There are things that happen in our lives that change the very fiber of our beings. They remold and reshape some of our core elements. Things that we have always done and loved, become difficult or impossible to enjoy. When it is something terrible, often a lot of the very beautiful things that we are made of turn dark. Our creativity can stop flowing and our world actually shrinks, only allowing what we perceive as things we can handle. It is an incredibly difficult thing to face. To both love and hate something is an awful way to feel, but when it is jumbled in with trauma or grief, it can be unbearable.
When I lost my daughter, I lost two incredibly important pieces of me. I don't think I really noticed at first, but over time, it became evident. Not only was I not doing these things that come naturally to me, but I was avoiding them at all costs. They evoked something in me that I did not think I could handle. They were two of my greatest joys, outside of my family, and I didn't think I deserved to have them. Who was I to be happy when my daughter wasn't given that chance? So, I stopped. My life went into a sort of recovery mode. Every move I made, each day going forward, was robotic. I was lacking the capacity to even entertain the thought of letting that joy back in.
The first of my personal joys that I lost was my ability to write. I have always been a writer at heart, and I lost that. I couldn't do it. Aside from a few poems here and there, the last thing, before this blog, that I wrote with any heart was her obituary. In that piece of my heart, I actually stated that I had no words. I didn't. I mean, what do you say to yourself or the world at a time like that? There isn't anything you can. I stopped writing then. There was something completely preventing me from putting words onto paper. Even though my head felt like it was going to explode, my heart just couldn't handle it. This blog changed that for me. It created a safe place for me to really let it out and let it go. It was a blessing for me, and set me on a path to recovery I did not expect.
The other personal joy I had ripped from me is cake decorating. I know that doesn't sound like much, but it was a creative outlet for me that I did not have to share with anyone. Yes, in the years since her death, I have made a few cakes, for birthdays and such, but I have not actually created a cake since before she died. I let all my tools get lost, my vision go black, and my joy of the kitchen all together disappear. I haven't truly enjoyed the kitchen in years. I have learned to hate shopping at the grocery store. It has become something crippling. I am hoping to change that.
Tomorrow would have been my daughter's tenth birthday. I am making a cake. I don't mean baking and just frosting. I will be using all my repurchased tools and everything in my mind's toolbox to make this cake. It is going to be her cake. It will be a symbol of growth and love. I will put my all into this cake; my heart, my soul, and my tears. My daughter will have a beautiful hand crafted cake like I used to make. It will hold all my hopes and dreams I once had for her. This cake will be her monument from me. I don't work in clay, I work in cake.
This cake will not be just another cake. It will be everything that needed to be said, and should have been, over the last ten years, all rolled into lavender frosting and pearls.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Friday, May 24, 2013
Hushed Conversations
The conversations a parent should never have are sometimes the hardest. They can often be the calmest, quietest, and most intense...
Me: What are we doing next Thursday?
Puck: I thought we would go clean the gravestones across the street.
Me: Ok. Should I make a cake?
Puck: I don't know, Sweetie. That is up to you.
Me: It's been ten years. I feel like maybe I should.
If you know us personally, you know how incredibly subdued this conversation really is. You also know that Puck is treading very softly across my broken heart. I remember, for the first few years, I felt the need to celebrate, or remember, by making cakes or buying gifts. Every year that has passed I am more deeply swallowed by crippling grief and less accepting of what I used to call fate. This year has been markedly different. Yes, I have cried to the point of being numb, but somewhere, something amazingly beautiful and heart-wrenching has happened. Acceptance.
I suppose it could be simply the passage of time, but I don't think it is that easy. I could attribute it to the changes in me over the last year, but even if they have been huge, I am not banking on that. I am not numb, nor am I unaware of the ache inside me. I imagine that no sooner will I write this, I will break down and have a good ugly cry, but when has that ever stopped me before? Yes, there is an ache, but this year, there is something new. Somewhere in that place, so close to my heart, that I hold my first little girl, is peace. What a strange thing to say, I guess. Losing a child is not something I would wish on anyone.
I guess I have realized, with my grandmother's health, that nothing lasts forever. Nobody wants their kids to go before them, but it happens. When they told me that my grandmother was not doing well and we did not have much time left (though admittedly, she is stubborn and has held out so far), yes, I cried. I then picked myself up, dried my eyes, and accepted it. I know that I will not do well when she does finally go, but that acceptance, I believe, is how I got to this place with my daughter. It is ironic that she is to be buried with my grandmother.
I think I finally realized that I was going to have to let go of the regret and guilt. I still feel guilt, just not for the same reasons I did. I feel guilty for knowing I wouldn't trade everything for her. I feel guilty that I am not in complete pieces over her not being here. I feel guilty that I am ready to finally lay her to rest. Yes, it is still guilt, but it is very different guilt. I don't question why much anymore. I don't think the world is out to get me. Yeah, it's still really unfair, but life isn't fair. I often wonder who she would be, but I don't obsess over what could have been. I regret that she is not here, but know there is nothing I could have done.
My daughter will forever be in my heart. She is part of me. She is still a piece of my soul and always will be. She is NOT a regret I hold, nor is she to remain just a gaping hole inside me. I like to think when I accepted that I finally had to lay her to rest and have only her memory remain, I gave her real freedom. She is no longer burdened with my sense of guilt or remorse over the events that happened ten years ago. Her wings have extended to full length and she is no longer held to me, she chooses to stay with me.
She is my legacy, though no longer here. She is my strength, my peace, and my hope. I will give my daughter something I have never given to her before for her birthday this year. This year, my daughter will be remembered in my heart with joy and blessings. I know that I will be sad, but I also know that by freeing my memory of all the terrible pain and guilt that accompanies her, will be the best gift I can give her. It's time to accept and be at peace. I am alright with that. She deserves it. It's about time I gave her that.
Me: What are we doing next Thursday?
Puck: I thought we would go clean the gravestones across the street.
Me: Ok. Should I make a cake?
Puck: I don't know, Sweetie. That is up to you.
Me: It's been ten years. I feel like maybe I should.
If you know us personally, you know how incredibly subdued this conversation really is. You also know that Puck is treading very softly across my broken heart. I remember, for the first few years, I felt the need to celebrate, or remember, by making cakes or buying gifts. Every year that has passed I am more deeply swallowed by crippling grief and less accepting of what I used to call fate. This year has been markedly different. Yes, I have cried to the point of being numb, but somewhere, something amazingly beautiful and heart-wrenching has happened. Acceptance.
