Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, I was completely unaware.  I thought I was enlightened.  I had a college degree.  I had a best friend who had epilepsy and hydrocephalus and then later a son with autism.  I had a cousin with down syndrome.  I had a mother with scleroderma and whose health deteriorated right before my very eyes, a mother who went from a healthy vital woman I hardly remembered was sick to a woman dependent on oxygen and unable to walk a few feet without taxing her heart and lungs.  I thought I understood. 

I was wrong.  Having friends and family with medical issues, developmental delays, and seizures does not prepare one for having a child with these issues.  Oh, it helps.  I had been introduced to the language.  And I had a built in support system with the shared experience.  I had that best friend to call when I needed her, though sadly I lost my mother before I really needed her.  I had my aunt to offer encouragement.  And my respect for her quaddruppled.

I didn't see the encouragement that way when she offered it.  But her words became a ray of hope for me to cling to as my child grew older and still had not walked.  "Joe Joe was 6 before he ever walked.  He sure wore out the baby walkers though."   It became a mantra of sorts.  Joe Joe was 6.  Joe Joe was 6.  Jimmie did it at 2 1/2.  And now, like Joe Joe before him, you can't keep him seated.  I love to watch him run down the hallway...bounce, bounce, bounce...arms flapping, smile on his angelic face, up on his toes, leaning forward.  Terrible stance, but beautiful in his independence.

I watched Rain Man 20 years ago, like everyone else.  I cried 20 years ago at the scene where Tom Cruise understands Dustin Hoffman (Raymond) was his imaginary friend the Rain Man, who sang to him when he was scared.  I saw it today with different eyes...or a different heart, perhaps.  I can't even explain what I felt watching it today.  It was just different.  It was...enlightened.  I cried very hard. 

Charlie stood at my side with his hand on my knee and a look of worry on his little face.  He's my angel too.  I looked at him and saw his concern.  I smiled and patted his cheek and told him I am just being silly.  The movie made me cry, but I am okay.  He breathed a sigh, and smiled back up at my tear stained face, and I swear I heard the relief in his little voice as he quipped, "Bye bye?" because he wanted to go outside.  I said, "Yes, let's go bye bye."  And then he was 2 again and happy to be going out.  I am so proud of him.  He takes such good care of  his brother and of me.  He is going to be a very caring young man and adult.  I know it.  I saw it when I turned away from the tv and to his face. 

Have I really changed?  Yes, I think I have.  It's not anything I can explain.  It's something inside of me.  It's wrapped up in love and understanding and maternal instincts.  Once upon a time I would have been more eloquent, but I still would have missed the point.

Angels Among Us

I believe in Angels.  I believe in God, and I believe he has messengers and guardians.  I believe in Angels.  I pray nightly for intercession from St. Michael.

I've read those Miracle books...you know, the ones that describe encounters that border on the heavenly. 

And like any person who believes I've had my own experiences.

Let me start with my sister's experience.  My mother was in the hospital, on her deathbed.  My sister left her to drive the 50 miles home.  She was afraid to stay.  She asked Mama to hold on until the next day, but alas, she could not.  At the moment my mother passed away, my sister was driving and listening to the radio.  That song by Diamond Rio, I Believe, was playing.  She knows this because it was playing when she got in the car, and the radio station appeared to be experiencing some kind of malfunction.  The song played and replayed all the way home for her, and the moment she got home, she had a message from my Mother's friend Kathy, who had stayed, that Mama was gone.  Sometimes an Angel is a familiar voice or song.

Now...my angel.  I thought about it tonight for the first time in a long time. 

In the weeks leading up to Jimmie's diagnosis, when I first started noticing something was wrong, Jimmie was slightly fussy.  Well, a lot fussy.  And he always hated Walmart.  Always.  The lights have always been a problem for him.  I was doing the bi-weekly shopping, and Jimmie was in his infant carrier, screaming and kicking rather violently.  I was unloading my cart onto the conveyor belt at the checkout.  There was a child in line behind me, with his mother, a little boy about 4 years old.  With wide eyes and a tremulous little voice, he pulled on the hem of my shirt and said, "I think he's having seizures." 

