Merry and Bright

Things didn’t shake out as planned, but that matters not.  The holidays have been mostly about resetting and recharging, spending time with our people, reflecting on things past and looking forward with hope to the future. The best presents could not be wrapped. As a family, we laughed about our Christmas of chocolate, socks, and underwear; we marked the calendar with dates of adventures, and shared lots of memories.

This week has been moments that transcend time; past and future are present—we’ve been here before, and we’ll certainly be back in some form again. We see the boys as they were—and to some extent, we can see where they are going. A lot of whether they get there is up to them. We’re running alongside, helping them balance as they pick up velocity, but it’s getting on time to let go.

That’s the hard part.

A month ago a big piece of the future wasn’t even on our radar; we have so many questions, doubts, fears…but sooner or later, we will need to let go. The stamina and strength aren’t what they were; holding on might mean slowing them down, and we can’t let that happen.

So this time will be spent collecting ourselves, charting next steps, but understanding that we plan…and God laughs.

Temple Owls Are Everywhere

I bought my first college swag in decades.  Took the boys (elder constantly reminding us it was ‘against his consent’) to Preview Day, and both, for the first time, glimpsed a bigger world than their current situation. One admissions person asked me “Why not now? Why not spring?” Referencing my guy not currently enrolled, resting on his Associates and laurels, not to mention the destroyed couch in the man cave.

Why not, indeed?

So, four hours on a rainy Sunday, I sat with one, then the other, while each filed his application.

Younger’s is pending.

Elder had an acceptance in 5 days. Turns out his application came in under the wire for spring.

If that wasn’t enough, they also awarded him a merit scholarship. That, we’re hoping, will prove to him he’s worthy to keep going. We have a lot to do before January 16. 

But he’s warming to the idea.

Ten years ago, I was told this, and many other things, would never happen.

There is nothing that makes me happier than watching him prove the naysayers wrong.

“Are you happy?”

So the four of us were part of a family panel this weekend for a family advocacy training (that I completed myself 14 years ago). The boys were part of the panel last year, with dad and I offering clarification from the back of the room; because of that, we were invited to be a part of the panel this year. I wondered how much my guys understood the importance and impact of their presentation and was frankly irritated with them both for what I felt was their lack of seriousness in preparation.

They showed me up, but I get ahead of myself.

Their presentations ran like last year. Elder explained some of the changes over the past year, but assured his listeners he was looking for a competitive full time job.  I bit the inside of my mouth, thinking of how all his discretionary time and energy is expended. Hubby’s thoughtful insight reminded me of all the stuff I didn’t do while I was in the throes of fighting for, getting, and maintaining services and supports back in the day.

Self-care. It’s still a new concept to me.

Elder floored me with his assessments of where he saw himself in 5-10 years….with a full time job, hopefully married, hopefully starting a family “but, he added quickly, “in case none of that works out, I know I don’t want to be alone, so at least I have my parents and [younger brother].

That was like a throat punch. Time isn’t flowing as fast from him as it is his parents.

It was a good conversation between the families, among the parents.

One mom asked, “Are you happy? That’s one of the things that keeps me up at night.”

Me too, ma’am, me too.

I wasn’t prepared for both my guys leaning forward in their seats, eager to answer. I was less prepared for their answers.

“Yes, yes, absolutely yes.” 

I could feel her relief. And I felt my own.

Life’s not perfect, but I think we as parents can all agree that the one thing we wish for our kids is to be happy.

I will keep wishing for that.

Unchained

 Today was the best day I’ve had in a very long time.

Maybe it has something to do with last week being the best week I’ve had in a long while. Maybe because today was a beautiful day. Maybe because the weekend was a beautiful weekend.

Maybe it’s because I am finally at peace with the things I can’t fix, change, or control. And maybe, just maybe, I’m finally feeling good enough about myself to take chances.

Like yesterday I stood up in the back of a dragon boat for the first time, learning to steer. It didn’t go great, but I didn’t crash us or fall in, either.

I’m doing a story slam in two weeks. I’ve always wanted to try that.

Hubby and I had a night out on the town with another couple—and had a blast.

And, we’re making inroads into our next chapters with the boys.

There are a lot of great things happening.

Person lost

(Been processing this since September 16, 2023.  He passed on September 27.  The difference between the passing of Person Adjacent and Person are a couple orders of magnitude.  I haven’t fully absorbed that he is gone.  What follows are some reflections on the plane ride home…)

On the plane back from Greenville, lots of things to process, since this wasn’t the day I thought it was going to be.

Zio is dying. He might actually be dead already, we’re in the air and in radio silence until Newark. I can’t believe I just typed that, and I can’t believe it’s happening, yet here it is, and here we are.  I’m not eulogizing yet. I had a whole raft of things to say in my head before cracking open the laptop, and I’m sorry I don’t have my journal to write in, but honestly my handwriting is so bad that I can’t even decipher my own notes anymore.

