Welcome to Holland/I am Holland, For U my Sisters

[Mayleng]

I had been looking for this poem since my friend Texasmom posted it at schwab a couple of years ago. Someone re-posted the link, so I am going to stick this here so I don't lose it again.

Whenever, you ladies need some cheering up or a good cry, you can read this again and again.


WELCOME TO HOLLAND
by
Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland

[chaknine]

Thanks Mayleng!!!

[brookesmom]

Tulips have always been my favorite flower anyway. Thanks for reminding me.

[i_am_pauls_mom]

Awesome! I got chill bumps reading that. Thanks so much for posting it here. And while I have your attention Mayleng; you're truly a Godsend. Hugs to you! Just wanted to take time to say 'thanks' to you and all here that actually 'care' enough to reply to all these people.
:(

[i_am_pauls_mom]

Ooops...at the end was supposed to say YOU ROCK! but it turned out to be a 'sad face'. Oh my gosh; lemme' try again...

[Mayleng]

i_am_pauls_mom said:

Awesome! I got chill bumps reading that. Thanks so much for posting it here. And while I have your attention Mayleng; you're truly a Godsend. Hugs to you! Just wanted to take time to say 'thanks' to you and all here that actually 'care' enough to reply to all these people.

You are most Welcomed. Glad to help.

[LurkNoMore]

Thanks Mayleng...it brought tears to my eyes...good reminder that it is all a matter of perspective!

[Mayleng]

This was posted by Maryjane (at schwab).
Thought you ladies might enjoy it.

Celebrating Holland - Im Home
by Cathy Anthony

This is a follow up Welcome to Holland, by Emily Perl Kingsley. The original essay can be found at
www.nas.com/downsyn/holland.html. Cathy Anthony is a parent, advocate and presently the executive director of the Family Support Institute in Vancouver, BC(www.familysupportbc.com).

I have been in Holland for over a decade now. It has become home. I have had time to catch my breath, to settle and adjust, to accept something different than I’d planned. I reflect back on those years of past when I had first landed in Holland. I remember clearly my shock, my fear, my anger,
the pain and uncertainty. In those first few years, I tried to get back to Italy as planned, but Holland was where I was to stay. Today, I can say how far I have come on this unexpected journey. I have learned so much more. But, this too has been a journey of time.

I worked hard. I bought new guidebooks. I learned a new language and I slowly found my way around this new land. I have met others whose plans had changed like mine, and who could share my experience. We supported one another and some have become very special friends. Some of these fellow travelers had been in Holland longer than I and were seasoned guides, assisting me along the way. Many have encouraged me. Many have taught me to open my eyes to the wonder and gifts to behold in this new land. I have discovered a community of caring.

Holland wasn’t so bad. I think that Holland is used to wayward travelers like me and grew to become a land of hospitality, reaching out to welcome, to assist and to support newcomers like me in this new land. Over the years, I’ve wondered what life would have been like if I’d landed in Italy as planned. Would life have been easier? Would it have been as rewarding? Would I have learned some of the important lessons I hold today?

Sure, this journey has been more challenging and at
times I would (and still do) stomp my feet and cry out in
frustration and protest. And, yes, Holland is slower
paced than Italy and less flashy than Italy, but this too
has been an unexpected gift. I have learned to slow
down in ways too and look closer at things, with a new
appreciation for the remarkable beauty of Holland with its tulips, windmills and Rembrandts. I have come to love Holland and call it Home. I have become a world traveler and discovered that it doesn’t matter where you land. What’s more important is what you make of your journey and how you see and enjoy the very special, the very lovely, things that Holland, or any land, has to offer.

Yes, over a decade ago I landed in a place I hadn’t planned. Yet I am thankful, for this destination has been richer than I could have imagined!

[angel]

Mayleng,

I am boohooing. This was EXACTLY what I needed, EXACTLY at this point in time.

Thanks! Just beautiful!

angel

[Mayleng]

Angel, Glad you got some comfort from it.

[cathystephiesmom]

Thanks for this - I cried when I read it... I feel like I've been trying to speak Italian and follow the Italian maps (everyone says this is Italy!), but I'm suddenly realizing that this can't be Italy and now, after six years I've got to start learning a new language and finding new maps. It's sad, and I do some crying, but not as much as say, a few weeks ago. For one thing, when I'm not trying to force things to be Italy, they can be very loving.

