So, after years of saving funds, we have finally refinished our hardwood floors in two rooms on the main level of our home. Most of our existing furniture is crammed tightly into the dining room and includes the piano, one of the sofas, and some miscellaneous other "stuff." The other living set is now crammed into the kitchen, along with our regular make up of appliances and kitchen table with chairs. We need to live this way until the floors completely cure and this can take up to 15 days. The extra-cozy space is making all of us a little bit loony...all, surprisingly, except for Jack.
Once upon a time all of this rearranging have been very very worrisome for Jack and he would have cried with all the chaos and mixing up of what he is used to. But he is easily going about his business in his room doesn't seem the least bit affected by the mess in the middle of the house. Quite frankly, he is handling the change better than the rest of us.
We went to Friendly's after church on Sunday and a tall and rather chatty autistic adult about the age of 20 came over to me and asked me my name. He proceeded to ask me the names of all the children and needed to know their ages. He quickly and correctly calculated the exact year of birth for all of them and seemed really proud of himself for doing so. My middle son turned to me and whispered lovingly, "He is a bit like Jack, only taller." We found out his name and eagerly shook his hand. Before we were whisked away to our table, my eyes met those of his father's and held his gaze for a silent moment.
Our new friends sat to our right for the duration of lunch and we exchanged smiles and waves from across the tables. And I thought to myself, "So, this is what it could be like someday with Jack." And as I shared these thoughts with my husband I couldn't help but smile... A LOT.
"We can DO this," I think more often now.
Jack is always making progress and is not even the least bit upset about the hullabaloo on the first floor. He may always be different and probably need assistance with the most basic things, but he seems happier with himself and the world, and much more tolerant...more eager to reach out to others, and that is HUGE, as far as I am concerned. No, he may not live the life parents dream of for their children, but will have his place in the world and live with a happy heart and open mind.
Now, if only the rest of us survive the cramped quarters these next few weeks!
May You Always Recognize The Blessings.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Friday, February 15, 2013
Random Thoughts The Day After Saint Valentine's Day
A few days ago, I wrote a bit about Jack and his blossoming love of women. I recounted the great pain this often causes me, due to the rejection and reactions he is subjected to. These last few years I have taken it for granted that he was not at a place where he would comprehend or care about the mean words or obvious stares from the teenage girls he admired. Sometimes I am not so sure about this, now that he is older.
About two years ago, a young mentor working with Jack taught him how to roller skate, and he became addicted to it. Every day he would ask when she was coming back because he wanted to go roller skating. I was more than pleased about this, as participation in sports is not something that has worked out well for him. I supposed skating ranked high on his list of favorite things to do because he didn't have to interact with anyone. Or so I thought.
One day, I was invited to tag along with my other two boys, so I could see Jack skate for myself. Initially I was grateful for the benefit of the workout he was getting-and the potential sleep we all might have that evening as a result of it. We happily cheered him on until Jack's mentor called me into the center of the rink.
And there, in front of us, Jack was holding hands with a pretty red-haired, petite freckled-face girl. Our mentor approached her and said some words I did not hear, and suddenly they were skating together. One, two, three times she led him around, and after the song was over, she grinned and said, "Goodbye, Jack," as she skated off with her mother. And he stood there, beaming, as our mentor cried with me, in the middle of all those people going by. She hugged me and said, "Jack had a date! Jack had a date!" and I brushed the tears away from my eyes as I gratefully waved to the parent of the beautiful angel-girl who had just made my son's day. Jack skated over and quickly said, "I want to go home now," and we left in happy silence.
There are two basic innate human needs that came to me yesterday, on the feast of St. Valentine. We all desire to be loved, and we all want to be accepted for who we are. This is true for all people on the planet earth, no matter what level of ability you may possess. We have the power to lift other humans up in spite of their short-comings in the eyes of the world, but must see through the veil that often hides the beauty that may lie deep inside them. What a difference even a stranger can make when they exercise kindness and compassion. Like that little red-haired girl.
