On the eve of eighteen....eighteen years ago, I waited for him. He was a promise, a prayer, perfection. He came into the world with ten fingers, ten toes, bright blue eyes, rosy cheeks; everything that makes a newborn a miracle.
There was so much promise in the beginning. He was everything I hoped he would be. There was no cause for alarm, no sign of what as to come. I consider how nice it would be to go back and enjoy that peace. Soak in what I didn't know I should treasure.
Someone pushed fast forward and suddenly here we are.
On the eve of eighteen is a strange place to be, a purgatory of sorts. For so long, all that mattered was getting him to commencement. Giving him the opportunity to walk with his peers, the kids that grew up with him. Most of the time, I didn't think much beyond that. I didn't think about what crossing that stage really meant for his friends...for him.
It's the eve of eighteen; suddenly I'm faced with a reality that breaks my heart.
He isn't going to college.
He won't drive a car.
He can't manage his life independently.
While others are stressed over SAT scores and college applications, I feel very isolated.
Eighteen years ago, I could bond with new mothers over breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and mylicon drops. I understood I would manage, because I had comrades. I wasn't navigating foreign territory alone. Ultimately, I did manage. Infancy was overall a cheerful time. I can still smell the newness of it all...I was taken with him. Now, we are far from the norm. The world lay ahead of him in a very different version. It's colored with promise and darkened with unknown.
On the eve of eighteen, I am still taken with him. He doesn't talk back, break curfew, or shy away from affection. He has a genuine heart and a gentle spirit. I will do for him what I always have done. Be his advocate, his voice, his support. I'll take his hand and we'll follow this journey hoping we can conquer the future obstacles we have yet to see...
Sunday, October 11, 2015
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
Ice Cream Run
Ever had a memory leap out of your heart and roll down your cheeks? Tonight, I made a memory that sometime in the future will do just that.
It's summertime, baseball season, a hectic time with full schedule that is loosely knit. It's a go with the flow, spur of the moment time of the year. Tonight some good friends came over to deliver some furniture. (Yay me!) The kids decided an ice cream run would be fun. I didn't get to see them all hop in the car. I didn't hear Parker offer to let Jackson ride in the front seat. I didn't even see them drive off down to street. It happened so fast, all of a sudden I missed it.
We moms met the cool kids minutes later at the Magic Wand. Everyone had some form of ice cream and we all enjoyed this summer ritual. When we finished, the kids got up. Jackson paused, and said, "Jackson's gonna ride in Paige's Jeep." Very matter of fact. Then, he followed them all to the car.
This could have happened with any number of kids. It's a very normal thing. Kids go for ice cream, kids ride off together, kids laugh and sing in the car. Kids do it all the time, most of you take it for granted.
There is so much that I do not take for granted. So much that makes my heart ache. Tonight, Jack sang in the jeep. His brother and friend had the presence of mind to record him for me. Tonight he did something so normal that for just a moment, I could forget his limits. I could forget what holds him. I could forget the heartache.
I know, I know. There is so much he can do, many ways he is blessed, and much to celebrate. I plan to celebrate, maybe with some ice cream.
It's summertime, baseball season, a hectic time with full schedule that is loosely knit. It's a go with the flow, spur of the moment time of the year. Tonight some good friends came over to deliver some furniture. (Yay me!) The kids decided an ice cream run would be fun. I didn't get to see them all hop in the car. I didn't hear Parker offer to let Jackson ride in the front seat. I didn't even see them drive off down to street. It happened so fast, all of a sudden I missed it.
We moms met the cool kids minutes later at the Magic Wand. Everyone had some form of ice cream and we all enjoyed this summer ritual. When we finished, the kids got up. Jackson paused, and said, "Jackson's gonna ride in Paige's Jeep." Very matter of fact. Then, he followed them all to the car.
This could have happened with any number of kids. It's a very normal thing. Kids go for ice cream, kids ride off together, kids laugh and sing in the car. Kids do it all the time, most of you take it for granted.
There is so much that I do not take for granted. So much that makes my heart ache. Tonight, Jack sang in the jeep. His brother and friend had the presence of mind to record him for me. Tonight he did something so normal that for just a moment, I could forget his limits. I could forget what holds him. I could forget the heartache.
