The Letting Go

I've been thinking for days about what I'd write on the eve of Elliot's second birthday...not about him (that comes tomorrow) but what being his mom has done for me. It's been such a journey of hope and despair, intense love, and a tremendous letting go that someone with my control issues doesn't do naturally.


Elliot came into our lives from the darkness of his wet world 3 weeks before our whole city was transformed into a dark, wet world.

His birth, and my confidence in my ability to mother were quite smooth by comparison to my first foray into mom-dom. I remember the feeling of completeness and calm looking into those light brown eyes, as they were at birth. I saw my mother in his caramel eyes. I had my boy and my girl.


We were just getting into the swing of parenting two when Kevin and I argued in the living room--a massive whirlpool swirling over where the Louisiana coastline used to be. Typical of me and typical of Kevin: he didn't think we needed to evacuate; I let him know that the children and I would be evacuating and he was welcome to join us.


The rhythm we'd established was completely thrown off, and Elliot (along with a few items from his layette, previously Ana's unisex layette) was buckled into the car. He cried the whole way to Pensacola, and when I look back at it, I feel like he cried the whole time we were away (until early October). This earned him a reputation among the friends who'd taken us in: One day, that kid'll sing at the Met!


What a crazy world I felt I'd brought this baby into. What could we give him if it was all gone? How could we provide for him? Where would we live? My anxiety about providing for our family was settling into my bones as we lined up for food stamps: Even the curve of his hair on the top of his head resembled a perfectly formed hurricane.

Little time was spent getting to know our guy. We tried hard just to keep him quiet and content, to be little trouble to our hosts. He went from arm to arm, even as we'd go to free potluck dinners for evacuees. Accepting toys, clothes, diapers. Oh my pride. It burned. Those moments of complete need...I would cry from start to finish. In part from the beauty of the human heart. To give to strangers. And to a great degree, my pride at really needing and being so vulnerable with this tiny beautiful person and feeling I had nothing to give.

How much of our stress Elliot siphoned I have no idea. But when we came home (to uncertainty, fear, looters?, squatters?, but HOME), when we literally walked into the door, the content spirit that he exhibits today became so apparent, and I thought to myself, "and I thought this baby was going to be such a challenge. He's so easy!"

Months later, on our second monthly visit to the pediatrician, I still never questioned that all the testing that defined his 5th month would be unnecessary. But how I clung to that baby. I was MAMA. That was what I had to provide (my MAMAness), as I searched for a job, and searched for a way out of this place.

By January, we were being referred for a host of services, and the pain was incredible. We couldn't leave. There was too much uncertainty. We needed Tita. We needed stability. It was all too much. The doctor urged me not to google cytomegalovirus. I went numb just hearing her say it. After the neurologist pointing out his microcephaly (small head), I couldn't stop staring at baby's heads. I'd fall apart after a trip to the store. I couldn't even see Elliot during this time. I mean, really see him for himself. I saw his diagnosis, I saw my fears, I saw the images of random disabilities from my google search. I lost this time with Elliot, as I worked hard to hold it together on the outside, and mask for Mardi Gras, grin and bear it.

My friend Erin, though she might not know how much, held me together with her promises. "He will be fine, Emmy. This first year will be so hard, and then you'll see. He WILL go down the slide with Ana (one of my promises to her)." She would tell me this over and over. Or just hear me sob and say nothing. Both were equally helpful.

After we rode that wave, I got a hold of myself. I was losing Elliot in all this. We'd dutifully participate in his therapy sessions, and try our hardest to make these interventions a part of his life. But I felt like I was managing his life, and not sharing in it.

All at once, after being sick of my own self-indulgent pity process, I began to see what God had truly given us in this boy that can be described as no less than a SPARKLE: Through Elliot, we had learned what it truly meant to receive, and to let go. For every one of our worries about Elliot and his future, there was a therapist. Coming into our home. Challenging him, pushing him, and so LOVING him. For every challenge Elliot faced, there he was, pushing, smiling, and so LOVING, and so happy. I couldn't allow myself to do this any longer.

I've now learned that this feeling comes back and back and back...then it goes away again. In our life along the river, it's all cycles of water and heartbreak, and great joy.

My friend Renee said to me just yesterday (as a believer in heart chakras) that she can "feel the love emanating from Elliot when she holds him." His spirit is so powerful that it's humbling. Elliot's spirit is the great constant.

In all this, I couldn't see myself leaving Elliot to work, and so designed a path that would have his daily life intermingled with my work through Abeona House. I thought I was sent to Abeona so I could monitor his therapies and hold on so tightly to this boy who needs me so much. My MAMAness had to be the glue. But I was surely sent to Abeona House for Ms. Gwen, who would become his teacher, and care for him, teach him, and LOVE him like Kevin or I would if we were there.

Teachers, therapists, our friends and his, nameless school children who pray for Elliot each day at St. Peters...yes, it's true. And our family, his mama and papa, and Ana...

I believe that parenting is a journey of how to let go of this person who belongs to the world, and comes through you. I always imagined that I would be learning this lesson bringing my kids to college. But through all of the people who have loved Elliot, and demanded a share in his spirit, I have learned how to hold on so tightly, but also let him go; to accept help without my pride and know that these many people have something to give him that we may not. And that our love for him includes this vast circle of people, and an intimate knowledge and appreciation of All Things Elliot. My MAMAness is NOT what's holding us together. Elliot's love is what releases us to love each other, and accept the gifts they bring in so many forms. How rich he has made our lives.