[4myaustin]

Hello all:
I have both of these essay's on my board right in front of me, and I keep a copy in my IEP binders so I look at them when I am in an IEP...It helps me and reminds me that my trip it Holland is on going.

I also have this essay that I have saved and I really love it, I hope you all do as well.

"THIS BEAUTIFUL DISORDER"

By Edward C. DeWindt-Robson, Ph.D.
Licensed Psychologist and Health Services Provider
The Epilepsy Institute of North Carolina

ADHD, if not understood and handled properly, can lead to all sorts of miseries. Academic failure, juvenile delinquency, substance abuse, financial disaster, failed marriages, and a reputation for irresponsibility are only a few.

Preventing problems like that would be reason enough to treat the condition. But the best reason, in my opinion, is something entirely different. To put it simply, the ADHD mind is too wonderful a thing to waste.
I'm completely serious about this. These individuals are different in ways that can be a blessing, not only to themselves, but also to those around them.

What's more, the world needs them. We need them, because without them, too many decisions would be made by accountants. The most effective leaders are invariably people who don't mind taking risks, who get impatient with the details and go right to the big picture, who know when it's time to cut to the chase, choose a course of action and go for it.

We need them, because without them, there is too much we would never find out. Explorers and discoverers throughout history have been people whose curiosity overrode their need for safety, who took chances "sensible" people avoided.

We need people who refuse to accept the word 'impossible.' We need heroes. We need them, because some jobs involve more excitement than the rest of us could tolerate. Firefighters, test pilots, EMT's, professional athletes, stunt people, spies--these are people who are accustomed to adrenalin levels that would send the rest of us into panic disorder.

We need them, because without them, we might never try anything new. Sensible people are satisfied with a system that works. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Progress depends on innovators, people who just have to try new ideas, whose minds are always questioning the old assumptions, who find any fixed routine boring.

We need them because they keep life interesting. In their passion for novelty, they take the lead in creative pursuits, invent new approaches or push the old frontiers in art, music, literature, and film. In their love of the limelight, they become our actors, comedians, rock/rap/jazz musicians, inspirational speakers, charismatic preachers, and talk show hosts.

We need them because they are the people who remind us how to have a good time. These are the ones who live in the present, not watching the clock, and make the most of every moment. These are the adults who haven't forgotten how to play. These are the great romantics, the great lovers, the people of passion.

These are the ones who may live ordinary lives, yet somehow manage to live them a little closer to the edge, whose intensity reminds us that there's always a bit more to life than what we have yet experienced.

This is the potential of the ADHD mind. Some of these people manage to realize that potential without medical or psychiatric intervention, usually because they have had the benefit of a parent or mentor who showed them how. Many others, in the absence of treatment, fall victim to the dark side" of the disorder, as their lives never rise out of the chaos of undisciplined impulses.

This is the purpose of treatment. It is not to "cure" this beautiful disorder, or to suppress it. Waking up the sleepy brain won't take away its love of stimulation and distaste for boredom. Learning organized habits
won't turn actors into accountants, or Tom Sawyer into Little Lord Fauntleroy. The professor may learn to be less absent-minded, yet still retain his eccentric brilliance.

The purpose of all psychiatric treatment is to give people more control of their lives, to make sure they have meaningful choices. We don't want to turn the next Jimmy Kirk into the perfect child; we just want to make sure he doesn't drop out of school before he ever reaches Starfleet Academy, to make sure he has the opportunity to do what the ADHD mind does best: "to boldly go where no man has gone before."

[swmom]

Holland Meets USA...Need to Vent Badly

Yesterday, my SIL came through town with her 6-year-old dd, on their way to visit the grandmother who lives in Atlanta. It's their Spring Break this week. My dd was so excited because she likes her role as the elder cousin and feels like she can be in the teaching role with them, sort of showing them the way. It gives her self esteem, which is very low, a real boost.

Well, my SIL graduated from Harvard in English and is now a college professor and novelist. Her husband is also a college professor. They said the day their dd was born that she was going to Harvard. Since then, they have filled her days with books and books and more books. No TV allowed. She isn't allowed to play with kids her age and truly finds them boring. Her parents work to get her in social situations where she's around "big girls" only and can learn from them. Well, needless to say, this kid is very mature for her age and smart as a whip.