I suppose it could be simply the passage of time, but I don't think it is that easy. I could attribute it to the changes in me over the last year, but even if they have been huge, I am not banking on that. I am not numb, nor am I unaware of the ache inside me. I imagine that no sooner will I write this, I will break down and have a good ugly cry, but when has that ever stopped me before? Yes, there is an ache, but this year, there is something new. Somewhere in that place, so close to my heart, that I hold my first little girl, is peace. What a strange thing to say, I guess. Losing a child is not something I would wish on anyone.
I guess I have realized, with my grandmother's health, that nothing lasts forever. Nobody wants their kids to go before them, but it happens. When they told me that my grandmother was not doing well and we did not have much time left (though admittedly, she is stubborn and has held out so far), yes, I cried. I then picked myself up, dried my eyes, and accepted it. I know that I will not do well when she does finally go, but that acceptance, I believe, is how I got to this place with my daughter. It is ironic that she is to be buried with my grandmother.
I think I finally realized that I was going to have to let go of the regret and guilt. I still feel guilt, just not for the same reasons I did. I feel guilty for knowing I wouldn't trade everything for her. I feel guilty that I am not in complete pieces over her not being here. I feel guilty that I am ready to finally lay her to rest. Yes, it is still guilt, but it is very different guilt. I don't question why much anymore. I don't think the world is out to get me. Yeah, it's still really unfair, but life isn't fair. I often wonder who she would be, but I don't obsess over what could have been. I regret that she is not here, but know there is nothing I could have done.
My daughter will forever be in my heart. She is part of me. She is still a piece of my soul and always will be. She is NOT a regret I hold, nor is she to remain just a gaping hole inside me. I like to think when I accepted that I finally had to lay her to rest and have only her memory remain, I gave her real freedom. She is no longer burdened with my sense of guilt or remorse over the events that happened ten years ago. Her wings have extended to full length and she is no longer held to me, she chooses to stay with me.
She is my legacy, though no longer here. She is my strength, my peace, and my hope. I will give my daughter something I have never given to her before for her birthday this year. This year, my daughter will be remembered in my heart with joy and blessings. I know that I will be sad, but I also know that by freeing my memory of all the terrible pain and guilt that accompanies her, will be the best gift I can give her. It's time to accept and be at peace. I am alright with that. She deserves it. It's about time I gave her that.
Friday, May 17, 2013
Rough seas? Smooth River!
Being the responsible adult, I have to make the hard decisions. Decisions based on what is best for the children or our family are never easy, but lately, the choices have been hard. I have been faced with some very tough brain busters later, and it is taking its toll. Sure, I look like the ever strong woman who doesn't break, but inside, I am filled with indecision. I wish that my decisions consisted of at least some easy ones, like what is for dinner, or what am I going to wear tomorrow, but not so much.
I had a meeting with the school psychologist last week. Let me note that from here on out, she will be referred to as the psycho-logist, because she was absolutely horrible. She consistently shut me down, talked over me, and made me feel absolutely frustrated. She is also basically forcing me to make a decision I was not ready to make. When going forward with the testing, she states that she needs to know which school my child will be attending so that she knows who's case load she will be going on to since they are "backed up."
First of all, my child is not a statistic. She is not a file to be shuffled around or put on hold. She is not just another day that you have to work. That is so infuriating. Second of all, the decision of which school that she attends next year was put on hold pending an IEP evaluation. I need to KNOW where she is and how she is doing before I decide. She also stated that if I choose to charter her, that all services under the IEP would most likely need to be done by me, due to the nature of the charter. What if I can't do that? I really did not like that woman. We decided to tell them we are pulling her, place her with the other team that does evaluations, then, if need be, put her back in the other school with the proper IEP. I don't believe that this psycho-logist can or will do a proper job for my daughter.
One of the other major things we are doing to change things is that we are switching pediatricians. We love ours, but we found one under our plan that is a behavioral specialist as well as pediatrician. We are hoping that things will move faster for both children if they are placed with someone who sees kids like them daily. This new doctor also belongs to a medical group that has its own autism program, which is rare and wonderful, so it wasn't so much of a choice as it was a need. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
We are trying a new regime around here and hoping that it will work. That has yet to be seen, but then, much of what we struggle with, I believe, comes from my children needing a regular psychologist and OT. My grandmother still isn't doing well. My mother is depressed, though she wouldn't tell anyone that. I guess that is one of the perks of being so close all your life. I can see her pain, even when she shields it. Puck is tired. I am tired. The child I lost has a birthday coming up. Her tenth. This is just a rough time for us.
We were supposed to go to a wedding this weekend, but I can't really take the kids out in the state they have been in. Both children are in flux right now. It's the summer in three weeks. Not only does that mean major change, but that is supposed to be dad's time. Well, once again, dad isn't coming. I carefully circle the subject, avoiding it at all costs, but eventually one of them is going to ask. This will make the third summer in a row. I may not like the man, but I would beg, borrow, and steal to raise the money to get them to their dad if he was willing to pay for his half. Then, I would freak out, do a very ugly cry, and get very very drunk. I would likely be drunk and worried the entire time they were gone. If history is any indication, I would also be paying a fortune to fly them home early for some ridiculous reason that really equals he can't handle them.
So, what do you do when the worries pile up and you start to feel like there is no escape? You go to the river. You pick up your family and run! Tomorrow, no matter whether it is not quite eighty or not, we are going. We are going to let go of all the pain and worry, just for a few hours, and soak it all in. Weeks like this are hard on a soul. I guess it's time to recharge my soul and remember, just when I lose faith in humanity, I need to look around at my family and realize, it still exists. It is still around in that small pocket of nature, untouched by the world and technology, right inside my own family.
I had a meeting with the school psychologist last week. Let me note that from here on out, she will be referred to as the psycho-logist, because she was absolutely horrible. She consistently shut me down, talked over me, and made me feel absolutely frustrated. She is also basically forcing me to make a decision I was not ready to make. When going forward with the testing, she states that she needs to know which school my child will be attending so that she knows who's case load she will be going on to since they are "backed up."
First of all, my child is not a statistic. She is not a file to be shuffled around or put on hold. She is not just another day that you have to work. That is so infuriating. Second of all, the decision of which school that she attends next year was put on hold pending an IEP evaluation. I need to KNOW where she is and how she is doing before I decide. She also stated that if I choose to charter her, that all services under the IEP would most likely need to be done by me, due to the nature of the charter. What if I can't do that? I really did not like that woman. We decided to tell them we are pulling her, place her with the other team that does evaluations, then, if need be, put her back in the other school with the proper IEP. I don't believe that this psycho-logist can or will do a proper job for my daughter.
One of the other major things we are doing to change things is that we are switching pediatricians. We love ours, but we found one under our plan that is a behavioral specialist as well as pediatrician. We are hoping that things will move faster for both children if they are placed with someone who sees kids like them daily. This new doctor also belongs to a medical group that has its own autism program, which is rare and wonderful, so it wasn't so much of a choice as it was a need. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.