Good to connect again with the cousins. I want to get down maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas to spend time with them.  I’m glad we got in on Thursday night, because we got to see him while he was still him.  He was in so much pain—I know this because I held his hand and he squeezed hard as the pain coursed through him. He pretended he wasn’t feeling any pain, but that was only because he was waiting to say goodbye to everyone and wanted to be present for his goodbyes.  A was the last to arrive, so he held off on taking the big guns, the heavy painkillers, until noonish today, until after he saw her.

“He didn’t seem happy to see me.” She was dejected, just having flown from upstate NY and having to turn and burn, out tomorrow morning early.

“He was, honey, he’s just in a lot of pain.” 

It’s tough to be an adult child in this group.

 But there’s Zio. His eyes lit up when we finally got to the hospice Thursday night.  Hubby kept getting calls tracking our progress. Nic wanted adventures. G would rather stay home, but gamely was along as only he can be. We finally get to where we needed to go…

 And there he was, looking smaller and frailer than I have ever seen him. This guy. The same guy who took hubby camping, hunting and fishing, the same guy who was basically hubby’s first person, the same guy I fell in love with 33 years ago with his camouflage Tyrolean hat and ever present morning Meister Brau and evening Zio Carlo—this guy now on oxygen, his thin arms covered in bruises, his shoulders like angel’s wings poking out of his hospital gown.

This guy.

I parked myself in the chair next to him and held his hand.  That was my spot for the better part of the last two days. I absorbed his pain the best I could. He turned to me often and told me he loved me, he was comfortable, he was happy.

But the pain. 

I knew it was there. So did my cousins.  But he was waiting for his granddaughter.

Then she came.

Then he finally found relief for the pain.  That was when he left us.

He wasn’t dead, it didn’t kill him, but that was when he made his decision to start shutting down.   He even announced that he was leaving—I wasn’t in the room, I heard later—and he was told he wasn’t going anywhere.

I knew what he meant. I saw he was already gone. His eyes were open when I sat with him again, but they were blank. He was transitioning right in front of us.

I’m on a turbulent plane right now typing all this after the fact. G is trying to read a book but is anxious about the turbulence. So am I, but typing this helps.

Anyway.  Dinner with the cousins was fun, if not comic in trying to get service.  We didn’t take pictures. Too busy visiting, catching up, reeling in the years.

We took a bunch before we left. It was loud. 

Tears.

Everyone is a little fractured.

Person Adjacent

 So when I say my person was the third time, the charm, turned out I’ve miscounted for the last few decades. Because there was one before, one I never counted because we had one date and we ‘went out’ for less than a month. After chasing him for two years, I caught him and decided I didn’t want him.

Well, it’s not as pat as that—is it ever? The long and short of it was that he wasn’t quite what I was looking for, but he was close enough that we probably could have figured it out. Except I thought we could each do better.

Turned out I was right. It didn’t happen overnight, and it took him longer to find his person, but he eventually did, and got four bonus people in the form of her kids and even more in her extended circle of people. We saw each other once in the last 35 or so years, grade school reunion 12 years ago. He was annoyed at my Irish goodbye, but the bar got too loud, and I needed to go.

So we didn’t say goodbye. It was like leaving the phone off the hook.

I found out he died last week. He cheated death once, about a dozen years ago, so I thought maybe he had some superpowers gleaned from decades of comic book fandom. But no. Death wasn’t taking a second pass. His departure called up a whole bunch of memories I’ve all but forgotten.

Mostly good. Mostly a reckoning that we’d both eventually get where we needed to go and find the people who really, really got us. I’m happy to say we both did. 

Later days, Mike.

Unshakable, unbreakable

 I’m neither thing, unfortunately, but I’m a little less shake n break than I used to be.

So goals. My last two decades have been all about setting goals for the boys. Now they need to set their own. Just like their stories are theirs to tell—or not. Agency. They both have it, and I’m sweating it out on the sidelines waiting for them to start exercising it.

Might be a wait. Need a distraction.

So one of my teammates announces that the International Dragon Boat Festival is in Taipei in 2026. As a team, we’d have to qualify at the national level to get there. I recall elder telling me in 2013 at the Cross Country Nationals that I’ve never been a National anything.

Challenge accepted.

The very worst that can happen is that I get into shape.

Game on.

Working on Myself

 I’m trying to be a better human. I’m struggling as ever with little things, but at least I can acknowledge the struggles.

Joining the dragon boat team is probably the single greatest education in my adult life. I’m not used to functioning as part of a team; I’m not used to asking for help; I’m not used to being accountable for showing up. In the last year, I’m learning how to do these things, and I’m getting better at doing them.

I still have a lot to learn. But one of the things I figured out is that kindness and patience are my super powers. I used to think these things didn’t matter, or they didn’t have value. It turns out that I was wrong.

I couldn’t be happier to be wrong.

Is Today the Day?

 I’m writing from the relative safety of bed.

About 2 hours ago shit went sideways.