I didn't know the child.  And I've never seen him again.

Angel.  I'm totally convinced of it.

Being a Girl

It's fun being a girl.

A while ago, in Walmart, someone complimented my purse and asked where I had gotten it.  I answered.  They told me that there is a great place for purses by the Social Security Office call Beautiful You Boutique.  Today I finally got the chance to check it out.

The owner was a very nice lady who gave Charlie an Elvis Rubber Ducky.  A picture of her son was hung on the wall dedicated to autism awareness...jewelry, tees, everything.  He is 9 and assessed at 2 - 2 1/2 developmentally, mostly non-verbal, but obviously the light of her life and she "celebrates his differences."  Obviously, I felt an instant connection.

Not to mention I loved everything in her store!  What an awesome place!  The slogan under the store name on the sign is "Because we give a glam!"  Don't you love it?  I love anything sparkly.  And the place was sparkly to say the least!  And the purses were indeed gorgeous!

It is such a feminine store.  My husband would hate it.  But I had a wonderful time looking at the shiny things.  I live with three "men," two little ones and one big one.  It's great to know there is a retreat from all the testosterone just down the street.  Apparently my soul needs pretty things!

Time Travel

I have an incredible memory...nearly photographic, to the point where I once flung a book open to the right page and pointed to a word on that page without looking to prove it was indeed correct to a professor.  It means I am pretty good at trivial pursuit.  And that's about it at this point in my life. It made studying pretty easy when I was in school.  I'd give it a once over and have it.  It's a talent that has irritated many friends who were struggling.

Occasionally, this amazing memory has transported me at a moment back in time to my childhood. 

Once, I was riding in the car beside my mother.  I heard a noise.  I sat there for a second, lost in time.  Then without really thinking about the fact that my mother had no clue that I was remembering or what I was remembering, I asked absently, "How did YOU do that?"  She looked at me puzzled and said, "Do what?"  I laughed and said, "Oh, sorry.  I was just remembering going to see the Headley's on Christmas Eve after mass (and we would have had to have been quite small because we started going to midnight mass when we were old enough to) and as we were leaving, Tammy, Greg, and I were looking for Santa Claus in the sky.  And you know there is always a plane up there, with it's red light, on Christmas Eve...when suddenly there were jingle bells!"  My mother's mouth fell open.  "How on earth do you remember that?"  I don't know.  Something reminded me.

Once when I was a teenager, before my parents split up, we were sitting at the dinner table.  I asked whether my third birthday had been the party in the garage or the trip to the circus?  My mother was flabbergasted.  "You don't remember that.  You've just been told about it."  "No.  I remember the entire circus singing Happy Birthday to me."  Again the look I got every time I did this to my mother crossed her face.  And she laughed, "I guess you do remember.  But it wasn't the entire circus.  It was Barnum and Bailey's 100th Anniversary.  The audience sang Happy Birthday to the circus.  Your dad, me, Grannie, and Granddaddy sang it to you."  Oh, and it turned out that both these were my 3rd birthday.  We went to the circus on my birthday and had the party on the weekend...in the garage.

It happened again today.  I was listening to the radio, sort of.  I was driving and the radio was on.  For some reason, Dwight Yokum was talking about the Hatfields and McCoys.  Most children play house.  We played house too, but we also played other pretend games with the boys next door, including Buck Rogers (our favorite), but once we played the Hatfields and McCoys, with a Romeo and Juliet twist.  Generally, I would have taken the romantic lead, but this time, I allowed my little sister to have it.  I couldn't tell you why.  Now my first question is where on earth would an 8 year old have learned about the Hatfields and McCoys?  And my second question is how would we have known to create a Romeo and Juliet?  We were strange kids.