Places of grace

No shortage of struggle this last little while. We all finished our coursework, and wait for grades.

Elder has had some unexpected bad luck with an unfortunate encounter with our Christmas tree and got a lacerated cornea for his troubles. A lot of things remain unresolved and undone. Our house looks like the transition we’re all in. Frankly, as a collective, we’re a mess.

The tree remains half decorated since the eye encounter. I have 3 weeks before the next assault, I mean, semester, and don’t know where to start. So I will start small; chocolate dipped strawberries and pumpkin bread. I wrapped two gifts for a party tonight. 

I noticed a bag next to the tree and peered in. It is filled with gifts and cards for elder from his bingo peeps. And tears sprang to my eyes because there is space for grace for him; he does have people who are not mom and dad who love him. We may not see them, but they exist.

These are the first happy tears in a while.

Disconnect

 I’m coming to the end of my semester, and it could go either way.

I had a little enlightenment come my way this week; in one of my waking dream segments of getting my (almost done) social justice project in order, I had a flash of insight into a relationship I’d put on hold while I untangled my thoughts, feelings, and baggage. Suddenly, it was all laid out in front of me from that person’s perspective.

I kind of think that this was a mom moment; she’s had a way of finishing the unfinished the last few months. There is peace as well as sadness, and a measure of compassion. 

I might close this with a card. I don’t know yet.

Back to the project, then hopefully this time next week everything will be done, for better or worse. 

And whatever it is, it is.

Dreaming into reality

 So the ancestors aren’t going to let me go.

A ton of inflection points these last 3 months surrounded my first semester in 3 decades. I’ve ugly cried at least a half dozen times and said I was done at least twice that.

But I’m not allowed to be done; not until I do whatever it is I am meant to do.

Earlier in the semester, I spun my wheels over a segment of a project for the better part of a week until my piece came together, literally all of a piece, in my dreams. And that presentation was a slam dunk.

So this morning when I was half awake, my final project for one class laid itself out for me. I’m sketching it out and it is taking shape. And dovetailing nicely with my final paper in the other class.

I will finish, and whatever will be, will be.

I have some things to say

 I’m feeling some things, so here we go:

My kids say they have dinner handled. They are almost 25 and 21,  so whatever that looks like, it’s theirs. I’m eating a salad because it makes me happy.

I really don’t know how this semester is going to pan out. I don’t care. I will show up and do the work.

I have done all I know how to do. Some things are phasing out, but that’s okay. It’s not quitting if it’s not serving you.

I’m grateful for the stuff that’s going right. And the people that make it happen.

Mom saw this coming

My mom called herself an ostrich; she said she stuck her head in the sand at the first sign of trouble. In the months before she died, she expressed her fears about climate change and this election. I think she had an idea of how bad it was going to get, because she was intentional about her exit from this world.

She was done, so she allowed it when pneumonia took over.

I find myself grieving and mourning in fragments over different things; I feel overwhelmingly sad that she died alone, even though she was in her favorite place in her favorite chair. My niece made up her bed, because the unfinished business was disturbing. Before all this mom mourned the departure of her health, never quite right after COVD, her back causing her pain. When she came out to my car last December with a cane, my heart stopped. Mom was officially old, and the clock was ticking.

That’s the last time elder saw her, well, alive.

So I’m sitting here grieving a bit before getting down to business on my final projects for the semester. Part of me wonders what’s the point, and the other part of me tells me to get ready, there’s work to do.

Mom didn’t want to be here for it, but I am, and the only way is through.

Forty minutes

 It’s been a fraught little while.

There’s just a lot, lately. Today it all spilled over. As it will.

Elder’s been sick, and getting him the necessary care has been a little more complicated than it should have been. Nevertheless, he eventually got what he needed and is recovering.

We helped him with his medication and left for our respective destinations. He went back to sleep. I had left my personal phone in my purse while I attended a meeting. When I returned, it was time for elder to be at work.

Except…the usual notification from his service letting me know he was on his way was missing. I took my phone outside and started dialing. 

He usually picks up maybe the second or third go-round. Ten minutes had passed, and he still hadn’t picked up.

Trying to contain my mounting panic, I called hubby, who talked me off my ledge. Next I called his job and explained circumstances. His co-worker was calm and polite. Then I resumed dialing, alternating between his cell and our landline.

At some point the tears started again. What if he didn’t wake up? I kept dialing. Hanging up. Dialing. Hubby texted me he was headed home to check on him.

I finally gave up 40 minutes in. And less than a minute after my last attempt, elder finally returned my call.

