John and I agonized over the decision. We signed up for a church camp months ago, hoping that Ben would have learned to curb his yelling. But that was not to be. We tried on various scenarios, such as taking two cars and if Ben screamed one of us would drive him home. Or we could all go in one car and if he lost it John would head out and the twins and I would beg for a ride home. But the closer we got to camp the more obvious it became. He cannot manage it. 

He loves the camp and has been anticipating it for months. When we ask what he remembers he falls mute, so I am unsure if it is the pool, or the ride on a wagon, or the camp fire, or the room full of toys and snacks. Perhaps it is the people, who were generous in their kindness. One woman gifted him with her water squirter when she saw how much it made him laugh. 

But he cannot go. 

John stayed behind to take care of him. Ben did not wail and beg as vociferously as I expected, once the decree came down. Maybe part of him knows that it would be too hard. He managed to keep himself together for his grandma's service and the visiting afterwards, but once we got home it was a long, loud evening. 

One of the fundamental struggles I have is whether he can control it. I was bent over with the same question for forty years about my mother. Could she decide to not be manic? Improbable, as I gaze back over my shoulder. With the debate hovering behind my eyes all week, I became more cognizant of many people and their struggles. Chronic pain, depression, fatigue, insomnia, divorce, mental illness, financial stress all seem to come and go with little heed to our pleading. 

Maybe it is not that life will begin once the hurdles are behind us. Maybe it is in the sweaty chase towards the sun that we become stronger.