We are trying a new regime around here and hoping that it will work. That has yet to be seen, but then, much of what we struggle with, I believe, comes from my children needing a regular psychologist and OT. My grandmother still isn't doing well. My mother is depressed, though she wouldn't tell anyone that. I guess that is one of the perks of being so close all your life. I can see her pain, even when she shields it. Puck is tired. I am tired. The child I lost has a birthday coming up. Her tenth. This is just a rough time for us.
We were supposed to go to a wedding this weekend, but I can't really take the kids out in the state they have been in. Both children are in flux right now. It's the summer in three weeks. Not only does that mean major change, but that is supposed to be dad's time. Well, once again, dad isn't coming. I carefully circle the subject, avoiding it at all costs, but eventually one of them is going to ask. This will make the third summer in a row. I may not like the man, but I would beg, borrow, and steal to raise the money to get them to their dad if he was willing to pay for his half. Then, I would freak out, do a very ugly cry, and get very very drunk. I would likely be drunk and worried the entire time they were gone. If history is any indication, I would also be paying a fortune to fly them home early for some ridiculous reason that really equals he can't handle them.
So, what do you do when the worries pile up and you start to feel like there is no escape? You go to the river. You pick up your family and run! Tomorrow, no matter whether it is not quite eighty or not, we are going. We are going to let go of all the pain and worry, just for a few hours, and soak it all in. Weeks like this are hard on a soul. I guess it's time to recharge my soul and remember, just when I lose faith in humanity, I need to look around at my family and realize, it still exists. It is still around in that small pocket of nature, untouched by the world and technology, right inside my own family.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Changes in the wind
Mother's Day. It's a day for celebrating our mother's and showing them how much we care. Most mother's days in our home are pretty mellow, but full of love. Today was not so much. Let's start with the obvious. My own mother. We asked if we could have breakfast. She didn't receive the text until too late, so we asked for coffee on Monday. Nope, she has to work. I know that what she said is true, but it was mother's day and I wanted to let her know that I loved her and didn't forget her. I wasn't given that chance. It was kind of crappy for me.
On to celebrating for our children. Compulsion issues stomped all over our celebration. Those issues led to harsh, unrelenting, and untrue words from all sides. It was a brutal day. Puck and I argued over it tonight, but not because we disagree, but because we don't know what to do about anything anymore. Without a psychiatrist and an OT, we are pretty screwed. It is incredibly unfortunate that our insurance company can't figure out how to get their stuff together enough to help the families that really need it, because we do.
I did talk to the children tonight. Earlier in the day, while opening the gifts SS made at school, I completely forgot that JJ doesn't do that in school anymore and had forgotten. I chose poor words when I said it was the best gift ever. It was; from her. But, of course, that is not how JJ took it. So, when he walked by me later, I told him that he and his sister were the greatest gift I have ever gotten. The response I got was worse than being hit in the face by a two by four. He asked me how I could believe that when my kids constantly lied to me and stole. In my little NT head, I heard that he didn't think he was worth it, but I let it go for a bit.
Can't let that go long though, can you? So, I approached him again, and it was a very good thing that I did. Turns out, that is exactly what he meant. He even verbalized it. Tore my heart wide open. Instead of having separate conversations with each child, I opted for a group meeting. I explained that they both ARE the greatest gifts I have despite the issues they may be going through. I told them that children are not born perfect. They must learn to grow. I told them that I was aware that it wasn't easy and that they just had to try harder.
That's when JJ told me he had given up on his dream. Some crap about it being realistic in the time frame he wanted. I looked him in the face and asked him, "Would you rather be the fastest, or the BEST?" I think that woke him up. He is a math kid and that is awesome, but he needed to know he was awesome himself. I recounted for him all the awesome things I have heard about him and he seemed to feel better.
SS made two things very clear today. One, she is addicted to television, which I find confusing since she doesn't get to watch it but like once a week for an hour. Two, she thinks she is stupid. Now, in the shadow of her brother's constant striving for his best, I can see where she might feel that way, but I set her straight. While JJ is very math oriented, my daughter is going to be a scientist. She will likely be one of the best in the world. I have never seen a child so in tune with nature and animals. She will make a great scientist.
I hate that they feel that way. Hopefully, I helped. I told them that nobody ever believed in me growing up. I asked him if he knew what people say about me now. They say I am strong, not because of life now, but because of things that have happened in the past. They say that I deal in stress levels that would kill normal people. They say that I bear heartache and pain with grace and strength. Then I told them the truth. I'm not strong. I'm just not a quitter. I fail sometimes. I fall short. What I don't do, is give up. I never EVER give up. I get back on my feet and keep going. It's not magic. I'm no hero. I am just a human woman who REFUSES to give up.
It was a good talk, but it brought about the need for change. Change is hard for everyone. It's never going to be easy, but things have to change. That frightens me. It actually terrifies me, but you know what?! I don't quit. So, if we fall or fail a time or two, we will get up and try again. That is what we do. There is no flight in this family. Our instinct is to fight. Fight for the best for them and for us. Fight for our dreams. Nothing will stop us. Sure, we are gonna cry. Things are going to probably get very ugly sometimes, but we do not give up. So, here's to change! It's coming whether we want or not, so I guess we just need to beat it to the punch.
On to celebrating for our children. Compulsion issues stomped all over our celebration. Those issues led to harsh, unrelenting, and untrue words from all sides. It was a brutal day. Puck and I argued over it tonight, but not because we disagree, but because we don't know what to do about anything anymore. Without a psychiatrist and an OT, we are pretty screwed. It is incredibly unfortunate that our insurance company can't figure out how to get their stuff together enough to help the families that really need it, because we do.
I did talk to the children tonight. Earlier in the day, while opening the gifts SS made at school, I completely forgot that JJ doesn't do that in school anymore and had forgotten. I chose poor words when I said it was the best gift ever. It was; from her. But, of course, that is not how JJ took it. So, when he walked by me later, I told him that he and his sister were the greatest gift I have ever gotten. The response I got was worse than being hit in the face by a two by four. He asked me how I could believe that when my kids constantly lied to me and stole. In my little NT head, I heard that he didn't think he was worth it, but I let it go for a bit.
Can't let that go long though, can you? So, I approached him again, and it was a very good thing that I did. Turns out, that is exactly what he meant. He even verbalized it. Tore my heart wide open. Instead of having separate conversations with each child, I opted for a group meeting. I explained that they both ARE the greatest gifts I have despite the issues they may be going through. I told them that children are not born perfect. They must learn to grow. I told them that I was aware that it wasn't easy and that they just had to try harder.