I started sobbing all over again, this time with relief at hearing his voice. The irritation he had at being sick turned into concern. “Mom, I’m fine, I was just lying on my good ear.”

I called hubby back and told him he could go back to work; elder was up.

I pulled myself together and went back to my desk.

*******************

Coming home, tears welled up again. I remembered something I hadn’t thought about in decades. My dad was still alive, because we girls were still in the back bedroom. I was going through a cupboard in the basement, looking at Halloween costumes. For some reason, this was forbidden, because my younger sister saw what I was doing and said she was telling on me. 

I think I had been on a tear of bad behavior because getting told on AGAIN scared me enough to run up to my bedroom and hide under my bed. I heard my siblings running around looking for me, and at one point, feet passed inches from my face. I lay still, which was no mean feat for me. There was a toy under the bed; I played with it while I pondered whether or not I should come out from my hiding place. Eventually, I dozed off.

When I woke up, the shadows were long across the bedroom. It was quiet. I wondered where everyone went. I crawled out from under the bed and wandered through the house. I eventually found my mom in the basement, crouched low, looking through the cupboard that got me into trouble in the first place. I touched my mom’s shoulder. She spun around and grabbed me, sobbing, asking where I went.

I guess I felt a little like elder did earlier today.

I also felt relieved that I wasn’t going to get punished.

Lots of things running full circle.

Right Now is Good

 I’m painfully aware of the fact that nothing stays the same forever, but I just wanted to note for my own posterity that life was good. Right now, this moment in time, is a good one. I love my job and the people I work with; I love my class work and cohort and enjoy the process; I love my family, and that’s not news; I love my tribe, and that’s not news, either.

The fall colors are spectacular this year; I enjoy the companionship of my birds, and I love what I’m doing, all of it.

Grateful. Wouldn’t change a thing in this moment.

Adjusting my Sails

 So I am still hanging in there with the doctoral program; other things, not so much.

I’m running out of runway for the things that don’t choose me, so saying goodbye to that. 

And hello to challenges ahead.

My Why

I won’t lie: this doctoral thing is kicking my ass.

The 3-6 hours of work and reading is more like 15-20, and I don’t do anything nearly as quickly as I used to. Fortunately I have plenty of PTO left to flex around whatever I need to get done. Hubby has stepped in and is picking up my slack in an amazing way (the boys need to do better). The encouragement from, well, everyone, keeps me going.

Probably the single best thing about the huge demand this pursuit has on my time and attention is that I have much less time to fret about whatever Elder is or isn’t doing. And because I am (openly) fretting less, he’s more inclined to talk to me on our rides up and down 309.

So yesterday evening he asked why. Why am I knowingly torturing myself (if not his exact words, he’s got the spirit of it)? This after meeting someone from his past life, which summoned up all the memories of the single worst year of our lives (although he claims to have no memory of any of it—I know better).

I’m driving, signaling as I head to the off-ramp, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll tell you why. I want to burn shit to the ground for what happened to you. I’m channeling my divine rage so I can change the world.”

He sat there and blinked, nonplussed, my literal guy no doubt picturing me in war paint with a torch. “But what will you DO when you’re done?”

I shrugged. My whole life has been accidental and incidental; I just land wherever I need to be. What will I do, indeed?

“If I end up teaching, I can change minds,” I finally answered. “And if I can change minds, I can change futures.”

He was quiet. 

Later I listened him on a Zoom call with his classmates for a group project. His voice shook, but he assumed a leadership role, asking question, laying out responsibilities, and pretty much sounding like the rest of the group on the call.

I wonder how my words landed.

Maybe the mind shift begins at home.

The Work Never Ends

 So a month in to the doctoral program, there’s been no shortage of CTJ moments. My first presentation earned kudos, but I bankrupted my time allotment on it, so racing to catch up. Reading and connecting all the dots, I’m reminded again of my why, always present here at home, and all the required reading confirms everything in my current situation.

I don’t know if I will make it through, but I will show up and do the work and hope for the best.

I’m happy for the volume of work in a way because it’s a distraction from the sometimes overwhelming sadness I am feeling. The school bus no longer comes for us. I should be overjoyed. Instead the world seems to be folding in on itself into an increasingly smaller space for my boys.

I need to finish this assignment.

I need to finish this degree.

I need to disrupt this whole system.

This is the only place I know where to start.

Like a Boss

 It’s been a minute.

We’ve managed to get both guys registered for classes; the three of us are ready to press play in 9 days.

While my work wife is out of the country, I managed to keep both her and my plates spinning with nary a hiccup, although there were plenty of moments where I wanted to hide sobbing under my desk. (I didn’t)

Instead, I found myself as I increasingly find myself; in command, in charge, and not afraid to call the plays that need calling.

