Anger

Wystan uses a sermon of Chuck Blair's as a starting point to speak about the frustration and anger she holds around caring for their handicapped child. She writes about where she finds solace in the midst of life's uncontrollable events and her progress in moving through pain. -Editor

(This article was first written as a blog on Livestream for New Church Live – the writer wanted to share it in support of others who care for very special needs people. What follows is just a part of the picture, thankfully. Bless you all.)

I turned on New Church Live on Livestream a few weeks back looking for a church service, not really for the message, but because I wanted to hear our daughter (a dorm student at ANC high school) sing with her choir. But I think that the Lord had me tuning in to hear the minister Chuck Blair’s message.

Chuck spoke that morning about anger and forgiveness. A lot of the examples he used were war-like, and, it seemed to me, very oriented to a male way of thinking about anger and revenge. I am lucky enough to say that I can’t even relate to the idea of loss of a loved one by violence – this is so far from my experience it doesn’t seem real.

But I live and breathe with anger and resentment just barely managed — and for me the language, the texture of anger is the slow, tiny, repetitive efforts to take care of my son, who is profoundly mentally handicapped; to get him to wash his hands, to brush his teeth, to clean up his poop and pee messes, day after day, after day, after day. Just under the surface of the positive face I try to wear, seethes rage at those who have the option to be repulsed, to walk away, to not offer help, to not see how exhausted we are. Probably the hardest thing about caring for a profoundly handicapped person are those moments when I realize my loved one is not necessarily a person to other people – just a problem, maybe something gross.

In those times when people (family, friends) have not been as loving as I needed them to be it has been very hard to forgive, because I carry this big chip on my shoulder all the time “See what I have to carry? How dare you criticize me? How dare you not understand?” I carry those wounds for a long time – I am working hard to learn how to let them go.

Mostly I handle the frustration of caring for someone who cannot grow and change by getting involved in helping other people, growing seedling and gardens, engaging with life in all the positive ways I can. Sometimes though I see this as just running away from what I can’t control, can’t help to grow, and doesn’t change, and overwhelms me.

Thank the Lord for my own church home! I’ve worked to help “grow” that too, but lately I’m just grateful for just being able to go there on Sunday, to a place that feels like a haven for us for a while, even if my son is disrupting. Our people all know us there, and Owen has blessed them too in his funny ways, spontaneously smooching someone’s neck who needed it that day.

The blood and guts kind of desire for revenge is only a part of the panorama. The pain caused by words, or lack of understanding, and the frustration dealing with repetitive behaviors is so intense, yet looks so, so different. And still is obviously just as toxic in the end.

Thanks for your sermon Chuck.

To see the sermon online: http://www.facebook.com/l/nAQFBmVbxAQELjPpvVzNOgnL65Ea-6lXX2aRjj3kxpKKsTQ/https%3A%2F%2Fvimeo.com%2F61179134

Wystan Simons

Wystan, still an evolving writer, lives in Mitchellville, Maryland, with her husband of twenty years, and two of their six children, also currently ten hens, fifteen chicks, and one nervous dog. She enjoys family dinners when the whole family can be together - especially if she doesn't have to cook. Apart from essay and screen writing, she loves all forms of art, exploring sustainable agriculture, and working together with her hubby to make things grow.