When I set out on my kayak 3 hours ago, the air was still and the water calm. Checking weather, I had at least two hours if not more of the same. I packed some water and snacks—along with both phones—into my dry bag and set off for the far side of the peninsula—perhaps 2 klicks as the crow flies.

A leisurely paddle and wind from the East got me there in about 15 minutes. I hugged the shore and watched all the birds. Looked up at the sky. Marked some milestones in my head and talked some things through and allowed the truth to hit the air—a pretty productive few things in it of themselves.

I noticed the drift and where I was in the bay at about the same time the winds started picking up. My point of return lay on the other side of the peninsula, so I started paddling….

And…shit. A stiff wind greeted me on the other side of it and banged me against the shore.

Shit. I jumped out of the kayak and ported it to the nearest beach. That was slightly more eventful than expected, mostly because the ground underneath the water wasn’t solid, meaning I had a whole other world of trouble if I didn’t keep moving.

That’s about the point where I wondered if this is how it ends.

I dragged the kayak onto the beach and sat for a moment.  Flailing about in panic wouldn’t get me anywhere. I took a drink and looked around. Checked the wind and realized that even if I did a hard paddle straight for our dock, the wind would make sure I gained no ground.

Tacking would work, though.

I put in again and hugged the shore. This was about triple the distance, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get back. I sent hubby a picture and my location. Then paddled.

At some point the wind died down. I passed some paddlers coming out. They were four in two, and with an outfitter so would be okay. I paddled until all I needed to do was drift south to our pier.

And I did.

So today was not the day.

Unexpected Fun

 Back to school time is particularly spiky this year. I hate the constant reminders of what we’re not. I’m not sure what is worse, those reminders or the negative reinforcement that I need to try to account and correct for. This shit is getting hard as the grey, wrinkles and all the ‘end of life’ cycles start to kick in.

There’s the added bit of “shit that never happened’ that unexpectedly and inconveniently rears its ugly head while we’re trying to do the business of living our lives.

Case in point; it’s Saturday night in a party town and it’s time for us to figure out dinner. I had my own ugly meltdown and a couple shitfits trying to get the boys and I from point A to point b with a stop in between. Here’s how I know I’m frayed; shit I used to hide effortlessly is waaaay out in the open. I don’t have the spoons to hide my crazy. I don’t care. I’m tired.

“Mom, let’s go,” elder said once we unpacked the car. “Let’s go to our usual.”

I don’t bother telling him that our usual wouldn’t be possible if we allowed him to dissuade us from coming in the first place. I’m tired. We head over to our place; there’s a line. I put us on the waitlist. We people watch. I sing 80s songs with younger as the house band plows through their playlist. We finally have a table; when younger gets carded, I explain we’re there for dinner. It’s the second time in as many hours my kids are carded. Elder is beside himself both times explaining he doesn’t drink. Younger is quiet and allows elder to speak for him. 

We sit. Order food. Sing along with the band. It occurs to me that I’m having a night out with the boys they should both be having with peers. But there’s only me. And we have fun anyway. And I have more fun with them than I did when I was their ages and struggling to fit in.

It occurs to me that they have the better deal.

And that gratitude is in order.

It could always be worse.

And they aren’t any the wiser.

And sometimes it is a beauty contest

 This morning has me contemplating all the things.

Mostly elder right now, and there’s a lot that falls into his bucket.  He’s trending toward full time hours, but is stuck. Again. Baseball is his obsession du jour, and like every other obsession he’s ever had, he cranks it to 11. But baseball isn’t his biggest problem.  I could argue that parenting him is.

He’s having the usual needing’ to differentiate ‘ from us, and everyone is having boundary issues. I’m of the camp that he needs to figure some of his own shit out and dad still wants to direct, and elder would just rather tell us what he wants and we need to figure out how to make it happen.

Here I dig in my heels.

Growth is uncomfortable AF. You need to do some painful things and put yourself in hard places, but it’s necessary. I know; I’ve done it, still doing it, and every day I need to ground myself in the things I love to push outward and onward.

This is what he needs to learn to do.

Hopefully he figures it out before we’re gone.

Bound up in this stuckness is his self-worth.  He noted to me the other day while we were talking about his brother’s movie obsession “G got to pick his classes [in high school]. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted.”

I’ve sat with this quite a bit. While it’s not strictly speaking true, as he did give us some input, he also took the path of least resistance—if someone told him it was a good idea, he signed off so he could get back to whatever he was thinking about.

His brother never signed off on squat. He has always figured out his own stuff. The more dad and I pushed an agenda, the more autistic he looked. He looks tons more capable steering his own boat.

Elder uses his agency differently, and has been disappointed to learn that the world won’t cut him a break based on his dx. He’s been angling for student or employee of the month for the last 7 years or so and still speaks bitterly about the fact that it never happened for him while he was at the VoTech.

I still hear about the ‘lazy good looking guy’ who beat him out his first year and the bitterness about getting passed over his second at the VoTech. And not for nothing, the folks who spoke so well for him there wish him well, but wouldn’t hire him.

