We were on vacation and my mom and I decided to go out shopping. It was a drizzly day and not very conducive to lounging on the beach, so we hit up the local shops. Browsing around one boutique, we heard what we thought was the air conditioning kick in. And then we looked out the window and saw it was raining. But it wasn’t just a regular rain shower. It was a torrential downpour. And then it came down even harder by the minute. It wasn’t a large shop, and the AC actually wasn’t working very well, so it was getting hot and muggy––fast. We tried prolonging our browsing, but we were done and just wanted to get back to the house. The car wasn’t far away in the small parking lot, but it was far enough. The rain pelted the ground, like it was angrily trying to break up the concrete. Of course, we were in sandals, and it was like a giant puddle from the shop to the car. We did what we had to do and made a run for it. There was no trying not to get wet. It was an inevitability we just had to accept. By the time we made it inside the car, we were both soaking wet from head to toe, with no towel to dry off with.

There are days as a special needs parent when the rain pours down so hard, it will feel like it’s trying to hurt you. As if it’s trying to sweep you off your feet and carry you downstream. You look out the window to see what’s happening, and you know you have no choice but to run through it. You know the inevitability that you will get soaking wet, and the likelihood of having a towel to dry off with is slim to none. You know those days, those times when the storm clouds form quickly and darken ominously. You see things happening that will likely cause a meltdown and you’re just so tired. You feel anxious about going to that event. You go over every “what if?” possible, preparing yourself for literally anything. You know that suggesting anything other than McDonald’s is futile, but you can’t eat one. more. Big. Mac. And it starts to rain.

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