Jack is off from school today and we are going on a "date to the diner" where he will eat only the insides of the waffles, and I will bring my own green tea from home because I like it, and that is who I am. And I'm okay as far as Jack is concerned, and he is one great judge of character, so that is enough for me.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings
About two years ago, a young mentor working with Jack taught him how to roller skate, and he became addicted to it. Every day he would ask when she was coming back because he wanted to go roller skating. I was more than pleased about this, as participation in sports is not something that has worked out well for him. I supposed skating ranked high on his list of favorite things to do because he didn't have to interact with anyone. Or so I thought.
One day, I was invited to tag along with my other two boys, so I could see Jack skate for myself. Initially I was grateful for the benefit of the workout he was getting-and the potential sleep we all might have that evening as a result of it. We happily cheered him on until Jack's mentor called me into the center of the rink.
And there, in front of us, Jack was holding hands with a pretty red-haired, petite freckled-face girl. Our mentor approached her and said some words I did not hear, and suddenly they were skating together. One, two, three times she led him around, and after the song was over, she grinned and said, "Goodbye, Jack," as she skated off with her mother. And he stood there, beaming, as our mentor cried with me, in the middle of all those people going by. She hugged me and said, "Jack had a date! Jack had a date!" and I brushed the tears away from my eyes as I gratefully waved to the parent of the beautiful angel-girl who had just made my son's day. Jack skated over and quickly said, "I want to go home now," and we left in happy silence.
There are two basic innate human needs that came to me yesterday, on the feast of St. Valentine. We all desire to be loved, and we all want to be accepted for who we are. This is true for all people on the planet earth, no matter what level of ability you may possess. We have the power to lift other humans up in spite of their short-comings in the eyes of the world, but must see through the veil that often hides the beauty that may lie deep inside them. What a difference even a stranger can make when they exercise kindness and compassion. Like that little red-haired girl.
Jack is off from school today and we are going on a "date to the diner" where he will eat only the insides of the waffles, and I will bring my own green tea from home because I like it, and that is who I am. And I'm okay as far as Jack is concerned, and he is one great judge of character, so that is enough for me.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Vaccine Court Awards Yet More Millions To Children Who Developed Autism
The autism/vaccine debate has been been a hot topic since before my son was diagnosed 12 years ago. I submit this blog for your review with undying respect for parents with children living with autism and their families. Many of my friends have vaccinated their affected children according to schedule and feel the assault on their young bodies contributed to the autism that followed. I am not a doctor and make no claims either way. Below you will find our story. It is a repeat version of the thousands I have heard from many concerned and disheartened moms and educators I have been privileged to meet.
Over the years, I have been asked (repeatedly) by parents and professionals alike if I believed my son's autism was caused by one or more of the routine vaccinations given during infancy. It seems to be a particular topic of fascination for my friends of children who developed normally. Some of them are actually offended when I offer my opinion: "I do not think they were the only factor, but yes, they probably contributed to his disability." These parents are among the most intelligent I know, and I am glad for the peace of mind they have when they tuck their children in at night. "My doctor says they are safe!" In their defense, maybe I'd be reciting the same line, if my Jack wasn't the 1 in 88 diagnosed with this lifelong and devastating illness.
I recall a sunny day in autumn, many years ago now, when Jack was almost one and I took him him for his one year physical. We would leave Staten Island for good two weeks later, and I wanted to meet with his pediatrician one last time, before I had to move and research another one. I remember distinctly a pretty and jolly nurse coming into the room and announcing it was a good idea that Jack get his MMR shot right then, being it would probably take me a little while to locate a new doctor up in Orange County. She said not vaccinating him at this age was endangering his very life. I was a new mother in love with my precious baby boy, and, of course, I would anything to protect him.
Prior to the jab, she presented me with a consent form. "What is this?" I needed to know. "Oh, that," she said casually. "That is a form we need you to sign releasing the doctor from any blame in the unlikely event that your son has an adverse reaction to the shot. It's nothing."
