Tuesday, August 28, 2007

No Place Like Home



People sometimes ask where I get these pictures from. The nicely flattering implication is I find them online, I guess. Not being very "techno," I just point the digital and shoot. All the beautiful children on here are mine. This is Lucey up in the apple tree, shaking down a bountiful harvest. We are putting up tons of fresh, tart, organic applesauce this year; makes it hard to even think of eating the bland stuff you find in stores. God is good; when you live in the country, you really get spoiled.
Just heard from Joe's new placement. They have a spot for him. Now, how do I tell my handsome, sweet, funny, charming little boy he's going off to boarding school? I know he has to go. I can't meet his needs any more, the other kids are gone most of the day, and Joe's not happy being the only child at home. Plus, as a single mom, I really have to work. He had a great time at respite camp this summer, hanging out with other teenage boys at about his level; absolutely loved every minute of camp and beamed when we asked how he liked it.
We get to visit him on weekends; but they say he shouldn't come home except for holidays. I keep telling myself he's only going to be two hours away, but the truth is, it's a whole different world. I think he can come back next summer. I wish he didn't have to go. How can anyone else possibly love him like we do?

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Goodbye and Hello



Just sang at a lovely funeral for a friend's mother.
Actually, Mary was singing the Mass for her own mother, and I joined a few choir members in supporting her. She sang beautifully, and delivered a heartfelt eulogy at the end of the Mass.
As she sang, I was remembering the viewing I'd gone to the night before; the family had arranged hundred's of photos of Mary's mother and dad with their six beautiful children and grandchildren around the closed casket. Mary's dad, the town mayor, shook hands and greeted everyone with his kind smile. He looked tired, but at peace after his wife's long illness.
Mary and her brothers and sister were sharing stories with friends, laughing and crying over a life well lived, a mother greatly loved.
Makes you stop and think: "what would people say about me?"
Came home to find a friend is expecting another child.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

A Gift in Disguise


I've been turned down for jobs in the past, because I have a child with severe needs, now a teenager. People mean it kindly, they say, "Oh, you can't work, you have Joe." I smile and walk away, seething inside. Of course I have Joe, and he likes to eat, just like any other child.
For almost fourteen years I have carried this burden, seeing the painted-on smiles of people who look at me and my son as if we were both low-functioning non-people. The smile is too bright, the eyes pass somewhere over our heads as they nod and move on. Some stop and say, "oh, I just love children like your son, they're so adorable." Others, more well-intentioned say, "I don't know how you do it," implying I have extraordinary abilities. What they're really saying is "-but I'm glad it's you and not me."
I ended up having to patch together childcare on a day-to-day basis, using three of Joe's siblings as a sort of tag-team. For several years I worked in a city an hour away, where no one knew my younger son. I missed most of my childrens' growing-up during those years.
Finally, I started teaching in a school district half an hour away from my house, still juggling childcare responsibilities with the other children, because no one wanted to watch Joe. Substitute teaching in a nearby district meant I was pretty much on Joe's schedule.
A kind neighbor started watching him for half an hour in the mornings, so I could get to work. I taught at the high school so I could be home in time for Joe.
There was no question of working in the school district where I lived; I had spent too many years advocating for my son to receive a Free and Appropriate Education according to the Commissioner's Regulations for the State of New York.
My son is a wonderful, handsome young man who likes to hang around with regular boys and girls. He can't talk to them; he just likes being there. He loves music and french fries with ketchup, and water slides and any place that has lots of boys and girls around. Joe likes it when his friends read him stories or play ball with him. Most of all, he loves it when they talk to him, as if he could talk back.
He just likes being treated like a person.
Recently, I applied for a job with a community action group, in another town, of course. They reviewed my credentials and said everything was fine, but "this job involves working with parents of children with special needs. In order for them to feel you're not looking down on them, we can only hire someone who has a child with special needs."
I just smiled, and pulled out Joe's picture.
The so-called burden had become a gift.
A friend likened my situation to that of Hagar, in Genesis 21, where she has fled with her son Ishmael into the desert.
After wandering God knows how long, Hagar finally lets go of her burden, her son. When she does, a well of fresh water appears, and she and Ishmael are saved. "God was with the child as he grew up."
Another story about letting go, and trusting God.