When she comes to our house, she "pretends" to be the younger cousin so dd can show her the way. It's all a big act that I think her mom has cooked up so that they can develop a
relationship. This kid is so far beyond dd in general reasoning skills it's not even funny. Her social skills are great. Dd's social skills are terrible. I watched last night as she was "playing along" and it just about killed me. Dd was clueless, had no idea what she was being sucked into. Ugh. I just want to cry.

This morning when they left for Atlanta, my SIL had dressed her to the nines, the cutest little pink outfit, adorable shoes, hair back in a pink pony tail, ready to present her as the favorite grandchild. At our house when they arrived yesterday, she was dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans, hair not even combed. I wanted to just scream this morning when I saw her. The grandmother they are going to see is the one who is so very cold to my dd, never comes to see us even though you can roundtrip it in a day, sends an email to her about once every six months.
We are not even on her radar. She adores the grandchild who is brilliant just as she adored her mother who is. Ugh. What a way to start the day. I just felt lower than low this morning.

They want to come back on Friday and stay the night. I don't want them here. It's too painful for me. I'm starting to feel like my SIL is using us for a free place to stay. They are strapped for money right now because she's on a leave of absence and her husband doesn't make much money. She pretends like she wants to be with us and stay with us so the girls can get to be good friends but the kid isn't interested. I watched her carefully last night and she didn't even want to deal with dd for almost an hour and blamed it on being tired. What do I do?

This is a very awkward situation. I was just starting to get comfortable being in Holland and suddenly I've been jerked back to the US, where we don't fit in anymore. Help!

[Gillian]

Sorry, don't have any great suggestions except to be bold and (as the saying goes) - just say 'No'. We have a similar situation - very smart cousin who we constantly hear about. He's a nice kid it's everyone else that's the problem. I agree, it's really hard to deal with. Sorry I'm not being much help.

[swmom]

Gillian -

I'd very much like to do that. My husband, however, may not see what's going on here yet. I don't really know. We haven't discussed it. I'm afraid to because I think he'll see it as yet another criticism of his family.

This morning, I was trying so hard to be polite, even as upset as I was. I was talking to my niece and asking her some questions about what she was looking forward to in Atlanta, where they were headed today. In the middle of our conversation, she quickly and quite rudely looked at her mother and said, "Can we go now?" She said it as though she was incredibly bored with all of us and tired of pretending that she wasn't. It was just awful.
Her mom scolded her for doing that but it was very telling.

I believe there are two reasons why they want to come back on Friday and neither has anything to do w/us. One is they need another free place to stay. Two is that they want to see the Dead Sea Scolls which are at Discovery Place here. I honestly don't know if my husband sees through what she's doing or not.
Like her mother, she's very, very sneaky. There's always an underlying reason for what she does. Whole family is like that.

I hate having to doubt someone's intentions but I believe I'm justified in this case. Ugh. Hate this.

[ohmama]

Swmom,
I think you should put up with her for the sake of your husband. You can hold your head up high with the class I know you have, and be glad that your sweet daughter is not like this. That womans child is treacherous and lacking in integrity and any ethical structure of character. Certainly, she does not have any desirable qualities from all the wrong training she has received. She doesn't know how to be a child and is in for a difficult life as an adult with her superior attitude and deficiency. How very sad for her and her mother who is no doubt much like her.

It's very unusual that they would be interested in the Dead Sea Scrolls since they don't strike me as a family who is at all aware of what the teachings of the Bible contain. How sad to miss the meaning of life on purpose when you have all the advantages.

[swmom]

My MIL cannot operate in any way but a deceitful one. If she can't fool you into thinking one thing while she's got something else in mind, she isn't happy. I don't think my husband is like that but boy his sisters are. She taught them well! With me, I am who I am whether you like me or not. I'm a straight shooter. With them, it's all based on manipulation and lies. Everything is a game. With my SIL, she is so smart that she's a master at making you feel comfortable with her while she using the he_ _ out of you. It is hard for me to trust any of them now. I feel so disappointed in her. I didn't think she was like that.

[d]

swmom, there's an expression that goes something like people can't make you feel inferior or take advantage of you unless you give them permission to.