That's when JJ told me he had given up on his dream. Some crap about it being realistic in the time frame he wanted. I looked him in the face and asked him, "Would you rather be the fastest, or the BEST?" I think that woke him up. He is a math kid and that is awesome, but he needed to know he was awesome himself. I recounted for him all the awesome things I have heard about him and he seemed to feel better.
SS made two things very clear today. One, she is addicted to television, which I find confusing since she doesn't get to watch it but like once a week for an hour. Two, she thinks she is stupid. Now, in the shadow of her brother's constant striving for his best, I can see where she might feel that way, but I set her straight. While JJ is very math oriented, my daughter is going to be a scientist. She will likely be one of the best in the world. I have never seen a child so in tune with nature and animals. She will make a great scientist.
I hate that they feel that way. Hopefully, I helped. I told them that nobody ever believed in me growing up. I asked him if he knew what people say about me now. They say I am strong, not because of life now, but because of things that have happened in the past. They say that I deal in stress levels that would kill normal people. They say that I bear heartache and pain with grace and strength. Then I told them the truth. I'm not strong. I'm just not a quitter. I fail sometimes. I fall short. What I don't do, is give up. I never EVER give up. I get back on my feet and keep going. It's not magic. I'm no hero. I am just a human woman who REFUSES to give up.
It was a good talk, but it brought about the need for change. Change is hard for everyone. It's never going to be easy, but things have to change. That frightens me. It actually terrifies me, but you know what?! I don't quit. So, if we fall or fail a time or two, we will get up and try again. That is what we do. There is no flight in this family. Our instinct is to fight. Fight for the best for them and for us. Fight for our dreams. Nothing will stop us. Sure, we are gonna cry. Things are going to probably get very ugly sometimes, but we do not give up. So, here's to change! It's coming whether we want or not, so I guess we just need to beat it to the punch.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
Maybe even stop....
The family spent the afternoon at the river. It often feels like the river is the one place we are all at peace and feel truly safe from the outside world. I am a pretty private person, so starting this blog was very hard for me. I worried that people would figure out who was behind the screen. I know that sounds silly to some people, but I have many fears about letting people in, and particularly about certain people passing judgement, but I needed an outlet. So, I bit the proverbial bullet and just did it. Sometimes we have to let go of our insecurities to make a better reality. I needed to write. Writing, for me, allows me to be myself, much like the river does for our little family.
The river is the place where people tend to want to be alone, so they give space. Some days, it is a bit more crowded, but not on days like today. The temperature is up, but the water is ice cold from the snow melts, so not a lot of people brave it. It is always when our family does it's best. We packed a lunch and ran for the river, needing that escape. It's amazing the things you can see and learn about the world and yourself when you shut out the constant buzz of current that flows through society. Sitting on the bank, listening to the water rush over the rocks and the trees blowing is almost transcendent. Nature is healing.
The laughter of children, who spend most of their days defending who they are and why they do what they do, is an amazing thing. Giving them the chance to just be, is one of the greatest gifts we can give them. Our children live most of their days trying so hard to emulate and fit in with those around them, because the world is so cruel. Standing knee deep in the river, being given the opportunity to just be who they are, it's something they love. They can wear their nerdy swimming goggles and do silly stunts, and there is nobody there to tell them it's not "normal."
It also gives me a chance to watch them: I mean really observe them. JJ is so pensive and quiet most days at the river. I can watch him thinking and calculating. When he plays, it is almost always so exacting and mathematical. His mind amazes me. Yes, there are days when he is playful and outspoken, but at the river, he doesn't have to be social. He can be a kid according to his own definitions. Sometimes, I worry about him being so quiet and intense, but I think that is just him. His wheels are always turning, but until we are secluded in our safe place, I think I just don't see it. It's also where he will open up and just talk. At the river, he and I are just mother and son, talking about "normal" things.
SS is not so intense. For her, the river is a place of acceptance. There is nobody there to tell her that talking to rocks is silly, or that trying to make friends with the bees is not possible. It's a world of endless possibilities in her eyes. Both kids are into geology, but she is really my rock specialist. Watching her discover different types of stone or quartz is always beautiful. Her face lights up at each new discovery. If she wants to play in the dirt and pile stones all day, nobody tells her she can't. Nobody is there to tell her she is being too childish, or to grow up and act her age. It's a freedom for them.
For me, it's a healing place. I can forget about the world and the troubles. I could sit for hours watching the water flow by. It's a place where I can be free too. I can watch my children be themselves and not worry about judgement. I can get lost in the tranquility and joy of my children. It's the one place that never fails to remind me how hard I work everyday for them, but it reminds me of the reasons why I do it too.
The world lives on a cell phone. Society thrives on their electronics. Kids are being raised by their gaming systems. Not here. Here, we know and recognize the value of letting that all go. I will occasionally take my iPod down there to take pictures, but you can forget about reception. There isn't any at the places we go. It's our escape. We don't want to be found. I wish more families had that, or went seeking it. It is a priceless thing in our lives, when the weather warms. More families need to leave the world behind for a few hours and get to know each other. They need to spend more time with one another. They need to MAKE time for it. Most of society runs around like mad people, trying to keep up and get things done. Truth is, happiness isn't always in finishing tasks, being "on top of things", or even taking your kids out into the world. Sometimes, you have to take the world out of your family. Slow things down, maybe even stop. Just look around you. Find solitude. Find peace.
The river is the place where people tend to want to be alone, so they give space. Some days, it is a bit more crowded, but not on days like today. The temperature is up, but the water is ice cold from the snow melts, so not a lot of people brave it. It is always when our family does it's best. We packed a lunch and ran for the river, needing that escape. It's amazing the things you can see and learn about the world and yourself when you shut out the constant buzz of current that flows through society. Sitting on the bank, listening to the water rush over the rocks and the trees blowing is almost transcendent. Nature is healing.
The laughter of children, who spend most of their days defending who they are and why they do what they do, is an amazing thing. Giving them the chance to just be, is one of the greatest gifts we can give them. Our children live most of their days trying so hard to emulate and fit in with those around them, because the world is so cruel. Standing knee deep in the river, being given the opportunity to just be who they are, it's something they love. They can wear their nerdy swimming goggles and do silly stunts, and there is nobody there to tell them it's not "normal."
It also gives me a chance to watch them: I mean really observe them. JJ is so pensive and quiet most days at the river. I can watch him thinking and calculating. When he plays, it is almost always so exacting and mathematical. His mind amazes me. Yes, there are days when he is playful and outspoken, but at the river, he doesn't have to be social. He can be a kid according to his own definitions. Sometimes, I worry about him being so quiet and intense, but I think that is just him. His wheels are always turning, but until we are secluded in our safe place, I think I just don't see it. It's also where he will open up and just talk. At the river, he and I are just mother and son, talking about "normal" things.