It says a lot about people’s expectations of him, in general.

I KNOW he can. I sometimes feel like I’m the only one who does.

We need to let him figure it out. He already knows life can be a beauty contest; he’s got to figure out his own way to reckon with it.

Looking for redemption

 I have some thoughts. Also lots of feelings. The feelings are going to choke me, so sticking to thoughts.

I like the job, and that’s all I’m saying about that. There are other things that will get deprioritized for the next few weeks while I get my head in order (this assumes that I will at some defined point). The feelings are leading that charge, but I need to feel and deal, and that may or may not mean I open my mouth and feelings get hurt. But I’m a little tired of the fact that mine don’t matter, and that I’m spiky or difficult because I call other people out when they walk all over mine.

I’m trying to figure out something genuinely hurtful that someone did. I mean, if you’re getting together in a group and you exclude people, whatever, but then why let those same people know you’re excluding them?

Seriously. I did not need to know, so why call it out?

This is bothering me a lot more than it should. But people, so.

But people don’t all suck. Hubby and I went down to the river so I could paddle and he could fish. Except, he didn’t fish because I sliced open a tire when I took a turn too tight. I paddled while hubby figured out clean up. When I returned, he had it all figured out. We had a great guy named Mills from AAA who picked us up and took us and the car to the repair shop, and the repair shop had a new tire waiting to install (quite a feat; an odd size was needed, and we’re usually stuck waiting days or weeks waiting). We had a great brunch across the street, and the car was ready when we were done.

Mills is really good people. He said he likes to help people, and he does exactly that.

So I’d do better to think of Mills and his goodness than worry about the other people.

I have plenty of other thoughts, but just concentrating on the good for now.

Yeah, No

 So I’m still on the struggle bus, loss pooling out around me. When I’m okay, I’m okay; when I’m not, I’m REALLY not. Lately, I’m really NOT.

Is it physical? The incandescence of hot flashes are back after nearly a year of nothing. Random heart acceleration. Tears. I was triggered on a group call this morning and I’m in tears thinking of that.

We won’t get into the random panic attacks.

So going to try to sort this out.  I can’t do much of anything else until I do.

All the Out-sized Feels

 It’s been a minute.

In that time, I started a new gig, elder ended one of his, and younger made honor society at the community college. Hubby is still hanging in, doing his thing, went fishing and caught dinner a couple times. I’m on the struggle bus with a few things.

“You liked us better when we were younger,” elder spat recently. “You wish we were little again.”

As maddening as he can be, he’s not wrong. Lately the both of them from different time points haunt my dreams. Elder sometimes has an otherworldly sense of when this stuff hits with me; it’s not like I talk about it, since whatever rant I’m on is here and now.  But this is the kid who talked with the sister he never had in this world as a toddler, so it shouldn’t surprise me.

I managed to get through most of my to-do list in the five weeks I was not otherwise engaged, but I still have a couple bigger ticket items to knock out. I’m going to try to knock those out while the new gig isn’t too much going on. Try to get the boys settled. Try to get my own head on straight.

Tall order, but let’s get it done.

Not Over Yet

 My time at home is ending; a new adventure begins next week. Without looking, work found me; I had three offers to consider, and I accepted the most challenging one.

Why? Because I think I can.

I’m like a bumble bee; I shouldn’t be able to fly, but I do because nobody told me I can’t. Not for nothing, folks are warning me and now I find myself collapsing into tears because I wonder if in fact this is the best choice I could have made, and did I make it for the best reasons?

My older guy, the pain and delight of my heart, continues to struggle with everything. We requested and received the diagnosis and treatment information to submit to medical assistance to renew them both. Younger’s was probably the shortest his has ever been; elder’s was a punch in the chest. There isn’t a thing there that doesn’t belong, but the magnitude is soul crushing.

I know that if things don’t work out, it won’t be the end of the world. At the same time, I wish I knew what was best; I wish I knew why things seem to come looking for me; I wish I knew how it all ended so I can pick the right path instead of trying to make my best guess, because my best guess is always wrong.

I want to believe everything will be okay.

Progress?

 I’m still struggling with elder’s resignation, but I’ll get there in a minute. Another thing going on is likely the last eval either kid is going to have to establish strengths, needs, and baselines for The Rest of Their Lives. Add to that new job jitters and the anxiety I have ANYWAY and it’s a shitshow.

I don’t know what I’m so afraid of, but fear is the thing thrumming under everything else, and what’s not fear is grief, and what is neither of those is generalized anxiety and depression and the sum total is me dissolving into an ADHD torpor.

What are you doing today, hubby asked. I countered why is he asking, already the guilt I have over not accomplishing every damn thing on my running list washing over me. I still have a lot of stuff to do and might be able to set to it once I get elder to work and after my meeting with my new boss.

That has me stressed.

But it’s okay. And if it’s not, it will be.

What do you do when….

 …your kids listen to what the world has to say about them?

What do you do when you fall off the cliff?