I also have this theory about family and when you're in your 40's. Are you close to or in your 40's? Pretty much everyone I know had some sort of epiphany with their family relationships in their 40's (usually slow and painful epiphanies but epiphanies all the same) and make healthy changes they are comfortable with accordingly. It gets very tricky bc each spouse comes to these realizations about their own families on their own timetable and you kind of can't mess with your husband's percieved relationship with his family till he gets there on his own.

Is there any way you and your dd are "busy"? Some place both of you have to go to on Friday night and again be out of the house early Saturday (like a nail appt.? ;D). That way, you could explain to your SIL that while you'd love to "visit" again, oops scheduling means you and dd are n/a and maybe offer up that she is of course welcome to stay if you can stomach that. That kinda turns the tables right smack back on her. If she accepts, she's in a sense admitting the pretenses. Of course, hubby can have a nice one on one visit with his sister when you and maybe your dd are out. If he feels his family relationships are important to maintain, well it is his family, right? You could always make sure there's great food or whatever else you do for visitors to make them comfortable, just not physically be there.

ohmama is much more gracious than I am. Life is too short for this woman to make you or your dd feel bad and come between you and your hubby.

[Gillian]

Excellent idea d.

[swmom]

Yes, I am 48 and this may be my epiphany. Makes perfect sense I guess. I think this must go along with the realizations you have during menopause, things that have been bothering you for a long time that now you feel the need to address once and for all.

I was talking w/dh tonight about this - as gently as possible - and surprisingly, he seemed to understand. I think maybe this has confirmed some things he's been thinking but has been afraid to say. He remarked that our niece seems stressed and overtired a lot, in tears over the littlest things. She just looks sad all the time. I agreed totally. He also was trying to help figure out how we could get out of being here Friday. I didn't reveal everything I was thinking but just enough to make him begin to question things.

Another thing that this SIL(L) does is probably what made me start to doubt her in the first place. Another SIL(A) is very insecure and does nothing but stir up trouble for the entire family. In front of us, L says things like, "I can't believe she did that. She's just awful." But then, when L is in Atlanta visiting, she calls A and gets together with her. She's been doing this for years. A few weeks ago, dh and siblings were trying to plan a 50th anniversary for their parents. A was kicking up some trouble as usual. L copied everyone(all the sibs) on a private email from A to her, making fun of her. But then, when L is in Atlanta this week, she tries to get together with A. Makes you wonder what she says about us when we're not around. I just don't think things like that are funny, especially when it's family.

[d]

No, I don't think it's funny to copy private emails and send them out to others making fun of them, family or not, and especially not family!

I'm so glad hubby and you seem to be on a similar page with this. Must be difficult for him whether he tells you that or not. And yup, the less said the better in conversations on complicated immediate family like that.

The only good to come out of situations like that are they gave me a moment to be thankful for and appreciate my husband and kids even more.

Be prepared for potential "outlaw" backlash from this and be pleasantly surprised if there is none. Just show up at the 50th with grace, a great gift, a smile on your face (wearing a great outfit always helps me but I love clothes!) and enjoy yourself. Don't let any of it suck you (your dd and to a cautious degree your hubby) in or drag you down.

[swmom]

Thanks, d. It sounds like you've been the recipient of "outlaw" backlash.

This 50th anniversary is going to be interesting. Dh's parents don't have a great marriage, never have. And everybody knows it. And yet, here we all will be celebrating what never should've happened, out of pure obligation. Oh the joys of dysfunctional families! I really should write a book. It'd be an instant bestseller.

[Mayleng]

For those of you who don't like or live in Holland, here's another poem.
To You, My Sisters
By Maureen K. Higgins

Many of you I have never even met face to face, but I've searched you out every day. I've looked for you on the internet, on playgrounds and in grocery stores.

I've become an expert at identifying you. You are well worn. You are stronger than you ever wanted to be. Your words ring with experience, experience you culled with your very heart and soul. You are compassionate beyond the expectations of this world. You are my "sisters."

Yes, you and I, my friend, are sisters in a sorority. A very elite sorority. We are special. Just like any other sorority, we were chosen to be members. Some of us were invited to join immediately, some not for months or even years. Some of us even tried to refuse membership, but to no avail.