I know, I know. There is so much he can do, many ways he is blessed, and much to celebrate. I plan to celebrate, maybe with some ice cream.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Anticipation
"Patience is not the ability to wait, but how you act while your waiting." this quote was recently in my Twitter feed. I think about time, patience, and anticipation. How different each of their meanings for my son...
Time passes, time runs, time slips through my fingers. Jackson has no sense of time. In the moment, it means little to him. He can ask about a special event a thousand times before it actually happens. Lately, he is obsessed with going to the beach. (My hypothesis is this is because we didn't go anywhere for spring break). We are going to Destin in July with some good friends. He asks daily about this vacation and we go through a litany of repetition something like this:
J: "We are going to the beach" hesitates "with Paige and Parker" hesitates
Me: "In July"
J: "Should Ang go? Should Rob go?"
Me: "In July"
Seriously.
We go through this conversation everyday. He has little concept of when July will be.
It's not that he doesn't have enough patience, it's that he has too much anticipation. For me, anticipation is generally a good thing. "I can't wait!" How much of our lives do we wish away via anticipation? Yet, here is my son. My awkward, lanky, innocent boy, for whom anticipation is a nemesis.
Anticipation stole his magic at the happiest place on earth.
Anticipation suffocates his joy.
Anticipation snuffs his spirit.
It's like he is waiting for the sky to fall....
You know what? I am gonna find a way to turn that around. I am going to find a way to make it a smile that twinkles in his eyes. I am going to find a way through sheer will.
Ironically, anticipation is the name of the game with this kid. I have to anticipate his move, know when the stress level is reaching the tipping point. I have to be prepared with plans B, C, D, and E. This has become such a habit for me, such a part of my being that it frustrates me when others cannot execute it. Clearly, you have been around my child enough to notice when the flags are going up. Do you not see the signs? Do you choose to ignore them? Are you that self-absorbed that you turn a blind eye tot them?
Well, this post is loosely knit. Kind of a reflection of me right now..little focus, distracted, and full of pieces that do not quite fit together. I am rusty, give me time and this writing thing will improve...I just gave you something to look forward to....anticipation.
Time passes, time runs, time slips through my fingers. Jackson has no sense of time. In the moment, it means little to him. He can ask about a special event a thousand times before it actually happens. Lately, he is obsessed with going to the beach. (My hypothesis is this is because we didn't go anywhere for spring break). We are going to Destin in July with some good friends. He asks daily about this vacation and we go through a litany of repetition something like this:
J: "We are going to the beach" hesitates "with Paige and Parker" hesitates
Me: "In July"
J: "Should Ang go? Should Rob go?"
Me: "In July"
Seriously.
We go through this conversation everyday. He has little concept of when July will be.
It's not that he doesn't have enough patience, it's that he has too much anticipation. For me, anticipation is generally a good thing. "I can't wait!" How much of our lives do we wish away via anticipation? Yet, here is my son. My awkward, lanky, innocent boy, for whom anticipation is a nemesis.
Anticipation stole his magic at the happiest place on earth.
Anticipation suffocates his joy.
Anticipation snuffs his spirit.
It's like he is waiting for the sky to fall....
You know what? I am gonna find a way to turn that around. I am going to find a way to make it a smile that twinkles in his eyes. I am going to find a way through sheer will.
Ironically, anticipation is the name of the game with this kid. I have to anticipate his move, know when the stress level is reaching the tipping point. I have to be prepared with plans B, C, D, and E. This has become such a habit for me, such a part of my being that it frustrates me when others cannot execute it. Clearly, you have been around my child enough to notice when the flags are going up. Do you not see the signs? Do you choose to ignore them? Are you that self-absorbed that you turn a blind eye tot them?
Well, this post is loosely knit. Kind of a reflection of me right now..little focus, distracted, and full of pieces that do not quite fit together. I am rusty, give me time and this writing thing will improve...I just gave you something to look forward to....anticipation.
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Unexpected
Who is important to you? When the world stops turning who do you want next to you? Who shares your quiet place? Recently, someone important to me asked me why I haven't posted here in so long, why I quit writing. My answer was simple and complex. This space has been about sharing the joy and triumphs. I usually avoid the difficult and ugly, I prefer the "glass half full" approach to life.
I have pondered that question and this space for a couple of weeks.