SS is not so intense. For her, the river is a place of acceptance. There is nobody there to tell her that talking to rocks is silly, or that trying to make friends with the bees is not possible. It's a world of endless possibilities in her eyes. Both kids are into geology, but she is really my rock specialist. Watching her discover different types of stone or quartz is always beautiful. Her face lights up at each new discovery. If she wants to play in the dirt and pile stones all day, nobody tells her she can't. Nobody is there to tell her she is being too childish, or to grow up and act her age. It's a freedom for them.
For me, it's a healing place. I can forget about the world and the troubles. I could sit for hours watching the water flow by. It's a place where I can be free too. I can watch my children be themselves and not worry about judgement. I can get lost in the tranquility and joy of my children. It's the one place that never fails to remind me how hard I work everyday for them, but it reminds me of the reasons why I do it too.
The world lives on a cell phone. Society thrives on their electronics. Kids are being raised by their gaming systems. Not here. Here, we know and recognize the value of letting that all go. I will occasionally take my iPod down there to take pictures, but you can forget about reception. There isn't any at the places we go. It's our escape. We don't want to be found. I wish more families had that, or went seeking it. It is a priceless thing in our lives, when the weather warms. More families need to leave the world behind for a few hours and get to know each other. They need to spend more time with one another. They need to MAKE time for it. Most of society runs around like mad people, trying to keep up and get things done. Truth is, happiness isn't always in finishing tasks, being "on top of things", or even taking your kids out into the world. Sometimes, you have to take the world out of your family. Slow things down, maybe even stop. Just look around you. Find solitude. Find peace.
Friday, May 10, 2013
The Dark Place I know All Too Well....
Today is a hard day. Today is a really hard day. I think I deluded myself this year, thinking that since it is so close to half way over the month, that it would be easier, but it's not. For the last few days, I have walked up and down my stairs and kept smelling this smell. I couldn't place it. I thought it was from childhood, the memory was so far receded. Turns out, I think I just buried it. With the return of that memory, my heart and my head have been flooded for over two hours non stop. Guilt, pain, rage: They are all there. I hurt so bad, and what makes it worse, is this year, I am facing some ugly realities.
Turns out, the neighbors planted flowers to make their tiny piece of this crap hole we live in beautiful for them. I want to pretend like I love that they tried to be positive about it, but I really want to hop their fence and rip out every one of those forsaken flowers, just so they will stop smelling. They are beautiful flowers. They are the same ones my mother chose for us to plant in my garden when my daughter died. Busy work, she called it. Something to take my mind off the pain. Who knew that ten years later, I would hate that moment almost as much as I hate the loss of my daughter.
So, there I am walking down the stairs to go get my son from school, when it hits me; that smell. And somehow, that memory was ripped wide open. Yet, being the woman and mother I am, I have no choice but to continue the errand to pick up my son. I got there in one piece, bleeding on the inside, but managing to hold back the tears. My son gets in the car and he is so happy. It made me think of the life that I have now. I have two wonderful children, whom I love more than anything. I have a spouse that understands and feels with me, even without having been there. I have this life that I could never have dreamed would be so damned wonderful, no matter how hard it seems sometimes. Then, that is when I started to cry. The guilt of the reality that smacked me right in the heart was too much to bear. You see, ten years ago, I would have traded my life for the life of my daughter's. I would have done anything, given anything, to have given her the life I know she deserved, but now, I don't know that I would.
Most of you probably don't know how that feels, and heaven forbid you ever do. To admit to myself that I wouldn't go back and trade her life for mine, that one hurts. It makes me feel like the worst mother ever, even if the reason I wouldn't is because if I did, I wouldn't have my other daughter, or this life I worked so hard for. I feel like I am betraying her. I feel like I am failing her memory. I mean, what kind of person says they wouldn't trade the life they have now for their child's life.
I can't ever say, I would give anything for her back, because I wouldn't. I know there is a reason, but couldn't it have turned out different? Couldn't I just have everything I have and love now AND her? Truth is, I can't. Things happen in our lives for a reason. We don't understand them. There is no rhyme and reason for them. They just are. I know that. I really do. But, I am tired of facing a new truth every year. They just get harder and harder.
She would have been ten in two weeks. Ten years old. I never get to see that, and now I get to live with the guilt, that I wouldn't trade everything for it either. Damn it that hurts. It hurts nearly as much as losing her in the first place. It's almost like doing it again. I want to pretend that this is it and I am going to stop hurting this bad over it, but it's not. The reality is, in a few months, or a year, I have to say goodbye for real. Everything I have left of her is going to go when my grandmother does. So, yeah. This year sucks. And please, nobody tell me I am rushing things and thoughts. I know what's real and I face it head on because I would rather be in a dark place that I know well than in stupid "happy place" filled with those fucking flowers.
Turns out, the neighbors planted flowers to make their tiny piece of this crap hole we live in beautiful for them. I want to pretend like I love that they tried to be positive about it, but I really want to hop their fence and rip out every one of those forsaken flowers, just so they will stop smelling. They are beautiful flowers. They are the same ones my mother chose for us to plant in my garden when my daughter died. Busy work, she called it. Something to take my mind off the pain. Who knew that ten years later, I would hate that moment almost as much as I hate the loss of my daughter.
So, there I am walking down the stairs to go get my son from school, when it hits me; that smell. And somehow, that memory was ripped wide open. Yet, being the woman and mother I am, I have no choice but to continue the errand to pick up my son. I got there in one piece, bleeding on the inside, but managing to hold back the tears. My son gets in the car and he is so happy. It made me think of the life that I have now. I have two wonderful children, whom I love more than anything. I have a spouse that understands and feels with me, even without having been there. I have this life that I could never have dreamed would be so damned wonderful, no matter how hard it seems sometimes. Then, that is when I started to cry. The guilt of the reality that smacked me right in the heart was too much to bear. You see, ten years ago, I would have traded my life for the life of my daughter's. I would have done anything, given anything, to have given her the life I know she deserved, but now, I don't know that I would.
Most of you probably don't know how that feels, and heaven forbid you ever do. To admit to myself that I wouldn't go back and trade her life for mine, that one hurts. It makes me feel like the worst mother ever, even if the reason I wouldn't is because if I did, I wouldn't have my other daughter, or this life I worked so hard for. I feel like I am betraying her. I feel like I am failing her memory. I mean, what kind of person says they wouldn't trade the life they have now for their child's life.
I can't ever say, I would give anything for her back, because I wouldn't. I know there is a reason, but couldn't it have turned out different? Couldn't I just have everything I have and love now AND her? Truth is, I can't. Things happen in our lives for a reason. We don't understand them. There is no rhyme and reason for them. They just are. I know that. I really do. But, I am tired of facing a new truth every year. They just get harder and harder.
