Monthly Archives: January 2026

Flailing Not Failing

26 Monday Jan 2026

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I spoke with someone today who encouraged me to remove words about “failing” from my vocabulary. This was in direct response to how I feel about taking care of my special needs child. I went to her expressing the fact that I feel like I’m failing and have failed him. We had hoped that his school attendance would have improved by now, but it hasn’t. I had hoped that he would be more independent by now, but he’s not. We used to manage hygiene issues, but not so much lately. We just seem to be failing on every front.

My friend helped me to see some perspective. She has a (now) adult child with special needs, and she told me that outsiders can’t see the hamster wheel that I am constantly running around. Unless you are in it, or have experienced it, you have no idea what parents like me face daily.

I thought this was a great analogy for my life and my brain. It’s like a real-life “Groundhog Day,” except it’s not a movie, and I have never robbed a bank, nor do I have any plans to do so. This hamster wheel, or “groundhog day” that is my life is about a million small things, all day, every day: Brush your teeth, take your pills, clean up your mess, change your clothes, wash your hands . . . add onto these small things larger concerns such as school attendance (or non-attendance), anxiety, suicidal ideations, PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance), and the almost always present need for one-on-one attention and support, and it’s no wonder that I’m just running and running and running around this wheel, seemingly getting nowhere.

But, as she pointed out, I’m learning. She explained to me that to have “failed” at something, there must be a “right way” of doing it, and knowledge of what that is. Otherwise, I am not “failing,” I am still learning and doing my best. There is no script or playbook for raising neurotypical children, but at least the systems of the world are setup to support you and them. When it comes to brain function, every brain is different. Which means that, when it comes to raising a neurodivergent person in a world that isn’t designed for them, there is even less of a script or playbook by which to go.

I don’t write these things to complain, or seek pity, but to help myself process, continue to learn, to grow, to take care of myself. Life is rough, complicated, exhausting, and beautiful. It’s okay to be flailing, not failing. Maybe you have a similar situation and you just needed to hear that you are not failing,

In Memoriam

14 Wednesday Jan 2026

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It will soon be one year since my Mom died. January 23. I have been thinking about what I want to do on that day, how to honour her memory, how I should observe the day. One thing I am going to do is place an “In Memoriam” in our local newspaper. I read the obituary section every week, and I am always touched by the “In Memory of . . .” entries for people who have died awhile ago; it is beautiful that they are still remembered and honoured. I decided that I wanted to do the same for my Mom.

I have a block canvas of the following poem, “Until We Meet Again,” that sits on my “Mom table,” along with the shamrock I inherited from her, a picture of us with my kids, and a note about what my mother meant to me. I am submitting this poem along with the photo of my Mom to be included in the obituary section. It goes like this:

Until We Meet Again

We think about you always,
We talk about you still,
You have never been forgotten,
And you never will.

We hold you close within our hearts,
And there you will remain,
And guide us through our lives
Until we meet again.

Jude McCoy (Iverson-Keeler)
September 11, 1952 – January 23, 2025

I don’t know that I believe that I will, really, see my Mom again. I’m not sure what I think about death and the afterlife. We don’t really know, do we? We can believe in certain things; have faith that death and afterlife look a certain way. But, we don’t really know, right?

But, even if I can’t say that I know that I will see my Mom again, I do wish that I would see her again.

I don’t hold onto the idea as a promise, an inevitability, or even a probability. I think I hold the idea as more of a shaky hope; a hope that death might not be the end – that we might be reunited in some way after all.

I have been experiencing all these opposing thoughts since my mom died. Knowing that there is no way of proving the existence of life after death, but since I lost my Mom, I really hope that there is. There is no way of knowing if there is a “Heavenly Father” and that my Mom is “standing in his presence on holy ground” (Davis, 1983); but for her sake . . . I really hope there is and that she is standing there. I don’t believe in ghosts or angels, but I really want to think that my Mom is still here with me, like a ghost or an angel. I believe that when we die, we are dead and that’s all there is to it; but I want to think that this is not true in for my Mom, that she is not gone, that death isn’t the end.

When it’s all said and done, I’m okay with acknowledging that I just don’t know.

What I do know is that I can keep her memory alive. I can let her know, if she is out there somewhere, how I feel. I can tell her that I still think about her and miss her always. I can share her memory with others, remind them too. I can remind the world of the amazing person it has lost. I can honour her by remembering – and that’s just what I will do.

Moving Forward

08 Thursday Jan 2026

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I have never been much of a New Year’s resolution-type of person. I do, however, tend to have themes for years. For example, last year was “2025 can suck it,” because I started the year with my mother very ill, and feared the worst would happen, and it did, and I lost her on January 23, 2025. So, 2025 can, in fact, suck it.

This year I have been drawn to the phrase, “Moving Forward.” I think this is very fitting for me for several reasons.

It is the first year I am moving forward without my mother, my main support system, my kids’ Nana, and my best friend. I have been reflecting on the fact that losing my mother wasn’t like losing one person, but a loss of multiple people, for all the different roles she played in my life; it is important to acknowledge and grieve for all of these.

I have a child at home with several disabilities that are making school attendance impossible. As a result, I have had to leave work and have been at home with him for two years. I have felt as though my life has just been “on hold” while I sit and wait and hope that he might be well enough to return to school. Not anymore. I have made the decision to move forward and have applied for a part-time job with some flexibility for hours. I have also decided it is time to accept that this might be our permanent status and am moving forward in that direction, accepting things as they are.

Similarly, I am ready to focus more on myself and my well-being this year. I want to move forward unafraid to put myself first, for the sake of my mental, emotional, and physical health. I am learning how to want to take better care of myself, without feeling guilty, or pressuring myself to be “perfect.” I have some things I want to do better, but I am not going to be rigid about it or put myself down. I am moving forward in grace, patience, understanding and kindness towards myself.

Finally, I have lived in the past in my head for twenty years. It has been exhausting constantly reliving and rehashing moments and memories from the past; I wonder all the time ‘what could have been’ and ‘what if’? I am ready to leave the past behind and move forward in my life. There are people I have considered “friends” for years, even though they never reach-out or attempt to make contact. It’s time to let them lie in the past. I am moving forward with what is my life, with those who are in my life.

There is a phrase that has been circling in my brain for a couple of weeks now, I saw it on a sign somewhere; it said, “These are the good ol’ days.” I have been thinking about it constantly. One day I will look-back on these days in the same way I have looked-back on my last 20 years, as the good days. I want to enjoy the good days now and not be saying “I miss the good, ol’ days” in the future.

Therefore, I am moving forward in these good, ol’ days, soaking-in each moment and memory, realizing that the best is now, not yet to come.