American association of cancer researchers
3 years ago
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Love List continued
Love has been on my mind quite a bit lately. Romantic love, friendly love, sexual love, family love; it's all around me. I'm ashamed that I don't always acknowledge that I am truly a blessed individual, surrounded by people who can and do treasure me daily. I see it in the love I share with my child, the love I share with family and friends, even the love I share with my animals. God's love for me is evident in both the expected and odd places and I hope that He knows and feels my love for Him in return.
I sometimes get so focused on discovering and re-experiencing romantic love that I neglect to appreciate love in all of it's forms and manifestations. So, I'm dedicating this post to family and friends, (yes, even the four legged kind) for reminding me that I'm somebody worth caring for and reminding me that even at my lowest points, love surrounds me daily.
God woke me up this morning; He allowed us to sleep in safety and security last night. My heart was overflowing yesterday afternoon when going to pick up my son from aftercare, he spotted me across a crowded gym floor and yelled at the top of his lungs, "mommie!!!!!!", ran and jumped in my arms, smacking kisses everywhere "just cuz." Last night, I put down food for my dogs and Lillian, the cockapoo sniffed at her bowl, prepared to take a bite, appeared to change her mind, and came over instead to me to lick the side of my leg. I figure she was thanking me for the chow. It was only after I rubbed the top of her head and thanked her for her thanks that she continued eating her dinner. Thursday afternoon, a co-worker left our clinic to head for a meeting at the corporate office. When she returned, she entered my office without speaking and placed three pieces of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on my desk (umm yummy!). A friend that I am crushing on sent me an email out of the blue inquiring whether I'd received any response yet from a writing contest I recently entered. I was instructed to be sure to let him know the outcome, positive or negative. My daddy called earlier this week while I was on my way to work, "whatcha doin', chile?" in a loud, boisterous voice, "didn't want nothin', just wanted to say hi! and I ain't got no money either, so don't ask!" I am crazy 'bout that ole man!!
81. He is unable to resist putting loving hands on me, anywhere, anytime, anyplace
82. He can identify my favorite authors and artists
83. He occasionally drops by my office unexpectedly "just because."
84. He is a provider for his family; does not want to be taken care of by any woman. In fact, he is insulted by the very idea.
85. He knows which side of the hammer is up.
I sometimes get so focused on discovering and re-experiencing romantic love that I neglect to appreciate love in all of it's forms and manifestations. So, I'm dedicating this post to family and friends, (yes, even the four legged kind) for reminding me that I'm somebody worth caring for and reminding me that even at my lowest points, love surrounds me daily.
God woke me up this morning; He allowed us to sleep in safety and security last night. My heart was overflowing yesterday afternoon when going to pick up my son from aftercare, he spotted me across a crowded gym floor and yelled at the top of his lungs, "mommie!!!!!!", ran and jumped in my arms, smacking kisses everywhere "just cuz." Last night, I put down food for my dogs and Lillian, the cockapoo sniffed at her bowl, prepared to take a bite, appeared to change her mind, and came over instead to me to lick the side of my leg. I figure she was thanking me for the chow. It was only after I rubbed the top of her head and thanked her for her thanks that she continued eating her dinner. Thursday afternoon, a co-worker left our clinic to head for a meeting at the corporate office. When she returned, she entered my office without speaking and placed three pieces of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on my desk (umm yummy!). A friend that I am crushing on sent me an email out of the blue inquiring whether I'd received any response yet from a writing contest I recently entered. I was instructed to be sure to let him know the outcome, positive or negative. My daddy called earlier this week while I was on my way to work, "whatcha doin', chile?" in a loud, boisterous voice, "didn't want nothin', just wanted to say hi! and I ain't got no money either, so don't ask!" I am crazy 'bout that ole man!!