"Excuse me?" I managed to say. "I do not know how I feel about this. I am going to need to home and speak with my husband before he receives this shot." This was before we owned a cell phone and I was alone in the office, making what I perceived a very important decision. Then she hit me full-force. "Oh, you are a young mother and have your concerns, I'm sure. But the doctor knows best, and it's a one in a million chance someone is actually affected. Your baby is healthy-it won't be your son." And with that reassurance, I signed the paper and what might have been Jack's life away at the same time, only I would never be sure in the future. He was given the shot and an "Okay, he looks great!" by the doctor, and off we went.
That evening I told my husband what happened and he almost convinced me I made the right decision, but I was still very shaken by the nurse's words. In a very short time we would leave New York City forever and move to the land of Orange County and the beautiful Hudson Valley, and there was much to do. Two weeks later, in the new house, we hosted a huge party for Jack in honor of his first birthday. Our closest friends and family were surrounded by balloons and unpacked boxes, and as we snapped pictures, I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach I could not comprehend. Not so long after, two months after a DPT shot, Jack contracted what seemed like a persistent stomach virus that lasted for six months, even when the initial fever went away. Our new doctor told us the fowl-smelling diapers were caused by teething...but I didn't believe that for one minute. His eye contact was fleeting and his few words started to disappear. He seemed lost, confused, and he started to flap his arms. I didn't tell my husband what I feared most, and I started the ball rolling with Early Intervention Services, just to be sure, as they told me, that everything "was all right." But we know how that all went, and a visit to a developmental pediatrician confirmed what the therapists already knew. A blood test four years later revealed his titers for MMR were insanely off the charts. To think what a few viruses at once could do to a developing brain at a crucial point in development! I can still cry.
Fast forward 13 + years and my son Jack still struggles with profound autism. As an educated mother and advocate, I have read probably everything there is to digest with regards to the vaccine controversy. And my feeling remains the same. Yes, I do believe with all my being that the vaccinations given early in life were, in part, responsible for Jack's illness. Is there a blood test that will tell us for SURE...no, it does not exist. I also believe there are many other causative factors including genetics, pollution and chemical contamination that can lead to an autism diagnosis in an affected child.
To this point of this blog, it does make me wonder why some families are secretly being awarded millions of dollars because their children were injured by vaccination...PERMANENTLY. I am happy for their handsome awards. Sure, those dollars will help insure a child's therapy and lifelong care, but can any amount of money heal a broken family and restore what could have been a bright future? Is this our government's answer to the autism epidemic? Silence them with a fat lump of change and move on? If a causative factor was not suspected, then WHY the compensation? Sounds like a possible cover-up to me! Remember, vaccines are big money makers. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty disgusted.
Here is a link to a recent article regarding two more children compensated for the loss of their chance of a normal and productive life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-kirby/post2468343_b_2468343.html
In addition, studies are being conducted to prove that the aborted baby DNA found in some vaccines is responsible for the rise in autism.( It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out injecting people with the DNA from another people could be a risky thing). Not the mention the pro-life issue important to many. Here's another well-written piece for your consideration:
http://www.cogforlife.org/autism/
For your discernment. It has literally taken me many, many years, but I have finally freed myself from the painful guilt I suffered due to the decisions I have made regarding Jack's health care in the past. Here, in the Hudson Valley, I have met some of the most awesome parents and friends. Some of them have children with autism, while others do not. We are a unique groups of individuals, with many of us relocating from the city, in search of a better life for our beautiful children. I respect each and every one of them for the many decisions they will continue to make for the well-being of their families. Do I think vaccines given to Jack early in life contributed to his autistic condition? Yes, I firmly do. And you know what? Although I have truly given all up to God in Heaven, I still daydream now and then that I approach that spunky nurse from long ago and give her a piece of my mind. "Damn you," I say, "IT WAS MY SON!"
