When Life Presses Pause and Family Becomes the Plan Week 38: September 28 - October 4

Dinner Count: #87 #88 #89 #90

This week looks nothing like what we planned and everything like what we needed.

We’ve actually had more family dinners than usual, not because life slowed down by choice, but because it slowed us down entirely. When medical uncertainty enters your home, plans change instantly and everything else rearranges itself around what matters most.

When Everything Changes Overnight

Sunday dinner felt normal. Safe. Familiar.Monday night, my daughter and I went to a concert, and my son was with his dad.Tuesday, we sat down together and only hours later, my son had another full convulsive seizure.

Just like that, we were back in the unknown.

His seizures have returned, and despite medication adjustments and fast-moving medical care, we don’t yet know why. The balance we relied on for the last two and a half years is gone. He can’t be alone. He can’t drive. The football staff is nervous. Teachers are nervous. The school nurse is anxious. Our daily structure has shifted completely, again.

This is the part of parenting a child with medical needs that never fully leaves you. Even during the good years, it’s waiting quietly in the background.

The Trip We Didn’t Take

We were supposed to fly to Italy the next day: a fall break trip with my mom, a cruise, the kind of memory you count down to for months. I’ve never canceled a trip less than 24 hours before departure… until now.

October 1st, I made the calls.

Royal Caribbean handled the cruise cancellation with compassion and ease: they earned a lifelong customer from me. American Airlines canceled my tickets and my kids’ tickets without issue. I’m still advocating for my mom’s flight: fingers crossed.

Our Italian hotel, oddly enough, disappeared. No response to us. No response to Hotels.com. It’s strange what shows up and what doesn’t during a crisis.

Thankfully, our tour companies worked with us, and we’ve rescheduled the trip for May. It will now be a graduation trip.

I know how privileged this sounds. I’m deeply aware of that. And I’m also deeply aware of the privilege we had in those two and a half seizure-free years; years that shaped our sense of normal and made this shift hit even harder.

Both things can be true.

How the Kids Are Carrying This

This week has been heavy, especially for my daughter. The anxiety has been real, but she’s been working closely with her psychiatrist and has become the most incredible sister. They don’t always get along, siblings rarely do but right now, they are showing up for one another in ways that make my heart swell.

My son is frustrated and sad. Losing independence is brutal, especially after earning it. And yet, he’s handling all of this with more grace than many adults would. He’s adjusting, cooperating, trying again each day. I’m so proud of him.

And I’m proud of both of them: not because they’re being “strong,” but because they’re being honest.

Four Dinners, Simple Food, Real Connection

We had four family dinners this week, not fancy ones, just easy, comforting meals eaten at home. We’ve continued watching Atypical together, laughing and letting it be something familiar to anchor the nights.

Dinner wasn’t about the food. It was about being together in the same room, in the same moment, breathing through it.

This is what connection looks like in a crisis.

Co-Parenting Through an Emergency

Co-parenting during a medical emergency adds another layer to an already stressful situation. When one parent is physically present and the other isn’t, emotions run high, frustration, helplessness, guilt, anger.

Research tells us something important here:During family emergencies, children benefit most when parents reduce conflict and maintain clear, calm communication, even if decisions aren’t perfect. Studies consistently show that in high-stress moments, minimizing tension between parents protects kids’ emotional regulation and sense of safety.

That doesn’t mean it’s easy.

Right now, communication is hard. I’m focused on my child’s care, and my co-parent is struggling with not being here. Neither of us is getting this perfectly right and that’s okay. In crisis, repair matters more than perfection.

The Heart of This Week

We had four dinners this week because the world told us to stay close.

Plans were canceled. Independence paused. Life rearranged itself around care, love, and safety. And while none of this is easy and none of it is what we wanted, we are still here. Still connected. Still finding moments of calm inside the chaos.

To the moms reading this who feel like their life changed overnight: You are not behind. You did not fail. You are navigating something real and you don’t have to do it alone.

This week taught me that sometimes family dinner isn’t about routine, it's about survival, connection, and showing up for each other in the hardest moments.

And that counts.