It was with enormous relief and gratitude and gratification that I snapped my laptop shut, changed gears, and downshifted into chill.

Finding grace in the spaces and solace in nature and the night air.

At the Top of the Roller Coaster

 So the last couple of months has had the cadence of riding up the big hill of a roller coaster. It’s been on a climb the better part of the last six months, and now we’re easing in at the top, preparing for the scream-inducing descent into the void.

I don’t think I’m ready for this.

Task paralysis kicks in again; there are lots of forms to fill out, websites to log in to and update what feels like TBs of information. I hate filling out forms; my purgatory will involve endless forms and socks to sort.

I think we’re all feeling it.

Adulting Could Be Going Better

 I’m officially old. I can’t cut through Elder’s bs anymore.

There’s a lot to be done, and all I want to do is crawl into bed.

I did a lot of little things, and I expected the boys to do some too.

One did. One did not.

There may be nothing for me to do but let his inertia consume him.

He doesn’t want help; he doesn’t think he needs it.

He’s not in need of fixing, I’m told.

I don’t know what to do.

Autism Mom Victorious

 So I was accepted into the doctoral program the same week that, 13 years ago, was the single worst week of my life.

As with every other split in my life, this way forward is fraught. But I’m not going to let that stop me.

My goal is to finish this before my 60th birthday.

I defended my Master’s thesis the day after my 28th birthday.

I need the discipline of a deadline, or it won’t happen.

I’ve waited decades for this moment, so I’m going to achieve or die trying.

A Timeline

 Oct 2003: “Look at that cord.” Younger barrels into this world straight into the NICU. We don’t know if his precipitous delivery inflicted long-lasting damage.

2003-2006: Identified as a sibling of an autistic child. Becomes a study subject. Is in and out of early intervention because he unqualified himself only to qualify again two months later.

Oct 2006: conditional autism diagnosis to continue services through the intermediate unit.

2007: Daycare teacher takes time off work to essentially shame the powers that be to increase meager services—and succeeds in helping the familial unit get a team together. Younger thrives.

2009: K-12; into the breach

Time passes. All kinds of stuff happens, good, bad, ugly, indifferent. The ongoing study reveals a spiky cognitive profile. His processing speed gets in the way of peer interaction. Nevertheless, he persists.

2014: Attends his first IEP meeting as a team member. Calls out another member for not recognizing his membership.

2019: Runs his first IEP meeting as team leader. Calls out another team member for questionable behavior.

2020-21:  COVD reveals an academic rock star. Up until this point, sitting in a desk yielded him average grades; distance learning allowed him to wander through the house with his laptop, and further unburdened by sensory overload that comes with peopling, discovers he can not only learn, he can excel. Makes honor roll for the first time. (And is one of like 5 people who came out of COVD better off)

2022: Walks with his class. Begins college and Vo-tech for his super senior years.

2024: Earns his associates and collects his diploma. And is bound for Temple.

I am forgetting everything

 Wish it were deliberate, but I am not that lucky.

I can write a book about mom, but another time.

The sun sets on our time in the school district. In September, I will have two college juniors. I’m looking in the mirror and the years are catching up. Trying to make my eyes and teeth last longer, but genetics push back hard.

Elder went to his first life celebration solo today; I dropped him off and wish I got a picture of him greeting and hugging people on his way in. He even got up and said a few words about his friend. He reports being over dressed, but better over than under.

Younger graduates community college in less than two weeks and is looking forward to what’s next.

I applied for a doctoral program, and we’ll see where that goes.

I’m paddling, spent two hours on the river today, and although it was cloudy and chilly, I needed the mindfulness of  paddling; nothing exists outside the boat as long as I am in it.

Hopeful. Hope is all there is.

Connection

 So where do I start? Elder opted to drop a class that he was actually doing okay in, and I feel like when he decided to quit the movie theater, just devastated, and I don’t know why. My own distraction since mom’s departure for the underworld leaves the rest of my house wondering how to deal with me. Indeed, I don’t even know how to deal with myself. I am living in the immediate moment because I literally don’t know what else to do with myself. 

My sadness is sometimes compact, and other times it spills out into the room around me. Will a shower help?  Purging some of the clutter? Everything happens in fits and starts; ADHD is a thing. 