I cannot change the past, but I can make a difference...Jack can make a difference! I URGE all new parents to take the time and do research. Weigh both the pros and cons of each injection, and make an educated and personal decision about what is injected into your child/when you choose to start vaccinating. I am at peace now (most of the time) knowing that I strive to give my children the absolute best I can...and realize that only God Himself knows the outcome of the choices we make.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings...
Over the years, I have been asked (repeatedly) by parents and professionals alike if I believed my son's autism was caused by one or more of the routine vaccinations given during infancy. It seems to be a particular topic of fascination for my friends of children who developed normally. Some of them are actually offended when I offer my opinion: "I do not think they were the only factor, but yes, they probably contributed to his disability." These parents are among the most intelligent I know, and I am glad for the peace of mind they have when they tuck their children in at night. "My doctor says they are safe!" In their defense, maybe I'd be reciting the same line, if my Jack wasn't the 1 in 88 diagnosed with this lifelong and devastating illness.
I recall a sunny day in autumn, many years ago now, when Jack was almost one and I took him him for his one year physical. We would leave Staten Island for good two weeks later, and I wanted to meet with his pediatrician one last time, before I had to move and research another one. I remember distinctly a pretty and jolly nurse coming into the room and announcing it was a good idea that Jack get his MMR shot right then, being it would probably take me a little while to locate a new doctor up in Orange County. She said not vaccinating him at this age was endangering his very life. I was a new mother in love with my precious baby boy, and, of course, I would anything to protect him.
Prior to the jab, she presented me with a consent form. "What is this?" I needed to know. "Oh, that," she said casually. "That is a form we need you to sign releasing the doctor from any blame in the unlikely event that your son has an adverse reaction to the shot. It's nothing."
"Excuse me?" I managed to say. "I do not know how I feel about this. I am going to need to home and speak with my husband before he receives this shot." This was before we owned a cell phone and I was alone in the office, making what I perceived a very important decision. Then she hit me full-force. "Oh, you are a young mother and have your concerns, I'm sure. But the doctor knows best, and it's a one in a million chance someone is actually affected. Your baby is healthy-it won't be your son." And with that reassurance, I signed the paper and what might have been Jack's life away at the same time, only I would never be sure in the future. He was given the shot and an "Okay, he looks great!" by the doctor, and off we went.
That evening I told my husband what happened and he almost convinced me I made the right decision, but I was still very shaken by the nurse's words. In a very short time we would leave New York City forever and move to the land of Orange County and the beautiful Hudson Valley, and there was much to do. Two weeks later, in the new house, we hosted a huge party for Jack in honor of his first birthday. Our closest friends and family were surrounded by balloons and unpacked boxes, and as we snapped pictures, I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach I could not comprehend. Not so long after, two months after a DPT shot, Jack contracted what seemed like a persistent stomach virus that lasted for six months, even when the initial fever went away. Our new doctor told us the fowl-smelling diapers were caused by teething...but I didn't believe that for one minute. His eye contact was fleeting and his few words started to disappear. He seemed lost, confused, and he started to flap his arms. I didn't tell my husband what I feared most, and I started the ball rolling with Early Intervention Services, just to be sure, as they told me, that everything "was all right." But we know how that all went, and a visit to a developmental pediatrician confirmed what the therapists already knew. A blood test four years later revealed his titers for MMR were insanely off the charts. To think what a few viruses at once could do to a developing brain at a crucial point in development! I can still cry.
Fast forward 13 + years and my son Jack still struggles with profound autism. As an educated mother and advocate, I have read probably everything there is to digest with regards to the vaccine controversy. And my feeling remains the same. Yes, I do believe with all my being that the vaccinations given early in life were, in part, responsible for Jack's illness. Is there a blood test that will tell us for SURE...no, it does not exist. I also believe there are many other causative factors including genetics, pollution and chemical contamination that can lead to an autism diagnosis in an affected child.