I can’t make elder do anything. He is capable of so much more than he’s currently doing, but he’s given up. And I’m tired. I know I need to build something, but I don’t know what it is or how to do it.

Listening to the birds, maybe they know something….

I Could Be Better…

 I think the wheels are coming off my wagon.

There’s a lot. If the last few years didn’t happen the way they did, we might be in a better place. Or at least elder would be.

He’s not, so I’m not. You are only as happy as your unhappiest kid, so I don’t think I’ve been really happy in a while. 

Throw in general uncertainty that’s always there anyway, and it’s a recipe for wanting to crawl under something substantial and not come back out. I don’t worry, I pray, and lately everything is a prayer: gratitude for the things that make me smile and supplication for everything else.

Lots of supplication lately. We’ve hit the cliff. There’s a drop.  I can’t see bottom. 

Hope may be stupid, but it’s all I’ve got.

Lessons Learned

 So right on the heels of one door closing, another couple opened, and choosing between the doors was a light lift. I’m not going to say much more about this at the moment other than I haven’t felt this good about a new gig for a long time.

Meanwhile, I think the time has come for elder to leave his first ever paying gig. He called me in tears yesterday, and both dad and I told him to wash his face and finish his shift. He wants to leave on good terms, so he’s going to do the right things and …. It’s just time.

Younger guy will take two classes this summer and has his fall semester scheduled. He currently has a 3.8 gpa, and the advisor made a comment about me helping him with his classes. The truth is, I don’t even know what classes he’s taking, let alone when his stuff is due. This is all him. He has a solid work ethic because he’s always had to work for his grades.

But it’s crunch time. Adulthood looms large, and a long road unfolds ahead of us.

So. Many. Thoughts.

 A few things happening here and now. I feel like I should be DONE that aforementioned list by now, but apparently I’m having a problem initiating a couple things. If I knock one thing off a day, I’ll be doing something.

I’ve been making a couple daily goals, just so I can say I’m doing something. It feels good to check things off, but then there’s so much more to do. I feel daunted.

My guys need to show a little more initiative. Daily I push them both to do just a little more than the day before. Elder’s sport absorption has become exhausting (I hear him yelling at the Sixers; he asked dad to join him in the man cave, but dad also finds his yelling exhausting)

I lost 15 lbs and am holding there since December. This is important, because my glucose and A1C are in normal range and cholesterol is down. My eyes, which were showing early stage age macular degeneration, are looking closer to normal. So I basically need to keep my body at optimal or everything will literally fall apart.

I’m trying. I need to keep it together,

What’s in a name?

 I’ve been trying to kill off one of my identities for decades.

I didn’t know until recently that that’s what I’ve been trying to do. When a couple decades ago, one of my bosses pointed out that I was vaguely schizophrenic in all the ways I self-identified, he wasn’t wrong. There’s a story here, so bear with me while I unwrap it.

There’s a name I grew up with. It’s not quite a dead name, since there are people I know and love now who don’t know me by any other name. But that name connects me to shame, so starting about three decades ago, I began using another name. This is the name most of the people in my life use now.   

Why? 

When I decided to use the new name, I was trying to put some distance between the then ‘new me’ and who I perceived to be ‘loser me.’ That’s a whole ‘nother post, but the upshot is that I learned some stuff and wanted to be better—not necessarily someone else, but some one who is wasn’t some one else’s goat.

“Why all the names?” Boss asked me. I couldn’t articulate it at the time, but I can tell you right now I was trying to shed some baggage.

Then some other stuff happened, and some people tried to bully me into killing myself under that name.

The name didn’t die there, but it came close, and would have taken me with it if it did.

Then my kids went through their paces, their turns through the school district, and the voice that is the me you know from this blog emerged.

And this is who I am.

Greener Pastures

So many thoughts right now.

I’m having a little paralysis in all the things that need doing but have a handy little checklist and am going through it one item at a time. The job is done, and there’s lots to do here. I’m mindful of time and how I spend it. I’m mindful of energy spent and making conscious, intentional decisions about what deserves them.

I’m back to reading The Body Keeps the Score and have hit a resonant chapter. Hubby and I celebrated 35 years together this month, and only now are we both reckoning the whys of our journey. The boys are both getting ready to fledge, and I think this moment is perfect for getting them to try out their wings.

A lot of my list pertains to their flight checks, their next steps, and where we all go from here. There’s a lot to do. But we’re ready.

After all, we were made for this.

Both Shoes Now

 So I had my 30 day or quit follow up call. Sitch ends Wednesday.

I haven’t done much since that call besides sit and feel things. Had a couple conversations in which the person on the other end would never have guessed the other shoe dropped and it landed in an abyss that I’m not going to even look at (let alone stare at).

There’s a stair case and next step, but I can’t see either at the moment. And it’s okay. Knowing they are there is enough right now.

That Bullying Thing

 So…while I’ve been trying to manage my own head over, well, everything, something else has come up. Because, you know, there’s always something else.