We were initiated in neurologist's offices and NICU units, in obstetrician's offices, in emergency rooms, and during ultrasounds. We were initiated with somber telephone calls, consultations, evaluations, blood tests, x-rays, MRI films, and heart surgeries.

All of us have one thing in common. One day things were fine. We were pregnant, or we had just given birth, or we were nursing our newborn, or we were playing with our toddler. Yes, one minute everything was fine. Then, whether it happened in an instant, as it often does, or over the course of a few weeks or months, our entire lives changed. Something wasn't quite right. Then we found ourselves mothers of children with special needs.

We are united, we sisters, regardless of the diversity of our children's special needs. Some of our children undergo chemotherapy. Some need respirators and ventilators. Some are unable to talk, some are unable to walk. Some eat through feeding tubes. Some live in a different world. We do not discriminate against those mothers whose children's needs are not as "special" as our child's. We have mutual respect and empathy for all the women who walk in our shoes.

We are knowledgeable. We have educated ourselves with whatever materials we could find. We know "the" specialists in the field. We know "the" neurologists, "the" hospitals, "the" wonder drugs, "the" treatments. We know "the" tests that need to be done, we know "the" degenerative and progressive diseases and we hold our breath while our children are tested for them. Without formal education, we could become board certified in neurology, endocrinology, and physiatry.

We have taken on our insurance companies and school boards to get what our children need to survive, and to flourish. We have prevailed upon the State to include augmentative communication devices in special education classes and mainstream schools for our children with cerebral palsy. We have labored to prove to insurance companies the medical necessity of gait trainers and other adaptive equipment for our children with spinal cord defects. We have sued municipalities to have our children properly classified so they could receive education and evaluation commensurate with their diagnosis.

We have learned to deal with the rest of the world, even if that means walking away from it. We have tolerated scorn in supermarkets during "tantrums" and gritted our teeth while discipline was advocated by the person behind us in line. We have tolerated inane suggestions and home remedies from well-meaning strangers. We have tolerated mothers of children without special needs complaining about chicken pox and ear infections. We have learned that many of our closest friends can't understand what it's like to be in our sorority, and don't even want to try.

We have our own personal copies of Emily Perl Kingsley's "A Trip To Holland" and Erma Bombeck's "The Special Mother." We keep them by our bedside and read and reread them during our toughest hours.

We have coped with holidays. We have found ways to get our physically handicapped children to the neighbors' front doors on Halloween, and we have found ways to help our deaf children form the words, "trick or treat." We have accepted that our children with sensory dysfunction will never wear velvet or lace on Christmas. We have painted a canvas of lights and a blazing yule log with our words for our blind children. We have pureed turkey on Thanksgiving. We have bought white chocolate bunnies for Easter. And all the while, we have tried to create a festive atmosphere for the rest of our family.

We've gotten up every morning since our journey began wondering how we'd make it through another day, and gone to bed every evening not sure how we did it.

We've mourned the fact that we never got to relax and sip red wine in Italy. We've mourned the fact that our trip to Holland has required much more baggage than we ever imagined when we first visited the travel agent. And we've mourned because we left for the airport without most of the things we needed for the trip.

But we, sisters, we keep the faith always. We never stop believing. Our love for our special children and our belief in all that they will achieve in life knows no bounds. We dream of them scoring touchdowns and extra points and home runs. We visualize them running sprints and marathons. We dream of them planting vegetable seeds, riding horses and chopping down trees. We hear their angelic voices singing Christmas carols. We see their palettes smeared with watercolors, and their fingers flying over ivory keys in a concert hall. We are amazed at the grace of their pirouettes. We never, never stop believing in all they will accomplish as they pass through this world.

But in the meantime, my sisters, the most important thing we do, is hold tight to their little hands as together, we special mothers and our special children, reach for the stars.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Mayleng]

Here's another one.

I am Holland
by Chantelle Wilkes McLaren ( Chantelle McLaren, who has
CHARGE Syndrome, is now 26 years old and married)



I am Holland
Over a decade ago you came to Holland
Your ticket to Italy in hand
You had been eagerly waiting to go
To see Rome, and Michelangelo
The plane instead landed in Holland
I know it wasn't what you planned
To you this was new
But I had been waiting for you
You see I am Holland
So I held you by the hand
You were just the one
The very special person
I knew that you would love me
Did I help you to see?
The wonders of this place
The softness of your face
I am glad you are here
I am glad you are near
You love me
Unconditionally
You did not mind that I am slow
The little that I know
The windmills and the tulips
The sails and the ships
This quiet place
The soft face
I love to hold your hand
For I am Holland

[4myaustin]

That was beautiful, thanks for that one.

