things impossible to do. Limitations are hard for children to accept, but it helps to reframe their mindset to think about all the times and ways they have and will push past the immediate limitation.

It’s not always easy to tell how our children are navigating through our interabled family life. We catch glimpses that show us they are doing just fine. Like the moment at a friend’s house when Asher’s sister pushes chairs out of the way to make room for his wheelchair. Or the moment Asher celebrates his sister’s accomplishment for something that he will never be able to do himself. These moments help our hearts rest a little easier. But it’s when we are sitting around the dinner table telling jokes or snuggled up in bed watching a family movie that we know the simplest and sweetest moments are the keys to their hearts – no matter what life they are navigating.