81. He is unable to resist putting loving hands on me, anywhere, anytime, anyplace
82. He can identify my favorite authors and artists
83. He occasionally drops by my office unexpectedly "just because."
84. He is a provider for his family; does not want to be taken care of by any woman. In fact, he is insulted by the very idea.
85. He knows which side of the hammer is up.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Rainy Days (seventh and final installment)
The child was true to her word. The next several weeks, I got up early, prepared breakfast, showered and dressed and then made my way down to the gazebo. And everyday, she arrived, equipped with food and water, and love. In fact, the puppy thrived under her care and attention. His initial bedraggled, emaciated and barely-alive appearance slowly gave way to a round, fluffy, energetic ball of fun.
I watched the child, her name was Raphaela, as she finally deigned to inform me, patiently and lovingly nurse the puppy back to health. She fed him, and bandaged his wounds. Towards the end of the second week, we thought it safe to bathe him and I produced a little tub and filled it with warm water. Raphaela serenely set about to scrub away the grub and gore. He was initially tolerant of her ministerings; he stretched out easily on her lap, allowed her to lift a leg here, and to flip an ear there, and at times, all but purred his satisfaction, as she stroked and smoothed his broken places. He even gave the appearance of dozing off. I think this was when he remembered that he was an independent hound, one who didn’t need the help of humans and he started to chafe and whine and attempt to wiggle his way to freedom. I think it was the indignity of being wet that got him. It also didn’t help, I’m sure, that we were laughing at him and his antics. He finally succeeded in climbing down from her lap, looking more like the drowned rat we initially thought him to be, hair sticking out in every which direction. He shook himself free of excess water and climbed up on one of the chaises to sulk.
I was fascinated by the maturity and understanding she displayed as she nurtured both his body and his spirit. She was patient and allowed him to dictate the pace of their relationship. I had expected her to display the impatience that is common for a child her age, but she moved only as fast as he was able to accept. I tried to introduce the topic of her family and where she lived several times, and each time, she either ignored me or changed the subject. I eventually gave up, figuring that she would share with me when she was ready. I actually expected her to arrive one mornings with a parent or older sibling in tow, but she always came alone.
Raphaela sang and talked to him constantly; she loved on and petted him as much as he was able to tolerate. The process was slow, but she eventually earned his trust. After awhile, she no longer had to coax him out of his hiding place. Oftentimes, he emerged from his hole and waited for her at the top of the steps of the gazebo as soon as he heard her voice coming down the path. He also found it easier to tolerate my presence but I was still pretty much ignored. The puppy tolerated my presence but his entire world revolved around Raphaela.
The puppy wasn’t the only one to thrive and flourish under her care and attention. For weeks following the funeral, I walked around in a fog, not really caring what happened to me and, at times, praying for the release that would allow me be with Micah and Kai again. As weeks turned into months, I spent much of my days sleeping. I couldn’t sleep at night and sat up for hours letting the tv watch me or counting the spots on the ceiling, anything to stop or distract me from thoughts of my family. I was uninterested in food, typically sustaining myself with coffee and stale crackers, usually in response to nausea. In the mornings, I got out of bed, just to move to the couch in the living room, where I stayed until I moved to a chair on the patio, where I generally remained until it was time to return to bed. I was a little more active once my mother and brothers started openly expressing concerns about my appearance and withdrawal, but I felt no sense of purpose and wandered aimlessly throughout my day.
However, since meeting Raphaela and the puppy, not only has the routine and structure of my day changed but my feelings and attitude has also undergone a transformation. The child not only met the puppy's physical needs, but she attended to his need for companionship, emotional reassurance and hope. Watching the puppy and child together, as they grew to love and depend on each other, set off a corresponding need in me. Where I previously had very little appetite, I’m now ready to eat up everything in the house. I entered the house one morning after leaving the child and the puppy in the gazebo, and suddenly that I was starving. I reached into the refrigerator and was surprised to find it empty except for a block of moldy cheese and a carton of what I suppose used to be milk; it was hard to see the liquid for all the yellow, congealed stuff on the bottom.
