Truisms: A Reluctant Homage

In general, I do my best to avoid the overused, banal phrases that, to me, signal mental laziness and a poor vocabulary.  However it pains me to admit it, though, some clichés are just spot-on.

“Sometimes we don’t appreciate something fully until we think there’s a chance we might lose it.”

Ugh.  So trite, so hum-drum, so…absolutely true.

A routine test turns up what is 99.9% likely to be nothing, but until you know it’s nothing, you worry.    Suddenly life is so heartrendingly precious you can hardly stand the intensity of your feelings.  All of the annoyances, the petty problems, the minor things are so very unimportant that you can’t believe you ever gave them a second thought.  Even having a severely disabled child and a host of other problems to deal with on a daily basis seems like a walk in the park.  The mere mention of a problem that might affect the quality of that life – or at the very worst, take that life away – and you swear you will never, ever NOT appreciate what you have.

If forced to look life and its gloriousness and variety and wonder and problems and uncertainties – and its finite nature – squarely head on, one would be foolish indeed not to take that opportunity to realize that, yes, each day is a gift, that we should never waste a day in pointless anger, that nothing is as important as loving and being loved.  Having one’s eyes opened to the beauty of every day is never a bad thing.

For this life, I am grateful.  For the people who love me, who accept my love, who bring me laughter and joy and things to think about and do, I am grateful.  For the sons of my heart, who grew within me and who carry a piece of me with them, I am forever grateful.

Today life is crystalline, bright, perfect and full.  That is enough.

February 15, 2012

Dream, my little love.

Dream of trains that talk

of bears that eat honey and sing songs

of blue puppies, of paw prints

of every precious thing a childhood can hold.

Laugh, my little love.

Toss aside the standards of the world

for they matter so little – your world is your own…

Your happiness is the purest expression of joy that I have ever known.

Rest, my little love.

You are safe here.

You are my baby, born into a world that would not understand,

entrusted to me

for always.

We love you with depth unimaginable.

We protect you with every fiber of our being.

We celebrate you today, the day you arrived

and changed our lives for good,

for not-always-so-good,

forever.

Pride of purpose

Stephen will be 12 soon – in 13 days to be exact – and that will mean that we’ve known he has autism for almost a decade.  Most years I’ve done a post to commemorate his birthday, and maybe I’ll still do that, but I felt inspired to get some thoughts out today.

Autism is still a horrible, frightening, frustrating disease, disorder, whatever.  There are times when it breaks my heart and makes me feel hopeless…but not nearly as frequently as in the past.  And, honestly, part of the reason is that I’m finally on a good medication that keeps me from having total freakouts on a daily basis…but there is another element.  Stephen tries harder every day to learn useful words.  I’ve also found him on more than one occasion lately doing his own Google searches – holding a video in one sweet, soft, babyish hand while he diligently types the name of the video with the other one.  He used to always come and get one of us to do it for him.

So even with a child this affected, time brings improvements…glacially slowly, perhaps, but the overall trend is positive.

Something else has been creeping into my consciousness recently.  A perspective change of sorts…having a child so very dependent upon you for every need can (and does) often feel like an overwhelming burden.  It’s a hard life, nearly devoid of spontaneity and spur of the moment events…but what I’ve realized is that there is a graceful dignity that can imbue nearly every aspect of this life.  We are Stephen’s caretakers.  We take care of a soul who, without a caring network of family and teachers and friends, would be utterly lost.  There is a sense of pride in keeping him neat and clean and as well-fed as possible.  There is a peaceful feeling that comes with knowing that his hair smells of shampoo, that his clothes are clean, soft, and comfortable, that his socks are straight on his feet so the seams won’t press against his toes…  He can’t tell us when small things are uncomfortable or irritating…and I’ve found honor and purpose in caring for my son…in making him smile, in hearing his laughter when his daddy blows bubbles while Stephen’s in the tub, in seeing his big brother engage him and tickle him till he laughs that precious laugh, in seeing his obvious delight when one of us understands what he’s saying.

We could do our “duty” and make sure he is appropriately fed, clothed, and sheltered.  But there IS joy to be found in trying to understand him – to decipher the problems, to try to find solutions, and yes, to honor this little human person, to give as much scope as possible to a life limited by a cruel disorder.  I have always known that his soul shines, his innocence untarnished…to find deeper truths in this life of ours is a blessing that I embrace thankfully.