Even though the room was pitch black and I couldn’t see his face, I knew what was thinking. I was thinking it too. We can’t go. We just can’t. There’s no way.
We were a week away from a long-awaited weekend away to Spain for a wedding. It was going to be our first and probably only weekend away from our son as a couple. We’d booked it months ago, feeling breathless and giddy at the thought of two whole nights away just the two of us. But, now, on this day, it all seemed hopeless and impossible. It was agreed: my husband would go without me as it was his friends’ wedding and I would stay and look after our son. There were tears (all mine) but we knew what we had to do to keep him safe.
Let’s face it; sleep had become the stuff of nightmares. Frequent wakeups involving blood-curdling screaming that could last for hours on end with no solution. Sleep was a far cry from the mostly undisturbed nights we’d had for months before booking the trip. Behavioural issues were dominating the daytime. And, finally, the big one, safety. Kasper has to be watched every minute of every day. He’d begun eloping, falls were frequent and nasty and in the blink of an eye anything could happen. How could we leave him even with our most trusted family members? Our minds were made up.
But, then something miraculous happened. His sleep inexplicably improved and suddenly he stopped falling as much. His behaviour remained the same but our family members assured us they could cope. There was a glimmer of hope again. I wanted to go, no I needed it. I was desperate to get away.
Then, two nights before leaving, sleep went back to the way it was before. We felt like shells of ourselves again. I didn’t dare look my husband in the eye because I knew what he’d say. We can’t.
We woke up on the day of the flight after another night of hell and I let myself glance at my husband and the deep trenches under his eyes and I confindently said “I’m going”. Before he could say anything, I marched into the room my parents were staying in and I asked:
“What will you do if he sleeps this badly tonight?”
“We’ll manage”, they replied.
“Can you really watch him every minute of the day and keep him safe?”
“Of course. We’ll manage”.
“What will you do if he has a fall?”
“We’ll take him to the hospital. Go, we’ll manage”.
That was that.
My husband, too tired and fed up to argue, climbed into the car with me and off we went to the airport. It felt surreal. Were we really doing this? Could we pull this off? What if something happened? All I knew is that we needed this and we were going to do our best to make this happen. I kept bursting into tears in the car as the rollercoaster we’d been on finally caught up with me. We read our books and held hands tightly on the plane, tired, wary but happy. We landed and turned our phones on: 2 missed calls. No no no no no. We tried calling back, no signal. I tried to keep the rising panic from bubbling out. My husband’s face was expressionless but I knew he felt the same as me. What would we do? Could we just get straight back on the plane if something had happened? Then, an email popped up from Kasper’s physiotherapist asking if we could re-schedule and asking me if I could call her back. I checked the number, it was the same. We exhaled but nausea crept in. Everything was so fragile and we knew it. The risk we were taking was not lost on us.
We’d made it though. We were in Spain, in Madrid, the city we’d met in almost 12 years ago and we had to make the most of every minute.
The wedding we went to in Toledo the following day was the stuff of dreams. It was magical from start to finish.
We ate.
We drank.
We explored.
We roamed.
We laughed.
We mingled.
We small-talked.
We spoke several languages.
We held hands.
We danced.
We soaked it all in.
We felt everything.
Before we knew it, we were back on the plane flying over the Alps in the blink of an eye. We’d done it. We were probably more exhausted than before we left but our cups were full. We’d bloody done it.
Photos of Kasper playing happily with his grandparents, cousin and auntie (who’d come over to give a hand) kept us going, knowing he was in safe hands and that he was happy.
We’d done it.
And it had been magical.
If someone offers you the same, go.
If you feel you can go, go.
If you can, just go.
It’s worth it.
