I was recently asked what I love the most about my family, and I said “we work really well together.” We have good chemistry. I feel this chemistry the most after a foster child or guest has left our home, and it’s “just us” sitting in our space, being a family. We mesh well, we are comfortable together. We work well together.

We spent the past weekend in a cabin in the woods. Amidst the snow-covered terrain of Leavenworth, Washington, I took a hard look at what defines and creates our family dynamic.

We bought this weekend vacation at an auction. I pictured a long weekend of sledding, building snowmen, and lazy afternoons in front of a wood fireplace. When we arrived, we found 3 feet of frozen snow on the ground. It was dry and icy, and therefore no good for snowmen, but at least when you sunk to your hips, your pant leg didn’t come out soaked.

Our first obstacle was getting into the cabin itself. The bridge leading to the front door was covered in snow. The owners had warned us of this, and had described carving “steps” into the bridge snow, as a means of getting into the house. We weren’t exactly prepared for the hill from the road to the bridge (sinking thigh high with every other step), but we managed to get our belongings to the cabin on a sled.

When the belongings were in, Ryen had crawled to the cabin door, and all that was left was moving Jayna to the house, Jaime carried her . . . until he sunk in, and couldn’t step out again while still carrying her. You could see the fear on Jayna’s face and hear the panic in her voice. I stepped out and took Jayna from Jaime and carried her in the rest of the way.

Jayna does not mind looking at the snow, or even standing in it, but walking in it, sledding in it, being cold in it, does not suit her. She is not stable enough to walk on uneven or slippery surfaces. So, other than a 10 minute walk on a cleared and dry road, our outdoor time at the cabin was spent apart. Jaime and I took turns staying indoors with Jayna, while the other explored, sledded and on our final morning, played in newly-fallen snow with Ryen. Even then, our time with Ryen was limited, as it just didn’t feel right leaving someone “stuck” inside with Jayna.

Our family vacation felt little like vacation or “family” time. In essence, what we did was spend a bunch of money on the same thing we experience every day, just in a new location (and without feeling the need to do laundry or clean bathrooms). We were so limited by Jayna’s disabilities that we spent the majority of the time sitting together in front of the TV. I would have loved to cross country ski, or go for long hikes in the acres of forest behind the cabin with snow shoes on. I would have loved exploring, building and playing in the snow. I would have loved to recreate the family vacation I remember so vividly from my own childhood spent in the same tourist town.

The reality is, that no family vacation is ever going to look or feel like the ones I had when I was a child. The reality is, that someone will always be standing on the sidelines with Jayna. Someone will always be trying to find an appropriate place to change her diaper, or tube her, or locate the nearest elevator if the stairs are too steep. Someone will always be on her “team” when we play board and card games. Someone will always hold her hand while on the uneven surfaces of life. We will always carry Jayna. And when one of us can’t take another step, someone else steps in to carry the load. The reality is . . . that is our dynamic. Jayna is our dynamic. Our lives are spent celebrating her accomplishments and working around her disabilities. We are limited in our ability as a family because she is limited in her body’s ability to function.

And that realization makes my heart heavy.

Our family chemistry is still my favorite thing about us. We work well together. But outside our four walls, the world is not designed for us, and it will always leave me wanting and wishing for a day, when Jayna can carry herself.

Sunshine Glynn isn’t a writer, but wants to be.