that day at church

I figure, I'm never going to free myself from this recurring nightmare if I don't (finally) write it down. Thanks, Mrs. C. Nice to know we're not the only ones with this particular struggle.

My friends and family have heard this story at least once, I know. Yeah...I hate it too, but here it goes:

During my summer breaks, I try my best to go to daily mass at our church. Two years ago, while still pregnant with MBear, I decided to celebrate mass (with NBear) in the actual church building with the rest of the congregation- rather than in the crying room. Besides, she had been behaving very nicely for the past few days...so why not?

We walked in, sat down, and listened to the usual (lackluster) music and (monotonal) readings that define the daily Catholic mass. *waiting for the lightning to strike* I made sure we were seated as close to the exit as possible, should NBear's behavior deem the need to plunge back into the crying-room aquarium.

What happened next was incredibly insane. NBear walked up to the "big-bowl-thing-that-holds-the-holy-water", touched its intricate wood carving, and then came back to me. She did this about two more times, not making a sound, not running...and she was always in arm's reach. Which was why - when "woman-who-would-rue-this-day-forever" appeared, I was beyond shock.

I recognized her immediately not because I knew her, but because she had glanced in our direction earlier, from the OTHER SIDE (right, we were on the left) of the church! She walked over to us, and I was utterly speechless when she made a bee-line for my unsuspecting NBear, pointed a scrawny finger at her face and said something like "[You need to] Stop running!" If I was angry then, I turned unbelievably LIVID when NBear walked back toward her chair, doubled over, and put her head on the seat in pure surrender. Ms. WWWRTDF walked away like a triumphant George W. Bush after a presidential debate. Yup, there is no such thing.

As I rubbed NBear's back (she refused to pick her head up) and waited for the final blessing, my hands were shaking. My blood was pounding through my veins like a train gone wild. Ms. Crazy also didn't know that the pregnancy hormones my body now contained, were on fire. I was literally a moving inferno. Like a stalker gone mad, I had watched her as she walked up to receive holy communion (LIGHTNING? Hello?), and never took my eyes off of her so I knew exactly where she sat.

And she sat right next to two visiting Vietnamese nuns.

Ask me if I cared.

With NBear clutching tightly to my sweating hand, I found my way to her little entourage and gave.it.to.her. The memories of my exact words have been diminished over time, but the look on her face (and the nuns') hasn't.

I remember saying that I didn't appreciate what she had done to my child, that my child had autism and did she even know what that was? You know, I come to church everyday to pray that she gets better! Everyday I ask that He make her better. She wasn't even running! How dare you? I would've taken her out if she was running! Do you know what she did after you came to her? She put her head down on her chair and wouldn't look at me! *hands pointing furiously in all directions* Are you saying I should never take her to church, then? [No, I'm not saying that!] Well, you MIGHT AS WELL, after what you did to her! You know what, though? I'm actually GLAD you don't understand {I was too angry to explain that I was glad she didn't have any autistic children} - I would never expect you to understand what I'm going through, anyway! That's all I wanted to say!

I walked my shaky legs back to the car, realizing too late that NBear had turned around to say a meek "Bye!" to Ms. Crazy. She SO did not deserve that.

It was the first real all-out cry I had "performed" without an audience. Unless you consider a dashboard, windshield, and a confused doe-eyed angel an audience.