Upcoming is younger’s wisdom teeth extraction; he has all four, and all four need to come out. He’s understandably anxious about it; anxiety has a way of unmasking other things.

To wit: we’re in the car heading from point A to point B. He’s reviewing what that week is going to look like; what foods he can and cannot eat. “Steak!” He exclaimed. “I won’t be able to eat steak!”

(Side note: steak is a rare treat, but the idea that he will not be able to consume it at will has him a little upset.)

I assure him we can do a celebratory steak when his mouth is healed—why not? Then his musings take on a sharp digression.

“So I can skip work that week.”

He has my full attention. I’ve noticed the last couple of weeks that he has come home from his job of two years quiet, a little surly, and deeply reflective. He suddenly is not talking about work at all, and that conversation brought him here screams for probing.

G doesn’t do well with screaming. I side-eye him waiting at the light. His jaw is set, and he’s staring ahead. The next couple of minutes are going to be tricky, and I need to choose my words carefully.

“So. Why do you want to skip work? You’ll have almost a week behind you by that point.”  I’m trying to keep my tone inquisitive but neutral: any excitement will shut him down.

He shrugs. “The guys like to mess with me.”

I pause. “Do you mess with them back?”

“I try to be patient.”

Holy shit.

“Have you talked with your manager?”

He shrugs again. “She says they like me, they’re only fooling around.”

And this is where I take a deep breath to shut down the screaming in my own head. The calmness in my response shocks me, because I AM NOT CALM. I have spent the better part of the last decade learning to trust my own senses and feelings after a lifetime of being told that I “take things too personally,” or whoever was “just kidding around” or  that someone “hopes I get the help I need,” for clearly, I am crazy for feeling what I feel. 

I’ll be damned if either of my guys get stuck in that particular prison.

“That,” I reply, it seems a billion years later, “is unacceptable.”

He shrugs again.

“No, really. This is where you tell them to stop. And if they don’t, SHE needs to tell them to stop. And if she doesn’t,” I shrug, “there are lots of other places where you can work.”

“But they feed me.” Very matter of fact.

I laugh. So G. “But is it worth it, if they are making you feel a certain way, and it doesn’t stop?”

We leave it there for the moment.

He comes home from work yesterday, not happy, bandaged hand. Apparently one of the coworkers threw hands when G told him to stop and scratched him. He then apologized profusely and applied first aid. His manager wasn’t there.

He took pictures of his hand, and he’s going in this week to have a conversation about what happened.

And he’s going to figure out what next.

His brother, a hardened veteran of bullying, has lots of things to say about what G needs to do. G listens. And quietly tells brother that he needs to do things his own way.

He’s writing his own script. And he may or may not share it.

The Other Shoe

 So that dropped.

In short, my remote status was revoked, and even though my 3-hour one way commute was taken under advisement (I was told), TPTB think it’s A) reasonable for me to do and B) think it’s reasonable I pay my own expenses for hotel etc.

Any reasonable person would think this unreasonable.

We’ll throw in my life circumstances, of which HR was well aware when they hired me, and it all adds up to a hard no pretty quickly.

Needless to say, my hard no was not appreciated.

So I find myself with the clock running quickly down to 3 weeks + 1 business day hence to get these particular affairs in order and figure out what’s next.

That particular white board is currently blank.

And while I have a long, long list of things here at home I can attend to, I’ve been at this working gig for 45 years, and the unknown of it is scary, although I’ve lived long enough to have been here before and figured something out.

You’d think by now it would be less scary.

You’d think.

Saltines and sardines

 Way back in the dark ages, I remember finding a tin of sardines in the cupboard. I don’t remember exactly when, but I’m pretty sure I knew at the time I was looking at a dad relic.

These are things that eventually disappeared over time. Only now, almost 50 years later, I’m remembering what he liked. And the memories are often random; I could make a list of the things, but that would lose the ‘how’ and maybe even the ‘why.’

Sardines lately have meant a portable meal, and I realize they aren’t for everyone. I packed several tins plus some fruit and microwaveable Indian food for my weekend up at Hawk Mountain. One rainy day kept us indoors and eating lunch at our desks, and the guy half of an older couple taking the course kept razzing me about my sardines. No idea why, except maybe he thought it was cool to loudly mock my lunch.

I didn’t care; I put him on ignore and so did everyone else.

It took one of my sorties last month to the job site to gel the sardine connection. I was in my hotel room feeling sorry for myself and preparing my dinner. I remembered the saltines I had saved from a meal out with soup and added those to the sardines…

…and suddenly I remembered this combination from way, way back, memories that lack the visual but have all the other senses, things that connect me back to My Person. I smiled before I drank my Belgium ale, thinking My Person would have gone for PBR in a frosty mug.

And suddenly a lot of the stuff I enjoy that most people would find weird makes sense. This is my wiring. And I find new ways to connect.

Oh, no, you don’t…

 There’s so much stuff happening right now.

And it’s everything, everywhere, all at once. To coin a phrase.

