The Binder

That bag had been hanging on the back of the basement door forever. I almost didn't even notice it anymore. I hadn't touched it in months. But, I was doing some cleaning and organizing, so I took it down and started to go through it. In it, was that fat, orange, 3 ring binder. That binder had been my lifeline at one point. I remember the day I bought it.
My 3 year old son had just been diagnosed with autism. I didn't cry. I read. I researched. I bought the binder. One website suggested starting a binder full of "autism stuff". It warned that the parent of an autistic kid would be overwhelmed with information, paperwork, phone numbers, doctors' referrals, etc . . .and that a binder was a necessary tool to tame the chaos.
So I organized the binder. I re-organized the binder. I typed out phone numbers, made lists, made copies, made tabs. . .I flipped through it again and again. I took it with me everywhere. I sat in the waiting room during my son's occupational therapy, and I thumbed through it mindlessly. I took it to the pediatrician, to the psychologist, to the therapist. It sat on my passenger's seat when I ran errands. After all, wasn't it supposed to help tame the chaos? As long as that binder was there, everything was under control.
That binder meant that it wasn't my fault. The autism wasn't my fault. I was a good mom! I mean, just LOOK at that binder! Doesn't that prove it!? Doesn't that prove that I have it all together?!
If only people knew. I think most of the people in my life really had no idea. . . it didn't mean anything to them. It didn't change their life. It wasn't a big deal. It didn't show. . the chaos. . .it was all in the binder.
It's been 2 years since I've looked through that binder. Funny how life went on, even though the binder was forgotten in a blue bag, hanging on the back of the basement door. It seems like another lifetime now, as I read through the pages and pages of psychological evaluations, pamphlets on autism, checklists, and other forms. Somehow, we made it through. It wasn't the binder. No, the binder never listened. The binder didn't care. I found strength in my whispered prayers. I found hope in different pages. Pages of a book written thousands of years ago.
I almost threw that binder away tonight- a gesture of "making it". But, this journey isn't over yet. I may not need the binder anymore, but I think I'll keep it as a reminder. A reminder of how far we've come. . .