Let me start by saying I never expected to have to write this post. Not for a very, very long time. And allow me to clarify what I mean by loss: my handler is alive. He is not lost to the world, just lost to me. After making a series of hurtful, selfish, and inexcusable decisions that put me and my child at risk, I have had no choice but to escort my handler out of the life we've shared for a decade.
In short: this week's been a living nightmare filled with actions I never thought I'd have to take and more sadness and anger than I ever anticipated I'd encounter.
Losing a handler is like losing your parachute mid-jump. You pull the handle only to realize that you're falling fast without the gear you've necessarily relied upon guiding you safely down. There's a sense of surreality, finality: a quickly approaching landscape and a new future you never intended to face.
In searching for an image to convey this sentiment, I came across an article about skydiving without a parachute. It asked: can you survive a free fall without one? The answer: surprisingly, yes. The article goes on to ask, what should you do if you find yourself falling without a parachute? The first thing you have to do is stop panicking. It goes on to say, you need to quickly look for the best landing spot and aim at it. I'll admit that their further guidance on body positioning to avoid getting water up your nose isn't as helpful in this scenario.
But their first two points are valid:
1. Stop panicking.
2. Aim at a landing spot.
Apparently, a person dealing with such trauma only has to read articles about extreme sports to learn how best to cope. And maybe it's because life - with or without neurological differences - is an extreme sport (I'm liking this analogy, so bear with me, readers). We are all always a single moment and a single decision away from skydiving without a parachute.
I'm going to try to stop panicking. Panicking won't soften the descent, it'll only impact me as the level-headed parachuter. Through the quickly passing clouds, down on the ground, I'm starting to see a crowd of people. They have blankets, pillows, trampolines, and signs. Their arms are raised in love and cheer. They're my family, my friends, my colleagues, my support network.
I'm aiming at them. It's there I will land.