To this point of this blog, it does make me wonder why some families are secretly being awarded millions of dollars because their children were injured by vaccination...PERMANENTLY. I am happy for their handsome awards. Sure, those dollars will help insure a child's therapy and lifelong care, but can any amount of money heal a broken family and restore what could have been a bright future? Is this our government's answer to the autism epidemic? Silence them with a fat lump of change and move on? If a causative factor was not suspected, then WHY the compensation? Sounds like a possible cover-up to me! Remember, vaccines are big money makers. I don't know about you, but I'm pretty disgusted.
Here is a link to a recent article regarding two more children compensated for the loss of their chance of a normal and productive life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/david-kirby/post2468343_b_2468343.html
In addition, studies are being conducted to prove that the aborted baby DNA found in some vaccines is responsible for the rise in autism.( It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out injecting people with the DNA from another people could be a risky thing). Not the mention the pro-life issue important to many. Here's another well-written piece for your consideration:
http://www.cogforlife.org/autism/
For your discernment. It has literally taken me many, many years, but I have finally freed myself from the painful guilt I suffered due to the decisions I have made regarding Jack's health care in the past. Here, in the Hudson Valley, I have met some of the most awesome parents and friends. Some of them have children with autism, while others do not. We are a unique groups of individuals, with many of us relocating from the city, in search of a better life for our beautiful children. I respect each and every one of them for the many decisions they will continue to make for the well-being of their families. Do I think vaccines given to Jack early in life contributed to his autistic condition? Yes, I firmly do. And you know what? Although I have truly given all up to God in Heaven, I still daydream now and then that I approach that spunky nurse from long ago and give her a piece of my mind. "Damn you," I say, "IT WAS MY SON!"
I cannot change the past, but I can make a difference...Jack can make a difference! I URGE all new parents to take the time and do research. Weigh both the pros and cons of each injection, and make an educated and personal decision about what is injected into your child/when you choose to start vaccinating. I am at peace now (most of the time) knowing that I strive to give my children the absolute best I can...and realize that only God Himself knows the outcome of the choices we make.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings...
Saturday, February 9, 2013
What Makes A Man
I don't know if he's been hearing it in school this year, but since September, Jack has been asking for me to "shave his mustache." Sometimes he asks several times a day and I caught him a few times looking for the shaving cream. I previously hid all the razors and scissors since he's already taken them to his hair and eyebrows, and I've been terrified he would hurt himself in a bad way. For the last few months he's been desperately trying to remove his facial hair with a washcloth and water. I know he is 14, but I was hoping to wait at least another year to go down this road. He's been doing really well with the other obvious changes taking place and oftentimes I thank God he is not a female. I've had many mixed emotions with this, because I have been reminded over and over again how rough things would be when he was older and we could no longer take care of him. And the clock is ticking fast.
What makes a man anyway? It cannot just be body hair and a deep voice. A real man is responsible for himself and potentially any others that may come into his life. He can hold down a job and communicate with other humans in a mature fashion. But here is my autistic child who certainly resembles a young man, and needs around the clock supervision and care. Biologically, he is still destined to change, as we all age and appear different on the outside at various points in our lives. The difference between another person and Jack is that emotional and mental metamorphosis happen alongside the physical.
A few days ago a mentor took Jack rollerskating but had to remove him from the ring because he kept skating up to girls and grabbing their hands. He is not a big guy, but knows nothing of boundaries, and in his innocence, just wants to skate with them. I've seen him turn his head more than once looking at pretty young things on a beach or at the mall, and we have joked about his love of women. And this is because somewhere he is a man in the making. So, on one hand I am happy about this maturity he is displaying, and on the other hand I am crushed, when the young ladies walk away laughing. Teenage girls are often cruel and a few times now I have felt the need to interject by saying, "He is autistic...he thinks you are pretty." And with my husband's piercing eyes and my father's million-dollar smile, those girls would have been crazy for him, I know, if things were different.
And so, it goes on...