“Ugh,” I turned up my nose and gingerly picked up both items and tossed them into the trash. As I thought about my options, I felt energized. I found a discarded piece of paper and a pen and prepared a grocery list. I found that I was actually looking forward to rolling up and down the aisles of the local market and anticipating future meals I would be able to prepare. As I looked around the cabinets to identify other things I needed, I noticed the discarded dishes and pots scattered around the room. I quickly loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed down the counters. The more I worked, the more I absorbed the months and months of neglect around my house. My morning routine changed; each morning after leaving the gazebo, I returned to the house and began to set to rights things that I had been too depressed and fatigued to notice.
I also recognized the need to repair the damage I had inflicted on my family. I had been so consumed by my grief, that I neglected to see that my mother, brothers and other extended family members, had relationships with Micah and Kai, and were also hurting. I was humbled by the realization that, not one of them appeared to blame me or feel resentment that I was unable to grieve with them or allow them to share in my loss. I felt alone and abandoned and so, I shut down and abandoned them.
Several days a week, I made a point to visit with various relatives in the afternoons. I was particularly appreciative of my youngest brother Aaron, who, in his own contentious way, had attempted to break through my barriers. I spontaneously stopped by his office one afternoon for lunch. He was surprised and pleased to see me but accepted my presence there without question. We enjoyed a fun hour sharing a pizza he had delivered and catching up on the latest family gossip. As I prepared to leave, he stopped, pulled me towards him and engulfed me in a big bear hug. He softly kissed my cheek as he released me and whispered,
“Welcome back, sis.”
Repairing the relationship with my mother proved to be a little more complicated. Throughout this entire year, she has been steadfast, my most loyal supporter and defender. She may have secretly agreed with the complaints about my behavior, but she would not allow anyone to speak badly of me in her presence. I think I disappointed her in a very fundamental way, though, in my refusal to attend church and to renew my faith in God. I argued that she couldn’t possibly understand how I felt when she sensitively reminded me that she had buried her husband, my father, and had buried a stillborn baby before me, a daughter.
“How do you do it, mama?” I asked her desperately. “How do continue to worship a God who takes everything away from you?”
She pulled me down onto the sofa before speaking. She grasped my hands between hers and looked intently into my eyes,
“I get through it because I know who holds my future. I know that I will see them both again.” She continued, “My baby daughter and my husband both lay in the arms of Jesus. Micah and Kai are also resting there.”
“But mama, the future is meaningless to me.” I cried, sobbing out my despair, “That was destroyed and taken away from me a year ago. I need to hold my baby in my arms again, right now. I miss him so much! How could He have taken both of them from me, mama? How could He?”
“Honey, I don’t know.” She was now in tears too, “only He knows. Yes, He had the power to stop that accident but He chose not to. I don’t know why. I don’t have all the answers. God allows tragedy to touch our lives for lots of reasons. Perhaps He wants to strengthen your faith. Or maybe He intends for you to share this experience as a testimony to help someone else. I know I’m now in a better position to understand and support you, because baby, I’ve been there. But, don’t you see? God has never stopped loving you and has never once taken His hands off you. It may be hard to see Him in the middle of your pain and grief, but He has been here all the time.”
“Oh, mama,” I implored, I could feel that constant heavy weight that has taken up space in the center of my chest, shift at her words. She continued,
“Your time, our time, with Micah and Kai was a gift from God, treasure that, because honey, I do, every day. But last year, for whatever reason, God took them back into Him. Stand strong in your faith, Nandi and you can trust me on this, you will see them again. He is not punishing you.”
I fell into her arms, curled up in her lap and for the first time since Kai and Micah’s death, I cried. She stroked my hair and held me close to her as I cried out for the lives of my husband and child. I cried for the loneliness and despair I’d allowed to consume me over this past year. My tears washed away the anger and bitterness I had built up in my heart against my family and against God.
