Call It What You Will

If you came hoping for knitting today, sorry. I'm having a Welcome to Holland moment. I had all kinds of titles for this entry. "Queen of Denial." "Bumping Into Reality." "It's Differently Abled." "Getting Smacked By Reality." "Earth Calling Julie." I'm afraid I'm using the blog, and thus using you who read it, to vent. Otherwise we're looking at some form of spontaneous combustion. Messy. Think how disconcerting for the boys. John will never get his homework done.

Bottom line? I don't know what to call this post. We have to go to court tomorrow to be named Marco's legal guardians. He is 18 now. That means he's an adult in the eyes of the State. That means he will be declared incompetent.

I am not completely lost in a dream world. I know Marco has Down Syndrome. I have the karyotype should I need to remind myself. I know he will never live independently. Never go to college. Never marry. It seems gratuitous that on top of all those nevers, he will, as of tomorrow, officially never be competent.

Mostly, Marco is joy. Sometimes he's anger. Sometimes he's grief. Often he's lonely. Always he's loving. He is the bravest person I know, in that put your head down and confront a world that doesn't like you, doesn't respect you, won't understand you, pities you, way. And do it daily. For years. But I have to go into that court tomorrow and, frankly, I'd rather eat squash.

I have many words for Marco. Trust me, not all of them are warm and loving. Stubborn as a pig comes to mind. Genius at procrastination. Master of not hearing what he doesn't want to hear. Tester of patience extraordinaire. But incompetent?