I highly recommend this writer to any parent who is going through a struggle, developmental or medical, with their child. http://www.jasonhague.com His son and his struggles are so different than mine, but his perspective truly inspires me.

I always draw strength knowing how many of us are out there. I still remember names from the rehab unit where Christopher lived for a few months during his fifth year. Dan was so quiet and frail, but incredibly sweet. Justin was amusing as his compulsions resulted in tripped fire alarms and other fun surprises. Friendly Jessica or eloquent Cameron. They were in the same boat as Christopher, fighting their way back to life after a traumatic brain injury. Every child is different, unique. As we were told about Christopher’s brain injury, we were also told “We won’t tell you what Christopher will or won’t be able to do, because he will only make a liar our of us anyway.” The first weeks were the worst. Christopher made no progress, and they sent us home with an unconvinced-sounding rationale, “sometimes being home helps trigger something.” We feared Christopher would be like little Kyle, who never truly regained full alertness, at least not that I ever knew about. But I learned what I have to know and we headed for home, holding on to hope all the same. His Priesthood blessing had said it would be slow, after all.

About ten years ago, after many rough years, and my own decline into somebody I really don’t want to be, I concluded that I needed to forget the previous twenty years and focus on building a future that was better. Over the years, to overcome the pain, and the shame, I purposely avoided thinking about anything that had occurred between my 18^th and my 38^th year. After all, I was leaving behind a lot of rubbish by doing so.

I am happy with the person I am becoming as I continue to work and build my skills as a teacher, church member and family member. I can do things I never believed that I could and I seem to be making a positive difference in the world, one day, one effort and one student at a time. Even though I was drawing on my life experiences, I worked on not thinking about them too much. It was better that way. That is what I believed.

But then recently, my attention was drawn to a group of young adults that are the same age as my own child. I was very impressed with what they are doing with their lives, and excited for them. Of course, that made me turn to my own sons life and journey, and why I was so surprised with all these young people are accomplishing. You see, my son isn’t like that. He doesn’t have a great job or career, he works at Life Skills. He doesn’t have a family he cares for, he has caregivers who take care of him. And in spite of this, he inspires people. It is amazing.

Recently I attended Rootstech 2017. It was hosted in Salt Lake City by our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. It is all about family history. Research has shown that a powerful director in the life of a person is a family narrative. They thrive on a sense of who they are and how they fit into this world. Of course, there are really two narratives. We have a family on earth. Every family is different, each one unique. Every person born on this earth has a father and a mother. It’s science. Where each persons story goes after conception changes. There can be millions of families with two children, even with one boy and one girl. But you will find differences in the individuals of every family that meets that description. There is no story exactly like another, no two family narratives are ever the same.

Anyway, so research shows that when individuals know where they came from and who their family is, whether the story is triumph or tragedy, they have a stronger sense of who they are. This can enable them to try harder and achieve more than when they lack that narrative.

How does this relate to my opening about Christopher and my forgotten past? Christopher is a runner. This means that as soon as he became mobile after his brain injury, he began to try to run off to whatever adventure he thinks may be awaiting him elsewhere. He could crawl so fast, before his kindergarten teacher succeeded in getting him to walk, and he was a runner then. Last Thanksgiving weekend, the Saturday after a day full of family and feasting and fun, Christopher decided that things were too quiet in contrast. So he ran, to go find that Thanksgiving party again. I received a call from an officer in the West Jordan Police department. Christopher found them, after slipping past his care givers, out the front door, down the long drive, and up 7800 S street in West Jordan. Fortunately at 6:30 AM that rather busy street is quite deserted, because Christopher does not have a good sense of safety in traffic. He wandered another block to the police cars that were processing a drunk driving accident. The center he lived in had equipped him with a little booklet of phone numbers for family members and he had it with him. It was made so the staff didn’t have to dig into his file when he wanted to talk to somebody, and my number was labeled “Mom,” making me an obvious choice of who to call.

This incident resulted in another look at whether this care center was the best placement for Christopher, as well as a series of meetings. At one particular meeting, which took place on the day after New Years when most of the nation was taking an extra day for the holidays, his father and I mentioned his wanderlust. The director mentioned that I should write his story down. Unfortunately I am not a writer. This is what I have told myself for decades as I have purposely not written in a journal or diary. It is what I told myself when I struggled to earn B’s on required writing courses in college. There were never any but REQUIRED courses for me, since I have never sought out a writing course I didn’t have to take.

I didn’t really think I wanted to write a book, and besides, I have made a point of forgetting everything about the time span I would be writing about. It is much less painful that way. Then I stumbled on the fact that these remarkable young people I mentioned in paragraph five are about the same age as Christopher. I guess having a son who never met the milestones that his peers did changes how you perceive his age, because suddenly I was thinking about these people, and the fact that this generation my son belongs to is out shaping the world now. And I thought about what his story is and how it differs. And then I thought about writing, like had been suggested to me a few short weeks before.

Back to my mention of Rootstech. By the time I attended the event, I had already decided to write and was beginning to put things down in word documents. But I felt inspired as I sat and listened to the speakers that I was meant to write Christopher’s story, a story he cannot write for himself. But writing his story begins with writing my own. His includes digging into a past I’d decided to forget, and remembering. I found things falling into place when I found my old journal. I only wrote about ten entries in it, half of them were copies of letters I wrote my brother on his mission, but it spanned some of those forgotten years.

I discovered something in my memories. There is plenty of pain, true. But there is also tons of good stuff; times we laughed, played, worked and learned together. And as many times as I failed, I still did the job of raising that boy, with help from friends and family. It was a creation of memories  I’d forgotten existed. It is a chance to see who I am by recognizing and accepting who I was. In the same vein, it is a chance to see who we all are who have been touched by Christopher’s life and how it has made us better people.

On a final note, I don’t consider myself a particularly great person. Great people don’t feel compulsions to bury and forget their past. But by doing things I know are right, I can still inspire others with my actions.

 I recently came face to face with a friend from my youth. I was at church with Christopher and we were headed to the restroom. I had one hand gripping the back of Christopher’s belt and the other tucked around his elbow as we walked down the hall. This way if he trips or starts to fall, which he does very easily, I can break the fall for him, something he doesn’t do well for himself.

 This friend had been Student Body President at our high school. I didn’t really run in the same circles he did in High School, I wasn’t one of the ‘popular kids,’ but we’d lived in the same neighborhood and we’d known each other since we were babies. He marked his time as president by working to make every student in the entire school feel included. He always took a minute to say hello and show interest in me, even when he was impossibly busy, and I saw him do the same for everyone else, too.

When I ran into him, we were at church and it was a week I have Christopher with me. Then this man, who’d been so impressive in his own accomplishments, expressed his respect and admiration for me, just because I was Christopher’s mom taking him to church. I have to admit, in the past I hadn’t ever thought Christopher needed to go to church since he understands so little of it. But one day I realized that he would be in full possession of his faculties on Judgment Day, and I didn’t want him to turn and asked me then and there why I didn’t bother to help him learn about his Savior, Jesus Christ. I knew I didn’t want that to happen, when it would be too late to fix, so I began making sure he gets to church regularly. I wasn’t really doing anything beyond the ordinary, I was simply trying to do something I know to be right. He seemed to be impressed by this simple and ordinary act I perform for my son, and once again I saw Christopher inspiring another in this life. Once again I knew that the struggle is all worth it.