My Year of 100 Family Dinners Week 37: Dinners #84, #85, #86

Some weeks gently unfold.This one turned our life upside down.

Monday through Saturday were nonstop: meetings, practices, appointments. Sunday, though, gave us a pause. We sat down together and had a real family dinner. A simple meal. Familiar food. As we ate, I realized something that’s been quietly happening on this journey: I’ve let go of experimenting in the kitchen. I’m back to the same rotation of meals. And while part of me feels a little disappointed about that, I also know the heart of this project was never about what was on the plate: it was about showing up together. Still, it reminded me that it’s only September. There’s time to get back on track.

When the Calm Breaks

Monday brought back-to-back work meetings. Tuesday brought drama club, more football practice, and a two-hour drive (each way) to visit a potential arts-based high school for my daughter. Next year she’ll be transferring, and we’re deep in school visits and applications. It was exciting and full of possibility and also a little scary for her. Big changes always are.

Wednesday changed everything.

Since March of 2023, my son had been seizure-free. His epilepsy felt controlled. Predictable. Manageable. We had grown comfortable; maybe too comfortable, with the calm of the last two and a half years.

That night, as we were getting ready to leave for a play in Phoenix, my son had a seizure. One that didn’t stop in a few moments. One that led to an ambulance drive. One that brought emergency responders into my bedroom and a trip to the emergency room.

I have never felt more grateful to live in a small town. I serve on the board of directors for our local fire district, and two of the firefighters who came are people I know and trust completely. They evaluated my son and made the call that he needed to go to the hospital.

If you are a parent of a child with special needs, you understand this kind of fear. It’s not new and it has many layers. There is a baseline level of stress we carry every single day, and then there are moments when it spills over and floods everything. We want so badly to take hard things away from our children and this is one of those things we simply can’t.

With this seizure came immediate changes.He can’t drive.He can’t be home alone.We don’t yet know why this happened.

Calls to neurologists. Calls to doctors. Adjusting medication. Rebuilding a sense of safety. All while watching my son grieve the loss of independence he worked so hard to earn. Watching him realize, again, that his life looks different than his peers.

And it affects the whole family. My daughter’s anxiety surged. We all felt it and we circled closer.

Ironically, we had just sat down together for dinner when it happened. The bowls were left on the table as my son and I went to the hospital. A friend came to get my daughter and took her out for ice cream, because at that moment, ice cream mattered more than dinner.

For the Mom Who Just Does Not Know What is Next

The rest of the week changed shape. We stayed close. We stayed home. In the evenings, when my son felt off, we all gathered in my bed. It’s where he feels safest. We ate dinner there on Thursday and again on Saturday, watching Atypical: a show that suddenly felt comforting and familiar. Sometimes family dinner isn’t at the table. Sometimes it’s sitting on the bed together.

He was able to attend his football game on Friday. It was three hours away. I followed separately and stayed nearby, just in case. And that’s the new rhythm for now: relearning, rebalancing, holding space for uncertainty.

The Heart of This Week

We had three dinners this week: Sunday, Thursday, and Saturday. But what we really had was closeness. Fear. Love. Support. And the reminder that none of this has to look perfect to matter.

To the moms reading this who are deep in medical uncertainty, who feel like the ground keeps shifting under their feet: you are not alone. This road is heavy. But it is also filled with moments of tenderness we could never plan for: kids curled up beside us, quiet conversations, friends who show up exactly when we need them.