How do I sum it all up? I guess I can’t, so I’ll do one thing at a time.

Work is in a weird holding pattern; my remote at convenience was revoked, and I refuse the three-hour one-way commute that comes with the two-day hybrid dictum, so I’m waiting and doing the thing while the powers that be figure out what to do with me and my ilk (because I am not the only one). I bring my A game til they shut me down.

Younger is on spring break.  I refuse to look at his grades. School is his thing to manage, and I assume competence, for better or worse.

Elder is..,.doing his thing. Still stuck, but not exactly. Weight is coming down. But his head is in a weird space.

Keeping my head up, bringing good energy, trying to keep us all moving forward. Some days, it’s a struggle.

Transition

 Sometimes change is so gradual that you don’t notice anything until it’s been and done, and every one else has moved on. And sometimes change is a flipped switch that turns everything you knew as ‘normal’ sideways.

Lately, we’ve had both flavors.

Elder suddenly is a sports fan. Did it blow up out of no where? I feel like it did, until I remember the Phillies’ improbable vertical climb out of the wild card slot into the World Series. No, he was in that, following all the teams, running a spreadsheet, weighing the odds with the best of them.

Football is a little more of a surprise.

He immersed himself in conversation at work and in study of the game. And just like that, he’s an expert, running his spreadsheet, prognosticating with the best of the Monday Morning Quarterbacks.

After a little spell of revisiting interests of his younger days, he’s suddenly back in his 20s, looking for his people to share his interests.

He’s looking ahead.

I haven’t seen him do this in a while.

Lots of hard parts here. I try to sit on my hands and keep quiet. Trying not to orchestrate. Trying not to ‘make stuff happen’ so that he can figure that out himself.

So hard not to jump in and ‘do.’

And trying not to expect anything, assume anything.

Another Fork in the Road

 I don’t want to write about the adulting stuff. My adulting stuff. Boring AF.

I’m trying to figure out my own way while trying to keep my guys on track and on task. 

But my older guy surprises and delights. In the last 6 months, he’s surging past the regressions of lockdown in a variety of ways. Okay, we haven’t gotten to FTE yet, but I realize he’s not there yet. However, his gigs have all contributed to his overall growth: at his theater job, he learned football and has a topic of conversation that’s relatable to, well, anyone really, but particularly those who bleed green.

At his bingo gig, he’s learning how to navigate other people’s crazy, bringing his compassion and other gifts to bear on some tricky social situations.

And he received an overwhelmingly positive review from his non profit job. His only Needs Improvement is an area that most people stumble on. He has a ton of opportunity to make good and better for his next review.

Younger guy is just awesome. He brought elder a surprise today just because he wanted to. He’s thoughtful with regard to his brother. 

The vice is not always versa, but nobody’s perfect,

Undefined

 Of all of us, younger has the best self image.

This old soul has never let anyone or anything define him. He patiently suffers fools to a point before he calls them out in the baldest terms possible (I alternately chuckle and cringe).

He ignores the labels and roles assigned him. I’ve never met anyone so completely comfortable in their own skin.

I’m paying attention. Watching and learning from a master.

TF am I doing?

 I’m trying stuff on.

I bought a paddle, so yeah, I’m dragon boating again. I need to get new tips for my darts because I’m beating the hell out of them. And I found a women’s group in the next town that does random stuff.

To wit, I had a cooking class with one and a baby shower for the other this weekend.

And don’t think for a minute I didn’t “what the fuck am I doing?” All the way to both places.

I’m always glad I am doing the thing once I’m there, but oh brother, the anxiety getting there. I’ve gotten into the habit of broadcasting my intentions because that level of accountability ensures I do the thing I said I’m going to do.

So why? Why do it?

For years I said no to a lot because I had coaching/teaching/chaperoning/shadowing for one or both kids. Make no mistake: my work is not finished. However, I’m finally doing some stuff I’ve wanted to do for a while for no better reason than I CAN.

Plus, doing stuff that takes me out of my regularly scheduled reality helps me stay sorta sane.

And i’m so far down 15 pounds in an effort to stave off medication for diabetes and cholesterol. My next round of blood work is in 3 months and the goal is to double my current loss. So yay. Also closing the loops every day on my watch, so it’s a work in progress.

I’m a work in progress. 

Radio Days

 I’ve said before my younger guy is full of surprises.

He’s been quietly blazing his own trail in big brother’s wake; woe to the person who assumes younger is the same as elder. They couldn’t be more different, which makes their bond all the more special. 

So, while his post K-12 trajectory looks identical to his brother’s on paper, the reality couldn’t be any more divergent. Elder tolerated community college; younger jumped in with both feet. He wants involvement, and…it looks like he’s starting to find his groove and his people.

His radio show is his favorite thing right now. Every week he sits down with his notebook and laptop and puts together his playlist. After the first two shows, he stopped consulting me, so I was as surprised as anyone else by what his shows would be.

His choices never fail to move me.