[hope4all]

Jan 10, 2008 18:00:30 GMT -5 Mayleng said:

Here's another one.

I am Holland
by Chantelle Wilkes McLaren ( Chantelle McLaren, who has
CHARGE Syndrome, is now 26 years old and married)



I am Holland
Over a decade ago you came to Holland
Your ticket to Italy in hand
You had been eagerly waiting to go
To see Rome, and Michelangelo
The plane instead landed in Holland
I know it wasn't what you planned
To you this was new
But I had been waiting for you
You see I am Holland
So I held you by the hand
You were just the one
The very special person
I knew that you would love me
Did I help you to see?
The wonders of this place
The softness of your face
I am glad you are here
I am glad you are near
You love me
Unconditionally
You did not mind that I am slow
The little that I know
The windmills and the tulips
The sails and the ships
This quiet place
The soft face
I love to hold your hand
For I am Holland

I heard the first Holland story at a conference on parenting children with trauma and attachment issues. It gave me chills then and again when I re-read it.
This second poem made me realize that this is the job God had planned for me. Somewhere deep inside my child he knows I was always meant to be his Mom and He was always meant to be my special little guy. (Tears)

[dhfl143]

You might also enjoy "Amsterdam International" by Dana Nieder 10/2010


Amsterdam International
To fully get this post, please read (or re-read) Welcome to Holland before starting. Thanks.

In the special needs world, there is a poem (essay? whatever.) called "Welcome to Holland." It is supposed to explain what it's like to have a child with special needs. It's short and sweet.

It skips everything.

While "Welcome to Holland" has a place, I used to hate it. It skipped over all of the agony of having a child with special needs and went right to the happy ending.

The raw, painful, confusing entry into Holland was just glossed over. And considering the fact that this little poem is so often passed along to new-moms-of-kids-with-special-needs, it seems unfair to just hand them a little story about getting new guidebooks and windmills and tulips.

If I had written "Welcome to Holland", I would have included the terrible entry time. And it would sound like this:


Amsterdam International

Parents of “normal” kids who are friends with parents of kids with special needs often say things like “Wow! How do you do it? I wouldn’t be able to handle everything---you guys are amazing!” (Well, thank you very much.) But there’s no special manual, no magical positive attitude serum, no guide to embodying strength and serenity . . . people just do what they have to do. You rise to the occasion, and embrace your sense of humor (or grow a new one). You come to love your life, and it’s hard to imagine it a different way (although when you try, it may sting a little). But things weren’t always like this . . . at first, you ricocheted around the stages of grief, and it was hard to see the sun through the clouds. And forget the damn tulips or windmills. In the beginning you’re stuck in Amsterdam International Airport. And no one ever talks about how much it sucks.

You briskly walk off of the plane into the airport thinking “There-must-be-a-way-to-fix-this-please-please-don’t-make-me-have-to-stay-here-THIS-ISN’T-WHAT-I-WANTED-please-just-take-it-back”. The airport is covered with signs in Dutch that don’t help, and several well-meaning airport professionals try to calm you into realizing that you are here (oh, and since they’re shutting down the airport today, you can never leave. Never never. This is your new reality.). Their tone and smiles are reassuring, and for a moment you feel a little bit more calm . . . but the pit in your stomach doesn’t leave and a new wave of panic isn’t far off.

(Although you don’t know it yet, this will become a pattern. You will often come to a place of almost acceptance, only to quickly re-become devastated or infuriated about this goddamned unfair deviation to Holland. At first this will happen several times a day, but it will taper to several times a week, and then only occasionally.)

A flash of realization---your family and friends are waiting. Some in Italy, some back home . . . all wanting to hear about your arrival in Rome. Now what is there to say? And how do you say it? You settle on leaving an outgoing voicemail that says “We’ve arrived, the flight was fine, more news to come” because really, what else can you say? You’re not even sure what to tell yourself about Holland, let alone your loved ones.

(Although you don’t know it yet, this will become a pattern. How can you talk to people about Holland? If they sweetly offer reassurances, it’s hard to find comfort in them . . . they’ve never been to Holland, after all.