My husband came home this afternoon with an electric shaver, as a gift for Jack. He stopped asking me to remove his mustache a few months ago, but the last few days he has been pretty adamant about it again and the hair is growing in thick and dark. Right before the big moment, I found him sitting in our master bathroom and he said again, "Please shave my mustache." And so, it was done. I held up the mirror so he could see his new face and he beamed from ear to ear. The young man who just shaved his mustache for the first time still needed help in the shower and I lovingly put him in the tub and washed his hair. We called my father and my brother to share the news.
I am sitting alone now, writing this blog, while the kids are playing with their iPads and my husband is shoveling snow. And, I will admit, am having those mixed emotions again...but this time they are accompanied by a little bit of hope, because it finally dawned on me what makes a man. A real man is a good man. A real man is an honest man too. And when Jack stands before God one day, hopefully a long time from now, God will say, "You have been a real man, Jack. Enter into My Kingdom." And so, my prayer now will be that Jack will be the best man he can be, the man he was designed to be, always loving, always gentle, always REAL. That is a dream guy enough for me.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings.
What makes a man anyway? It cannot just be body hair and a deep voice. A real man is responsible for himself and potentially any others that may come into his life. He can hold down a job and communicate with other humans in a mature fashion. But here is my autistic child who certainly resembles a young man, and needs around the clock supervision and care. Biologically, he is still destined to change, as we all age and appear different on the outside at various points in our lives. The difference between another person and Jack is that emotional and mental metamorphosis happen alongside the physical.
A few days ago a mentor took Jack rollerskating but had to remove him from the ring because he kept skating up to girls and grabbing their hands. He is not a big guy, but knows nothing of boundaries, and in his innocence, just wants to skate with them. I've seen him turn his head more than once looking at pretty young things on a beach or at the mall, and we have joked about his love of women. And this is because somewhere he is a man in the making. So, on one hand I am happy about this maturity he is displaying, and on the other hand I am crushed, when the young ladies walk away laughing. Teenage girls are often cruel and a few times now I have felt the need to interject by saying, "He is autistic...he thinks you are pretty." And with my husband's piercing eyes and my father's million-dollar smile, those girls would have been crazy for him, I know, if things were different.
And so, it goes on...
My husband came home this afternoon with an electric shaver, as a gift for Jack. He stopped asking me to remove his mustache a few months ago, but the last few days he has been pretty adamant about it again and the hair is growing in thick and dark. Right before the big moment, I found him sitting in our master bathroom and he said again, "Please shave my mustache." And so, it was done. I held up the mirror so he could see his new face and he beamed from ear to ear. The young man who just shaved his mustache for the first time still needed help in the shower and I lovingly put him in the tub and washed his hair. We called my father and my brother to share the news.
I am sitting alone now, writing this blog, while the kids are playing with their iPads and my husband is shoveling snow. And, I will admit, am having those mixed emotions again...but this time they are accompanied by a little bit of hope, because it finally dawned on me what makes a man. A real man is a good man. A real man is an honest man too. And when Jack stands before God one day, hopefully a long time from now, God will say, "You have been a real man, Jack. Enter into My Kingdom." And so, my prayer now will be that Jack will be the best man he can be, the man he was designed to be, always loving, always gentle, always REAL. That is a dream guy enough for me.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings.
This is the Jackman with me the morning after his big day.
I found him in our master bathroom admiring his face,
minus the mustache. He said, "Take a picture, please."
And so we did. As you can see he was just beaming.
His happiness was such a gift.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Speak
Tonight, Jack asked to phone my husband at work. He's 14 and this is something that has not happened before. He said, "I need to speak with Daddy, call Daddy now, please." So, of course, I ran to the phone and dialed the number as quickly as my fingers would allow me. Jack could hardly wait for the phone to stop ringing, and I had to remind him to listen for the voice on the other end. He made his dad so happy, and he immediately dropped everything to come home.
Words...
"Use your words, Jack" is a common mantra around here. Similar phrases are used by my two younger sons on a daily basis, "Say what you want, Jack." Or, simply, "What do you need, Jack?" Words have repercussions. Words direct everything in the universe.