So....here I am again, to share the joys and triumphs (and maybe a couple of true heartbreaks).
17. My boy is 17. Adulthood looms over us, just beyond the horizon It's very dark, like just before dawn. Something inspiring and wonderful is held in that dawn. Something beautiful and original and magnificent. I cannot yet make out what it is, beyond that horizon, beyond this darkness, in the great unknown. I am going to cling to the hope and promise of good. 17 is awkward, lanky, and hungry. 17 is humor and tears. 17 is unexpected.
So much has happened that brings us here. I never expected to be a part of the statistic, yet here I am, a divorced single mom with an autistic son. (Dear New Warrior Mom: Never say never. Autism changes many things in life, and the silver bullet was unavoidable). Adjusting to all that comes with divorce has been a challenge for Jackson. He is handling it better than expected in some ways and worse in others. We are all just taking it one day at a time.
Today, I celebrate Jax being voted on the junior prom court. That is an unexpected triumph. Literally, for years, I fought for him to be educated in our local school. I badgered, I argued, I begged, and when that didn't work, I hired an advocate to fight for me. AND WE WON. We won and Jackson suddenly was safe and crossing that stage with his peers was finally a sure thing. Those peers, those kids, have embraced and included and loved my son. Those kids are the very reason I fought. In a couple of weeks, Jackson will go to the prom. He will dance and sing and laugh. He will be happy. He will be included. He will be accepted. WE WON.
WE WON and suddenly, those friends are growing up, driving cars, making college visits and taking the SAT. WE WON and I forgot how much I lost, how much had been taken from me. WE WON and for a glorious time, I could forget. I didn't consider what came after he crossed that stage. Well, maybe I did consider it in vague terms, but nothing concrete. It's dark here; it's always darkest before the dawn. It's dark and I cannot see the future. I know it does not include cars, or college visits. I know his path looks different. WE WON, but now I have to face the dawn alone.
If you know me, you know I am never truly alone. God's plan for my imperfect son is perfect. My plan is simple, cling to that hope and promise; try to relax and enjoy the ride. Who matters to you? Tell them, let them know you want to held them when the world stops turning...
I have pondered that question and this space for a couple of weeks.
So....here I am again, to share the joys and triumphs (and maybe a couple of true heartbreaks).
17. My boy is 17. Adulthood looms over us, just beyond the horizon It's very dark, like just before dawn. Something inspiring and wonderful is held in that dawn. Something beautiful and original and magnificent. I cannot yet make out what it is, beyond that horizon, beyond this darkness, in the great unknown. I am going to cling to the hope and promise of good. 17 is awkward, lanky, and hungry. 17 is humor and tears. 17 is unexpected.
So much has happened that brings us here. I never expected to be a part of the statistic, yet here I am, a divorced single mom with an autistic son. (Dear New Warrior Mom: Never say never. Autism changes many things in life, and the silver bullet was unavoidable). Adjusting to all that comes with divorce has been a challenge for Jackson. He is handling it better than expected in some ways and worse in others. We are all just taking it one day at a time.
Today, I celebrate Jax being voted on the junior prom court. That is an unexpected triumph. Literally, for years, I fought for him to be educated in our local school. I badgered, I argued, I begged, and when that didn't work, I hired an advocate to fight for me. AND WE WON. We won and Jackson suddenly was safe and crossing that stage with his peers was finally a sure thing. Those peers, those kids, have embraced and included and loved my son. Those kids are the very reason I fought. In a couple of weeks, Jackson will go to the prom. He will dance and sing and laugh. He will be happy. He will be included. He will be accepted. WE WON.
WE WON and suddenly, those friends are growing up, driving cars, making college visits and taking the SAT. WE WON and I forgot how much I lost, how much had been taken from me. WE WON and for a glorious time, I could forget. I didn't consider what came after he crossed that stage. Well, maybe I did consider it in vague terms, but nothing concrete. It's dark here; it's always darkest before the dawn. It's dark and I cannot see the future. I know it does not include cars, or college visits. I know his path looks different. WE WON, but now I have to face the dawn alone.
If you know me, you know I am never truly alone. God's plan for my imperfect son is perfect. My plan is simple, cling to that hope and promise; try to relax and enjoy the ride. Who matters to you? Tell them, let them know you want to held them when the world stops turning...
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