And their attempts at sympathy? While genuine, you don’t need their pity . . . their pity says “Wow, things must really suck for you” . . . and when you’re just trying to hold yourself together, that doesn’t help. When you hear someone else say that things are bad, it’s hard to maintain your denial, to keep up your everything-is-just-fine-thank-you-very-much outer shell. Pity hits too close to home, and you can’t admit to yourself how terrible it feels to be stuck in Holland, because then you will undoubtedly collapse into a pile of raw, wailing agony. So you have to deflect and hold yourself together . . . deflect and hold yourself together.)

You sneak sideways glances at your travel companion, who also was ready for Italy. You have no idea how (s)he’s handling this massive change in plans, and can’t bring yourself to ask. You think “Please, please don’t leave me here. Stay with me. We can find the right things to say to each other, I think. Maybe we can have a good life here.” But the terror of a mutual breakdown, of admitting that you’re deep in a pit of raw misery, of saying it out loud and thereby making it reality, is too strong. So you say nothing.

(Although you don’t know it yet, this may become a pattern. It will get easier with practice, but it will always be difficult to talk with your partner about your residency in Holland. Your emotions won’t often line up---you’ll be accepting things and trying to build a home just as he starts clamoring for appointments with more diplomats who may be able to “fix” it all. And then you’ll switch, you moving into anger and him into acceptance. You will be afraid of sharing your depression, because it might be contagious---how can you share all of the things you hate about Holland without worrying that you’re just showing your partner all of the reasons that he should sink into depression, too?)

And what you keep thinking but can’t bring yourself to say aloud is that you would give anything to go back in time a few months. You wish you never bought the tickets. It seems that no traveler is ever supposed to say “I wish I never even got on the plane. I just want to be back at home.” But it’s true, and it makes you feel terrible about yourself, which is just fantastic . . . a giant dose of guilt is just what a terrified lonely lost tourist needs.

Although you don’t know it yet, this is the part that will fade. After you’re ready, and get out of the airport, you will get to know Holland and you won’t regret the fact that you have traveled. Oh, you will long for Italy from time to time, and want to rage against the unfairness from time to time, but you will get past the little voice that once said “Take this back from me. I don’t want this trip at all.”

Each traveler has to find their own way out of the airport. Some people navigate through the corridors in a pretty direct path (the corridors can lead right in a row: Denial to Anger to Bargaining to Depression to Acceptance). More commonly, you shuffle and wind around . . . leaving the Depression hallway to find yourself somehow back in Anger again. You may be here for months.

But you will leave the airport. You will.

And as you learn more about Holland, and see how much it has to offer, you will grow to love it.

And it will change who you are, for the better.

© Dana Nieder 10/2010 All Rights Reserved

Please feel free to forward this, blog about it, post it places, etc. My intent in writing it was to reach families in the early stages of processing having a child with special needs and to let them know that they are not alone. If you do blog about it, post it on a website, forward it, etc, please link back to this blog (or cite my name, Dana Nieder) and include my email address ([e-mail]) so that I could be contacted if anyone wants to reach out.

Also, if you blog about it or post to a website, please email me to let me know, because I think that's pretty cool

Thanks for reading
Posted by Dana at 10/05/2010 10:05:00 PM
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Labels: adjusting, Amsterdam International, developmental delays, frustration, genectics, special needs, stress, SWAN, uncommon sense, Welcome to Holland

[dhfl143]

You also might enjoy this YouTube rendition of "Welcome To Holland":

[jisp]

I used to say when we were in the midst of some pretty challenging times with our son that I had not gone to Holland instead of Italy but instead I had landed in Afghanistan!!! At least that is the way it felt. If only Afghanistan would morph the way my kid's. At some point I left Afghanistan and found my way to London (which I chose because it is a city I love)...a multicultural place filled with ideas, interesting history, amazing food and culture and energy. But I want to emphasize that for many years I was in Afghanistan!!!