I discovered some time ago that most people have no clue what power their words possess. Beyond expressing some need or desire, words have the ability to hurt or heal another human being. And that is why they seemingly hang in the air after an argument or expression of love. Words are remembered long after they are spoken and can have a permanent impact on person they are directed towards. Oftentimes painful memories revolve around what someone said in the past, and not solely their actions.
Words...
They are not just simple utterances or noises we make. There were times Jack did not make a sound and I promised to light my hair on fire if meant I'd get one word, one groan, one "I love you, Momma." For the longest time, the silence won. And when the few words came we celebrated, and danced around the living room. Today, I still encourage him to elaborate and use more complex sentences. And, If Jack didn't have some ability for language, I probably would not be so persistent in demonstrating how to use it in everyday life. There are times he would rather give a one-word answer, but I am determined to help him express himself more. Because of the importance of the words. Modeling language has become a sort of necessary lifestyle in this house. We are truly blessed he has developed some understanding of basic English. There is also the art of listening well...but that is a whole other concept.
Say what you mean to say...
What makes Jack really extra-ordinary in his own right is the meaning behind his words, as few they are, for he says what he truly feels, when he needs to do so. As human beings, we often leave words unsaid, sometimes to the point it becomes too late to say them. Or worse, we shout words in a moment of anger and later wish we hadn't. Words...we must choose them carefully! Or course we want Jack to have more words. But they mean nothing if you don't understand what you saying, so we are working on it. I'd rather not be a person who is "all talk" and no substance, when I can speak with an honest heart, even if it means I am sometimes silent....like Jack.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings.
Words...
"Use your words, Jack" is a common mantra around here. Similar phrases are used by my two younger sons on a daily basis, "Say what you want, Jack." Or, simply, "What do you need, Jack?" Words have repercussions. Words direct everything in the universe.
I discovered some time ago that most people have no clue what power their words possess. Beyond expressing some need or desire, words have the ability to hurt or heal another human being. And that is why they seemingly hang in the air after an argument or expression of love. Words are remembered long after they are spoken and can have a permanent impact on person they are directed towards. Oftentimes painful memories revolve around what someone said in the past, and not solely their actions.
Words...
They are not just simple utterances or noises we make. There were times Jack did not make a sound and I promised to light my hair on fire if meant I'd get one word, one groan, one "I love you, Momma." For the longest time, the silence won. And when the few words came we celebrated, and danced around the living room. Today, I still encourage him to elaborate and use more complex sentences. And, If Jack didn't have some ability for language, I probably would not be so persistent in demonstrating how to use it in everyday life. There are times he would rather give a one-word answer, but I am determined to help him express himself more. Because of the importance of the words. Modeling language has become a sort of necessary lifestyle in this house. We are truly blessed he has developed some understanding of basic English. There is also the art of listening well...but that is a whole other concept.
Say what you mean to say...
What makes Jack really extra-ordinary in his own right is the meaning behind his words, as few they are, for he says what he truly feels, when he needs to do so. As human beings, we often leave words unsaid, sometimes to the point it becomes too late to say them. Or worse, we shout words in a moment of anger and later wish we hadn't. Words...we must choose them carefully! Or course we want Jack to have more words. But they mean nothing if you don't understand what you saying, so we are working on it. I'd rather not be a person who is "all talk" and no substance, when I can speak with an honest heart, even if it means I am sometimes silent....like Jack.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Distraught Mother In The Corner, It's Not Your Fault
Today I went out with another special needs mom. She's a veteran, with two sons on the Autism Spectrum, and we haven't seen each other in a while. We picked our favorite lunch spot, right smack in the middle of our respective homes and districts in the event one of us gets a phone call from the school and we have to run. For me, it's always great to get out and speak with a grown person. Not to mention a treat to eat a meal not interrupted by tantrums or outbursts. I can do this more often now because my children are older and attend school full-time.