She would have been ten in two weeks. Ten years old. I never get to see that, and now I get to live with the guilt, that I wouldn't trade everything for it either. Damn it that hurts. It hurts nearly as much as losing her in the first place. It's almost like doing it again. I want to pretend that this is it and I am going to stop hurting this bad over it, but it's not. The reality is, in a few months, or a year, I have to say goodbye for real. Everything I have left of her is going to go when my grandmother does. So, yeah. This year sucks. And please, nobody tell me I am rushing things and thoughts. I know what's real and I face it head on because I would rather be in a dark place that I know well than in stupid "happy place" filled with those fucking flowers.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Judgement
Bridging the gap between an NT parent and ASD kid is not easy. Sometimes it feel like Grand Canyon stands between us. Bridging the gap between an NT parent and two ASD kids, sometimes feels impossible. It's damned frustrating. It's isolating for everyone, but for the parents, it is agony. We sit back and watch our children falter and struggle for their communications footing, while we torture ourselves for not being able to reach them. Sometimes, they hit, bite, throw things, and yell. That is their way of letting us know they are frustrated, or trying to get through to us, but what do we have?
As parents, we are expected to be perfect. Society sees the model parent as one that never cusses, yells, or shows their child any sort of negativity. Reality is so different. Most of us have let a bad word slip, or secretly hoped stubbing their toe in their flared tempered stomp down the hall hurt a little. We can't all be perfect. As a matter of fact, most of us are not, but we pretend to be. In our quest for acceptance into society, we act, do, and say things that are not really how we are. As a group of parents (for the most part) of kids on the spectrum, you would expect us all to be understanding.
We should be banding together, regardless of race, religion, sex, political views, or sexual preferences. No matter our background or our beliefs, we all have one very important thing in common. Autism has affected us all in some way. Being that we all understand how different our lives can be, and how unforgiving the world can be about things that don't quite fit in, it baffles me when there is judgement. EVERY child is different, which means every family has a different strategy. That being said, how can we expect the world to accept autism if we can't accept each other?
A month ago, I changed the picture on the page to a pro marriage equality photo. I knew that not everyone agreed with that, but I was absolutely shocked that we lost so many people over it. I knew we would lose one or two, but it hit our page pretty hard. Since then, we have bounced back, but it hit home for me. Just days before autism awareness month kicked off, our page decided to show support for another group of individuals who struggle with acceptance as well, and the negative reaction was astounding. Some of the members we lost were people that I thought so much of. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but how is it that we are supposed to be warriors for our kids and fight for acceptance for them, and be so blind to others struggles for the same thing.
A few days ago, I said I was that mom. I am that mom that will fight for their kids to the end of the earth, but maybe I should have elaborated on that. I am a mother and wife, first and foremost, but I should take it further. I am that person. I am the person who will reach out and support a struggling individual. I will fight for acceptance for everyone, because whether they have autism or not, each group of people fighting for a right is composed of individuals who hurt, feel, and love just like I do. I will always support humanity, and the rights of the individual. How can I not? I fight everyday for rights for my child, who to some, think it would have been a kindness to put in a home, or not have at all, knowing the risks. Those people hurt me with their negative attitude toward my children whom I love more than life, so what does it say about me as a person if I pass the same judgement on someone else.
I guess what I am saying is, for me to pass judgement on what someone says, how they vent, what they believe, who they love, or what they want to do with their life, is incredibly hypocritical of me, in my mind. So, I choose not to. I know that not everyone can be as open minded, or even open about how they feel about things as me, for whatever reason, but I am asking that those that treat with me please remember that I am not here to judge you, nor or those here with me here for you to judge.
As parents, we are expected to be perfect. Society sees the model parent as one that never cusses, yells, or shows their child any sort of negativity. Reality is so different. Most of us have let a bad word slip, or secretly hoped stubbing their toe in their flared tempered stomp down the hall hurt a little. We can't all be perfect. As a matter of fact, most of us are not, but we pretend to be. In our quest for acceptance into society, we act, do, and say things that are not really how we are. As a group of parents (for the most part) of kids on the spectrum, you would expect us all to be understanding.
We should be banding together, regardless of race, religion, sex, political views, or sexual preferences. No matter our background or our beliefs, we all have one very important thing in common. Autism has affected us all in some way. Being that we all understand how different our lives can be, and how unforgiving the world can be about things that don't quite fit in, it baffles me when there is judgement. EVERY child is different, which means every family has a different strategy. That being said, how can we expect the world to accept autism if we can't accept each other?
A month ago, I changed the picture on the page to a pro marriage equality photo. I knew that not everyone agreed with that, but I was absolutely shocked that we lost so many people over it. I knew we would lose one or two, but it hit our page pretty hard. Since then, we have bounced back, but it hit home for me. Just days before autism awareness month kicked off, our page decided to show support for another group of individuals who struggle with acceptance as well, and the negative reaction was astounding. Some of the members we lost were people that I thought so much of. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but how is it that we are supposed to be warriors for our kids and fight for acceptance for them, and be so blind to others struggles for the same thing.
A few days ago, I said I was that mom. I am that mom that will fight for their kids to the end of the earth, but maybe I should have elaborated on that. I am a mother and wife, first and foremost, but I should take it further. I am that person. I am the person who will reach out and support a struggling individual. I will fight for acceptance for everyone, because whether they have autism or not, each group of people fighting for a right is composed of individuals who hurt, feel, and love just like I do. I will always support humanity, and the rights of the individual. How can I not? I fight everyday for rights for my child, who to some, think it would have been a kindness to put in a home, or not have at all, knowing the risks. Those people hurt me with their negative attitude toward my children whom I love more than life, so what does it say about me as a person if I pass the same judgement on someone else.
I guess what I am saying is, for me to pass judgement on what someone says, how they vent, what they believe, who they love, or what they want to do with their life, is incredibly hypocritical of me, in my mind. So, I choose not to. I know that not everyone can be as open minded, or even open about how they feel about things as me, for whatever reason, but I am asking that those that treat with me please remember that I am not here to judge you, nor or those here with me here for you to judge.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
A Chance to Touch Another Person's Soul
I originally started this blog as an autism blog. It was meant to be a place where the longer posts that don't fit in my feeds could take flight. Recently though, I have found my writer's block lifting and more of everything coming out. I was always a writer at heart, though mostly expressed myself through poetry. I get these streams of thought that run through my head and lately, I have had to get them out. Often times, they are rambling and jump around an awful lot, but I think my mind was built that way. I also believe that is why I always stuck to poetry. Poetry doesn't always make sense and quite often the true meaning is hidden in massive metaphors. Sometimes, I think my life makes more sense as one.