Today is Fr M’s birthday. I called him, which is something unprecedented, but the whole ‘mom dying before I thought that was going to happen’ thing is causing me to do a lot of unprecedented things. He asked me how my family was: I shared Elder’s new collegiate adventures (leaving out the dropped class) and Younger’s impending joining him, and about the housing situation we hope pans out for them both. He rejoiced along with me, had kind words, but our time was short since he needed to be elsewhere, celebrating a funeral mass for a fellow priest an hour away (on his birthday).

I got off the phone, feeling chuffed that I did a thing, happy to hear my good friend sounding hale and hearty at 84, hoping we can have more celebrations and I get one more chance to drive him around in the little red car.

I gotta make this happen.

Pause

 I’m hitting pause.

The last month and change has been a bit bats. 

And the business trip in the midst of it didn’t help.

So today, by fits and starts, I am trying to get this place in order. I started with the birds (because also my office and the disorder became offensive, to me, which is saying something). I also found out something new about me; if I don’t know where to start, or if there are too many steps to get started, I won’t start at all. The workaround got me through the first part, and an assist from hubby the rest.

I found some bags, so I am starting to go through clothes. If I can get the upstairs under some control, it will be a good start.

Still feeling things hard. I’ll feel them and work through the best I can.

One Month Ago….

 Things went sideways.

It started two days earlier with a group text my mom sent: My iPad is dying.

It was 5:30 am Thursday February 1. Part of me was rolling my eyes, thinking “so dramatic “ while another part of me wondered what my mom was really saying. She had a habit and history with saying something and meaning something else entirely.  She went on to say she was having trouble breathing and going to the doctor later. I was getting ready to drive to the office and wondered if I needed to stay back. 

Nothing was asked, so I went in as scheduled.

Later, she pinged us all again letting us know she went to the doctor, she has pneumonia, and she’s on medication and an inhaler.

Good, I think.

Then she goes on to say the nurse helped her walk to her car, she was so out of breath and so grateful for the help.

TF mom? 

This is the inflection point of the story; this is the part we all came back to, after. Why didn’t she get admitted to the hospital? Why was she driving herself around? Why?

She had been telling us for months she was ready. She had COVD a year ago around her birthday and hadn’t really felt good since. She had been struggling since October with back pain. She was going to need to move out of her beloved apartment while her building was being renovated—something she dreaded. Finally, she’s been missing my dad a very long time. The last time I saw her, around Christmas, she said, “I tell God every day, take me, Lord, I am ready when you are.”

So there was no stinking way she was going to admit herself to the hospital. She was doing a Paulie with her doctor, presenting as healthier than she actually was. She was done, she was telling us she was done, but I don’t think we were listening.

I was listening, but I thought we—she—had more time.

So when my phone blew up while I was attending a training on mental health support, I knew it was time.

They found her that morning, sitting in her favorite chair, snuggled under her favorite blanket, tea cooled on the table next to her chair. Her glasses were on, and she looked as though she were thinking and about to say something.

Except it was dark. The pilot light was out.

And just like that, we’re orphans.

I woke up the next morning with an incredible feeling of peace. Mom and I did not have the best relationship here on earth, but I had a strong sense that wherever she is, she gets me now, and there’s no regrets or hard feelings, on either side.

And for me, knowing she’s finally with my dad again makes my heart happy.

But I keep wanting to text her. Or see if she liked a post or picture I put on social media.

On the other hand, my last times with her are etched in my memory in a way my last times with my dad were not. We had a great time together at my sister’s house before Christmas; we spent time together on Christmas Day, and I dropped some Stock’s pound cake off with her a couple days after Christmas. She shared a Halupki recipe with me over text a couple days later.

Her departure for me is a little like a phone left off the hook. If I didn’t see her with my own two eyes, I’d not believe it happened.

But it did. She’s a memory now.

A good one.

Game on

 No one can break me like my older kid.

Week two of University brings us to the conclusion that he is exactly where he needs to be right now—and he’s pissed off about it. He likes his classes, being surrounded once again by peers, teachers, taking the train…but he jams his heels in, stopping just short of admitting it, because that would make him wrong about not wanting to return to school—and by extension make us right.

Hence his anger. In his head, he’s wrong, and he hates being wrong.

Up until now I’ve been his best friend, and now I’ve become his worst enemy by pushing him forward. I yield the baton to hubby, who is a hell of a lot more clear-headed than I am. We will work together to help elder get back some of the skills he lost in COVD, but my role, by necessity, will be silent partner.

My younger guy is just doing him, taking classes, playing his music, planning and executing his radio show, and in so doing seems to have connected with my own head and heart; I can’t get through his playlists without tears at least once a show.

This is how he reckons with his own stuff.

It’s hard sometimes to see progress when emotions run high. Sometimes you just need a minute.