But to our left, a familiar scene unfolded, as I noticed a younger pretty lady, trying to console a small boy. She was desperately trying to soothe him, and picked him up in her arms and rocked him back and forth even though he was not an infant. The crying did not stop and too quickly the screaming and kicking began. A coffee cup went flying and french fries were knocked off the table. Soon his arms were flailing and he was clinging to her in the most desperate way, upset beyond description. People started to stare and whisper, and the young woman became obviously upset herself. She mustered all the courage she could to lift that precious child and make her way out of the crowded restaurant, tears running down her face.
My friend reached across the table and squeezed my hand tightly. The look in her tired eyes told me what I already knew. Without one word I understood, "That boy has autism...do you remember those days?" And I pushed back my bowl of soup and sat for a moment. We are so well-versed at this point, we are able to sum up and recognize even the highest-functioning child all in a matter of three seconds.
How many times have I wanted to run over to such a woman and embrace her, comfort her, give her my phone number, anything! But like myself of old, they flee quickly from the public eye, feeling distraught and alone, the way I used to be. Other times I have been on line in the supermarket only to have a mother say to me, "I'm so sorry for his behavior...he has autism." What relief on their faces when I tell them I am one of the moms who GET IT.
Distraught Mother in the corner, this is not your fault! I know the nightmare you are living--you have done nothing to make it manifest. You are a good wife and nurturer and your child is blessed to have you. I want to tell you things are going to get better, but only time will tell the extent of your suffering. You will have to work harder at your marriage and cling to God, even when friends seem to abandon you, but you are not alone. You will go on, you have been given a job reserved for saints. You are a warrior.
I know what it's like to cry in the shower, where you hide so no one can hear you. I know what it's like to cry yourself to sleep, night after night, and wonder if your prayers are really heard in the still dark of your bathroom, but this is not your fault. You may never hear the words, but he does, in fact, love you. Some of your questions will never be answered and you will wonder if the hurt will ever go away...it never completely will, but you will find peace when you are older. No, dear desperate mother, this is not your fault. This much I truly know.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings...
But to our left, a familiar scene unfolded, as I noticed a younger pretty lady, trying to console a small boy. She was desperately trying to soothe him, and picked him up in her arms and rocked him back and forth even though he was not an infant. The crying did not stop and too quickly the screaming and kicking began. A coffee cup went flying and french fries were knocked off the table. Soon his arms were flailing and he was clinging to her in the most desperate way, upset beyond description. People started to stare and whisper, and the young woman became obviously upset herself. She mustered all the courage she could to lift that precious child and make her way out of the crowded restaurant, tears running down her face.
My friend reached across the table and squeezed my hand tightly. The look in her tired eyes told me what I already knew. Without one word I understood, "That boy has autism...do you remember those days?" And I pushed back my bowl of soup and sat for a moment. We are so well-versed at this point, we are able to sum up and recognize even the highest-functioning child all in a matter of three seconds.
How many times have I wanted to run over to such a woman and embrace her, comfort her, give her my phone number, anything! But like myself of old, they flee quickly from the public eye, feeling distraught and alone, the way I used to be. Other times I have been on line in the supermarket only to have a mother say to me, "I'm so sorry for his behavior...he has autism." What relief on their faces when I tell them I am one of the moms who GET IT.
Distraught Mother in the corner, this is not your fault! I know the nightmare you are living--you have done nothing to make it manifest. You are a good wife and nurturer and your child is blessed to have you. I want to tell you things are going to get better, but only time will tell the extent of your suffering. You will have to work harder at your marriage and cling to God, even when friends seem to abandon you, but you are not alone. You will go on, you have been given a job reserved for saints. You are a warrior.
I know what it's like to cry in the shower, where you hide so no one can hear you. I know what it's like to cry yourself to sleep, night after night, and wonder if your prayers are really heard in the still dark of your bathroom, but this is not your fault. You may never hear the words, but he does, in fact, love you. Some of your questions will never be answered and you will wonder if the hurt will ever go away...it never completely will, but you will find peace when you are older. No, dear desperate mother, this is not your fault. This much I truly know.
May You Always Recognize The Blessings...
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