Writing is something I have always wanted to do. Specifically, I wanted to write a book. Life always got in the way. I would like to say that I have the time now and am going to let my dreams take flight, but that won't happen. While the time is more there now and the writer's block has started to lift, I wouldn't even know where to start. I would like to fancy myself a fantasy writer, seeing as that is what I read most, but that is not where my strengths lie. My strongest and most heartfelt writing comes in truth. Sounds like a simple thing, right? I could just tell about life. That is where the problems really start for me.
Who's life do I write about? If I write about mine, where do I start? What part of my life would be so interesting that it would catch readers? I find when I tell a story about my life, people seem genuinely interested. It isn't like I have lived a boring one. However, when someone picks up a book, they are looking for an escape. That is one thing my life has never been. I spent my childhood hiding, my teen years running, my early adulthood wrapped in chains, and am just now starting to get a grip on my life. I am finally feeling content and where I should be.
My life hasn't been any harder or easier than anybody else. I am a firm believer of degrees. People look at my life and think it has been so hard and think I am so strong. I am not. What I am is human. I experience life like everyone else. What life hands me is different than what it hands other people, but it is no harder. There is no such thing as the easy life. Life is. What my mind and heart can handle is different than other people, but the same can be said when reversed. I am no hero. Yes, I have faced trials, but so has every one else at some point in their lives. Just because something in my life deeply affects someone else, doesn't make it book worthy.
So, what do you write about when the thing you express the best isn't something meant for a book? You write a blog. Maybe someday somebody sees it and thinks it's good enough to compile. The reality of that is so slim, I choose not to entertain the thought. I will continue to write what my heart tells me to. My heart and my mind love to escape into fantasy, but honestly, my mind can't write there. So, I will continue to pour my heart out here and know that someone somewhere is listening.
If you happen upon my blog here, whether by following an autism link, or by chance, stay awhile. Maybe I have a story for you. Maybe something in my life will touch something in yours. When that happens, I will be happy, because in all honesty, that is all one can really ask for. A chance to touch another person's soul.
Writing is something I have always wanted to do. Specifically, I wanted to write a book. Life always got in the way. I would like to say that I have the time now and am going to let my dreams take flight, but that won't happen. While the time is more there now and the writer's block has started to lift, I wouldn't even know where to start. I would like to fancy myself a fantasy writer, seeing as that is what I read most, but that is not where my strengths lie. My strongest and most heartfelt writing comes in truth. Sounds like a simple thing, right? I could just tell about life. That is where the problems really start for me.
Who's life do I write about? If I write about mine, where do I start? What part of my life would be so interesting that it would catch readers? I find when I tell a story about my life, people seem genuinely interested. It isn't like I have lived a boring one. However, when someone picks up a book, they are looking for an escape. That is one thing my life has never been. I spent my childhood hiding, my teen years running, my early adulthood wrapped in chains, and am just now starting to get a grip on my life. I am finally feeling content and where I should be.
My life hasn't been any harder or easier than anybody else. I am a firm believer of degrees. People look at my life and think it has been so hard and think I am so strong. I am not. What I am is human. I experience life like everyone else. What life hands me is different than what it hands other people, but it is no harder. There is no such thing as the easy life. Life is. What my mind and heart can handle is different than other people, but the same can be said when reversed. I am no hero. Yes, I have faced trials, but so has every one else at some point in their lives. Just because something in my life deeply affects someone else, doesn't make it book worthy.
So, what do you write about when the thing you express the best isn't something meant for a book? You write a blog. Maybe someday somebody sees it and thinks it's good enough to compile. The reality of that is so slim, I choose not to entertain the thought. I will continue to write what my heart tells me to. My heart and my mind love to escape into fantasy, but honestly, my mind can't write there. So, I will continue to pour my heart out here and know that someone somewhere is listening.
If you happen upon my blog here, whether by following an autism link, or by chance, stay awhile. Maybe I have a story for you. Maybe something in my life will touch something in yours. When that happens, I will be happy, because in all honesty, that is all one can really ask for. A chance to touch another person's soul.
This Time of Year
I don't often talk about the past because I believe that what has come before is or was just a stepping stone to the future and present that I love, but this time of year does something to me. May is a month of memory for me. As the years roll on and the day I lost my daughter gets further away, the memories become less focused on the single tragedy and more on the bigger picture. I find myself sitting on the corner of memory lane, holding my daughter in my arms, and talking with the loved ones that I have lost, either by death or just plain time.
It has been ten years. A decade has gone by since my life forever changed. When I think about that as a whole, I realize how short life really is. I know that I learned that lesson the hard way lying on that ultrasound table, listening to the doctor telling me that my child's heart was no longer beating, but ten years? That is an incredible amount of time to me. It seems like yesterday. When I was pregnant with her, she represented my hopes and dreams. When the doctor told me she was gone, they all seemed to slip away. I never thought I would recover. Grace was all I could see for so long. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. It was terrible. For all the pain I was feeling at the time, I never saw the damage my mental absence was doing to my young son. I have spent years repairing that, but needless to say, the loss of my daughter was a turning point for me.
For years, I spent the entire month of May crying over that loss. I was careful not to completely lose it in front of my other children, but there were nights I spent crying in the closet, the garage, even the bathroom floor. As time dragged on and the pain became something bearable, other memories starting creeping to the surface. Other faces that I loved and lost started mingling with the pain of her. She is always in my mind, but these new faces, they are there now too.
The first boy I ever really loved. Funny that that person isn't the one I would have named 15 years ago, but true none the less. The boy that was always there. Only male witness to my attempt at flying through a window, even if it was on the phone. The one who was always there for me when life seemed to hard. Carefree attitude and crazy hair. The one that mattered. He was the boy that made me believe in miracles and fate. He walked my dreams and asked the hard questions. During my first marriage, the only boy who told me he loved me on a regular basis, on those nights he would waltz into my mind. The boy, that from the first moment I kissed him, I knew it was different. I will always remember him as the boy whose kiss made the rain fall, literally. Our first kiss and our last started rainfall on a sunny day. He was that special. He was the amazing man taken from the world, and his own young child, at the tender age of 22. I thought of him tonight.
My best friend for 4 years, and sometimes my only friend. The girl who knew all my secrets. The shoulder I cried on when things got too hard with my ex. The ice cream nights and Chad Michael Murray dreams. The karaoke that was so wrong it was right. I didn't lose her to death. I lost her to a difference in ethics. I speak to her now and again, but it isn't the same. My heart aches for her. I miss that friendship. I wish that things were different, but we all make choices, and she made hers when she chose not to support my decision. It didn't harm her in any way, she just couldn't handle it.