Occasionally, he peers out at me from the control room to gauge my reaction. Most of the set, he’s in his own world, head gently bobbing in time to the music as he sets his levels.  He always emerges at the end of his set in a good mood.

He’s found his thing.

We have his penultimate IEP meeting tomorrow. 

What a long strange trip it’s been….

Crying into My Beer

 Man, I don’t know what’s worse: the level of disorganization, or the level of heartbreak that comes with going through all the objects and deciding what stays and what goes.

My office/aviary needed some TLC, so I cleared out so I can at least throw some darts. My night stand yielded all kinds of flotsam, birthday cards, old pictures, books, and the predictable kick to the gut that life isn’t executing for my guys the way I’d hoped.

I keep reminding myself we’re not done yet; there’s plenty of story left to write. I’m struggling with how much input I need to be giving at the moment. My younger guy needs less; elder requires more, but won’t accept direction.

So I gotta watch him flail.

The fuck.

I’m getting too old for this shit.

Better Days

The sun’s out; motivating myself to get out and walk. I’ll do that in a minute. Just thinking about absent friends and the people who’ve stopped in my life and made things better by stopping by.

I aspire to be that person, the one who makes things better by stopping by. And truly, I’m working on it.

Breaking Bread

 I keep thinking of a weekend a couple months back where I was thrown back in time, in more ways than one.

When I moved out on my own 35 years ago, I went straight to my own apartment; no dorms, or roommates, or any of the ups and downs that go with cohabitation. My first—and last—roommate was my husband. In November, I became a researcher in residence and stayed at the accommodation provided. For some reason, I pictured a room in an old house, that looked vaguely Bed and Breakfast-y. 

Turned out it wasn’t that, at all. We stayed in a new building at the foot of the mountain that looked like a standalone dorm. In it, was a common living area, dining space, complete kitchen, and four bedrooms, each with twin beds. We were directed to bring our own food, if we wanted, or options were available in town, or at the box store development about 20 minutes away.

I packed light, as I always do. I brought a couple microwave bags of Indian food, a few tins of sardines, some fruit, and a few snack bags of nuts.  I saw one of my roommates for the weekend packed a lot more than I did. I also saw that coffee was provided, so my unofficial job for the weekend was getting the morning pot of coffee going. (Apparently this was the best thing ever for the other roommate, which kinda makes me laugh, because it wasn’t that big a deal).

The first night, the heavy packer and I settled in to watch some Netflix (because we don’t have Netflix at home and there were a couple things I wanted to watch).  The next evening, bad weather ended our session early. I settled in to watch something else while my roommate busied herself in the kitchen. She brought a bowl of gnocchi with tomato sauce over to me, saying she made too much for herself.

I thanked her. I’m sitting here now thinking about this; someone who I just met giving me a bowl of food.

I didn’t realize I was hungry until I tasted it; and it was so good, I sat with every bite. Intentionally. I thanked her profusely, and she retreated back to her room. And I sat with this little bowl of pasta thinking it was literally the best meal ever.

That weekend was something special. I signed up for the course because it was something I wanted to do that had zero to do with autism or anything else that constitutes my normal. And the entire weekend, from the class work to the field work, to the pizza party and owl banding our last night, took me completely out of my usual routine and gave me a glimpse of other possibilities.

I was happy to get on my way back to it, though. I planned my route home intentionally, enjoying the backroads that brought me first to my favorite second home and visiting with friends, then to my favorite Greek Orthodox Church for some amazing food to go to bring back to the boys.

I keep thinking that weekend should have been most memorable for the raptors and all the personalities I met.

But I keep coming back to that amazing little meal.

I think made magical because it was unexpected. And because someone else made it.

For me.

Let Healing Begin

This past week was spent in isolation because illness, but I think the house wide pause was necessary for a few reasons. I find I fall apart when my body senses it has the space to do so. And I often spend the down time recalibrating, because being sick usually means I need to rethink what I’ve been doing. And of course the added realization that time escapes put the necessary fire under my ass to start planning.

I can’t say at the moment what that’s going to look like professionally, because first off, I don’t know, and second of all, every time I think I have a way forward, there’s a plot twist. So presently, I have my ears and eyes open, and that will do for now.

The more important business of planning for family milestones and managing those logistics is priority. Shepherding the boys in the business of managing their own lives is high priority. For once, it feels like we are intentional, at least in this moment when everything is paused and we have some time to plan (as opposed to reacting, which is 90 percent easily of what we do).

I’ve also been doing somewhat heavy lifting/reading via The Body Keeps Score. I can’t read more than 5-10 pages at a time before I need to sit (or walk) with what I’ve read. Probably the single most important piece of information that’s imprinted on me is that The Body Doesn’t Lie. If you have a visceral reaction to anything or anyone, there’s a good reason for it, and until you do the needed work to get to the why, it’s going to keep happening.

It’s not a matter of ‘getting over something.’ If it were as simple as getting over something, I think all of us would in a heartbeat, right? 

Give yourself time and space to heal. You’re on no other timeline but your own.