BTW, I think it is funny that the poem chose Amsterdam...my youngest (age 19) spent some time in Amsterdam this summer. Here are some of the things he reported: You can get any food you could possibly want if you were stoned...ie: Chocolate sauce on French Fries. But overall the food sucked, especially compared to Paris, which he visited after Amsterdam.  The conservatory building was modern and gorgeous.  The conservatory he was at had a bar in their performance center, which amazed our son as he could not even begin to imagine there being a bar at his conservatory.   Everywhere he performed he was offered free beer by those working the bar.  The beer was excellent. The musicians were much less competitive and nicer to each other. They were often willing to solo less to give somebody else a chance to solo, while in the US that is the not the case. At the same time they were not quite a the same level as some of the musicians in the US.

[kewpie]

Speaking of Afghanistan...

Here is Welcome to Beruit by Susan F. Rzucidlo
www.bbbautism.com/beginners_beirut.htm
(Beginner's Guide to Autism)

"I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with autism-to try and help people who have not shared in that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this.."

There you are, happy in your life, one or two little ones at your feet. Life is complete and good. One of the children is a little different than the other but of course, he's like your in-laws, and you did marry into the family. It can't be all that bad. One day someone comes up from behind you and throws a black bag over your head. They start kicking you in the stomach and trying to tear your heart out. You are terrified, kicking and screaming you struggle to get away but there are too many of them, they overpower you and stuff you into a trunk of a car. Bruised and dazed, you don't know where you are. What's going to happen to you? Will you live through this? This is the day you get the diagnosis. "YOUR CHILD HAS AUTISM"!

There you are in Beirut, dropped in the middle of a war. You don't know the language and you don't know what is going on. Bombs are dropping "Life long diagnosis" and "Neurologically impaired". Bullets whiz by "refrigerator mother" " A good smack is all HE needs to straighten up". Your adrenaline races as the clock ticks away your child's chances for "recovery". You sure as heck didn't sign up for this and want out NOW! God has over estimated your abilities.

Unfortunately, there is no one to send your resignation to. You've done everything right in your life, well you tried, well, you weren't caught too often. Hey! you've never even heard of autism before. You look around and everything looks the same, but different. Your family is the same, your child is the same, but now he has a label and you have a case worker assigned to your family. She'll call you soon. You feel like a lab rat dropped into a maze.

Just as you start to get the first one figured out ( early intervention) they drop you into a larger more complex one (school). Never to be out done, there is always the medical intervention maze. That one is almost never completed.

There is always some new "miracle" drug out there. It helps some kids, will it help yours? You will find some if the greatest folks in the world are doing the same maze you are, maybe on another level but a special-ed maze just the same. Tapping into those folks is a great life line to help you get through the day. This really sucks but hey, there are still good times to be had. WARNING! You do develop and odd sense of humor. Every so often you get hit by a bullet or bomb not enough to kill you, only enough to leave a gaping wound. Your child regresses for no apparent reason, and it feels like a kick in the stomach. Some bully makes fun of your kid and your heart aches. You're excluded from activities and functions because of your child and you cry. Your other children are embarrassed to be around your disabled child and you sigh. You're insurance company refuses to provide therapies for "chronic, life long conditions" and your blood pressure goes up. Your arm aches from holding onto the phone with yet another bureaucrat or doctor or therapist who holds the power to improve or destroy the quality of your child's life with the stroke of a pen. You're exhausted because your child doesn't sleep.

And yet, hope springs eternal.

Yes there is hope. There ARE new medications. There IS research going on. There are interventions that help. Thank God for all those who fought so hard before you came along. Your child will make progress. When he speaks for the first time, maybe not until he is 8 yrs old, your heart will soar. You will know that you have experienced a miracle and you will rejoice. The smallest improvement will look like a huge leap to you. You will marvel at typical development and realize how amazing it is. You will know sorrow like few others and yet you will know joy above joy. You will meet dirty faced angels on playgrounds who are kind to your child without being told to be. There will be a few nurses and doctors who treat your child with respect and who will show you concern and love like few others. Knowing eyes will meet yours in restaurants and malls, they'll understand, they are living through similar times. For those people you will be forever grateful. Don't get me wrong. This is war and its awful. There are no discharges and when you are gone someone else will have to fight in your place.

But, there are lulls in wars, times when the bullets aren't flying and bombs aren't dropping. Flowers are seen and picked. Life long friendships are forged. You share and odd kinship with people from all walks of life. Good times are had, and because we know how bad the bad times are, the good times are even better. Life is good but your life in never normal again, but hey, what fun is normal.