And of course, there is always my daughter. Forever on my mind is my butterfly princess. The little girl that couldn't wait to meet her mommy. She just tried too soon. My goodness, she was beautiful. So tiny and perfect were her little fingers and toes. Even at the smaller size that she was, she looked just like her brother. I often wonder who she would be today, had she been given the chance to grow up. I will never know that. I accept that fact, but I don't like it. She was my baby girl. I still cry at the injustice of her death. I still blame myself sometimes, but after ten years, mostly I just hurt. I love her as much as I love the children that are here in this world with me, even after ten years of not being able to see her or touch her. I always make sure to tell her.
A decade of loss and sorrow. A decade of crying and death. It doesn't feel like it, but it has been that long. It brings me to my knees less often, but it hurts more every year for a shorter amount of time. I hate that she isn't here, but I can't change that. What I can do, is live on and do my best to show her brother and sister the joys of life that she never got to see. And I do, or at least I try to. I hope my daughter is looking down at me from somewhere and saying, "Yeah, that is my warrior mom. She did all she could for me, and in my absence, she is doing everything she can for them." That's what I dream of. After a decade, that's my greatest wish.
It has been ten years. A decade has gone by since my life forever changed. When I think about that as a whole, I realize how short life really is. I know that I learned that lesson the hard way lying on that ultrasound table, listening to the doctor telling me that my child's heart was no longer beating, but ten years? That is an incredible amount of time to me. It seems like yesterday. When I was pregnant with her, she represented my hopes and dreams. When the doctor told me she was gone, they all seemed to slip away. I never thought I would recover. Grace was all I could see for so long. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. It was terrible. For all the pain I was feeling at the time, I never saw the damage my mental absence was doing to my young son. I have spent years repairing that, but needless to say, the loss of my daughter was a turning point for me.
For years, I spent the entire month of May crying over that loss. I was careful not to completely lose it in front of my other children, but there were nights I spent crying in the closet, the garage, even the bathroom floor. As time dragged on and the pain became something bearable, other memories starting creeping to the surface. Other faces that I loved and lost started mingling with the pain of her. She is always in my mind, but these new faces, they are there now too.
The first boy I ever really loved. Funny that that person isn't the one I would have named 15 years ago, but true none the less. The boy that was always there. Only male witness to my attempt at flying through a window, even if it was on the phone. The one who was always there for me when life seemed to hard. Carefree attitude and crazy hair. The one that mattered. He was the boy that made me believe in miracles and fate. He walked my dreams and asked the hard questions. During my first marriage, the only boy who told me he loved me on a regular basis, on those nights he would waltz into my mind. The boy, that from the first moment I kissed him, I knew it was different. I will always remember him as the boy whose kiss made the rain fall, literally. Our first kiss and our last started rainfall on a sunny day. He was that special. He was the amazing man taken from the world, and his own young child, at the tender age of 22. I thought of him tonight.
My best friend for 4 years, and sometimes my only friend. The girl who knew all my secrets. The shoulder I cried on when things got too hard with my ex. The ice cream nights and Chad Michael Murray dreams. The karaoke that was so wrong it was right. I didn't lose her to death. I lost her to a difference in ethics. I speak to her now and again, but it isn't the same. My heart aches for her. I miss that friendship. I wish that things were different, but we all make choices, and she made hers when she chose not to support my decision. It didn't harm her in any way, she just couldn't handle it.
And of course, there is always my daughter. Forever on my mind is my butterfly princess. The little girl that couldn't wait to meet her mommy. She just tried too soon. My goodness, she was beautiful. So tiny and perfect were her little fingers and toes. Even at the smaller size that she was, she looked just like her brother. I often wonder who she would be today, had she been given the chance to grow up. I will never know that. I accept that fact, but I don't like it. She was my baby girl. I still cry at the injustice of her death. I still blame myself sometimes, but after ten years, mostly I just hurt. I love her as much as I love the children that are here in this world with me, even after ten years of not being able to see her or touch her. I always make sure to tell her.
A decade of loss and sorrow. A decade of crying and death. It doesn't feel like it, but it has been that long. It brings me to my knees less often, but it hurts more every year for a shorter amount of time. I hate that she isn't here, but I can't change that. What I can do, is live on and do my best to show her brother and sister the joys of life that she never got to see. And I do, or at least I try to. I hope my daughter is looking down at me from somewhere and saying, "Yeah, that is my warrior mom. She did all she could for me, and in my absence, she is doing everything she can for them." That's what I dream of. After a decade, that's my greatest wish.
Friday, May 3, 2013
I Am That Mom
I am not that mom. I will not do your homework. I will not do your chores. I will not clean your room. I am not that mom. What I will do, is help you in anyway that I can. Do you see that key word? You know, the one that starts with H? Yes, I will help you. Sometimes that means buttoning pants or reminding to wipe and flush, and sometimes, like tonight, it means I will almost throw my computer over the balcony to get your report printed when my Word won't work.
I will be your warrior and your advocate. I will stand by you when someone is being unfair or not understanding of your limits. I will battle the world to give you every chance. That also means that I will not accept excuses. If you are not putting your all into a project, I will not listen to you whine about your grades. If you are being rude or obtuse, I will point it out to you. I will not take your attitude just because I didn't let you have what you want. I will not let you use your autism as an excuse to skate through life.
You will work hard for your achievements. You will put your all into everything you do. You will live your life to a full potential. You will pursue what you love with passion and dedication. I expect you to show respect to those around you, hard as that may be. You are not your autism. It does not define you. I know your potential. I know what you are capable of. I know the heights that you can reach if you do these things. I want to see you achieve what you have set out to do. I want to see you reach the end of the path you have chosen. You not only have to want something, you have to have the ability, and you do. You are that child. I will be here for you to encourage you every step of the way because I am that mom.
I will be your warrior and your advocate. I will stand by you when someone is being unfair or not understanding of your limits. I will battle the world to give you every chance. That also means that I will not accept excuses. If you are not putting your all into a project, I will not listen to you whine about your grades. If you are being rude or obtuse, I will point it out to you. I will not take your attitude just because I didn't let you have what you want. I will not let you use your autism as an excuse to skate through life.
You will work hard for your achievements. You will put your all into everything you do. You will live your life to a full potential. You will pursue what you love with passion and dedication. I expect you to show respect to those around you, hard as that may be. You are not your autism. It does not define you. I know your potential. I know what you are capable of. I know the heights that you can reach if you do these things. I want to see you achieve what you have set out to do. I want to see you reach the end of the path you have chosen. You not only have to want something, you have to have the ability, and you do. You are that child. I will be here for you to encourage you every step of the way because I am that mom.
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