She held me until long after my tears dried and my sobs had eased. She held me as my breathing calmed and the tension in my body released. I believe that I may have slept for awhile, perhaps she did as well. When I finally stirred, she kissed my cheek, gave me another quick hug and then started threatening to put me back over her knee unless I agreed to stay to prepare a meal and then eat dinner with her. I laughingly agreed. We were good again.
The next morning, I followed my newly established routine and headed to the gazebo. The puppy was waiting, tail wagging eagerly, grinning, with his tongue lolling out, looking towards the path he knew Raphaela would take. I settled down on the chaise to wait while the puppy kept watch at the entrance. By noon, we were both forced to accept that she was not coming. The puppy abandoned his post and settled on the floor next to me. He jumped up to investigate every sound, ever hopeful that his beloved would arrive.
It bothered me, as it had numerous times before, that I could not call or drop by her house to assure myself that she was ok. I resolved to force her to tell me the next time she I saw her; barring that, I would simply follow her home. I approached the storage container of food we had left there in the gazebo and prepared breakfast for the puppy. He was none too happy that I was doing the honors today and refused to eat or drink. At first. That is, until the reality of the pain in his belly hit him. He then skulked over to the food, reluctance communicating itself to me throughout his entire body. He kept throwing resentful looks over his shoulder, I guess to remind me that he preferred to get his food from Rafaela, but would allow me to do it this one time.
Raphaela was a no-show for the next two days. Indeed, we never saw or heard from her again. On the morning of the third day, I arrived at the gazebo as usual, fed the puppy, who, by this time easily accepted me in my new role. I had walked through the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, without any luck. I even chatted with a couple of the kids I knew and asked them if they knew her or her family, but none recognized her description. I approached the bistro table, preparing to wait for the puppy to finish his breakfast.
“I think I’m going to take you with me to the house while we wait for Raphaela,” I said as he munched happily. It was then that I noticed a slip of paper on the table.
I absorbed the childish print first and smiled at the boxy letters drawn in crayons. However, my smile faltered and my heart lodged in my throat, as Micah's words registered in my brain.
“Daddy and I always take care of you.”
I watched the child, her name was Raphaela, as she finally deigned to inform me, patiently and lovingly nurse the puppy back to health. She fed him, and bandaged his wounds. Towards the end of the second week, we thought it safe to bathe him and I produced a little tub and filled it with warm water. Raphaela serenely set about to scrub away the grub and gore. He was initially tolerant of her ministerings; he stretched out easily on her lap, allowed her to lift a leg here, and to flip an ear there, and at times, all but purred his satisfaction, as she stroked and smoothed his broken places. He even gave the appearance of dozing off. I think this was when he remembered that he was an independent hound, one who didn’t need the help of humans and he started to chafe and whine and attempt to wiggle his way to freedom. I think it was the indignity of being wet that got him. It also didn’t help, I’m sure, that we were laughing at him and his antics. He finally succeeded in climbing down from her lap, looking more like the drowned rat we initially thought him to be, hair sticking out in every which direction. He shook himself free of excess water and climbed up on one of the chaises to sulk.
I was fascinated by the maturity and understanding she displayed as she nurtured both his body and his spirit. She was patient and allowed him to dictate the pace of their relationship. I had expected her to display the impatience that is common for a child her age, but she moved only as fast as he was able to accept. I tried to introduce the topic of her family and where she lived several times, and each time, she either ignored me or changed the subject. I eventually gave up, figuring that she would share with me when she was ready. I actually expected her to arrive one mornings with a parent or older sibling in tow, but she always came alone.
Raphaela sang and talked to him constantly; she loved on and petted him as much as he was able to tolerate. The process was slow, but she eventually earned his trust. After awhile, she no longer had to coax him out of his hiding place. Oftentimes, he emerged from his hole and waited for her at the top of the steps of the gazebo as soon as he heard her voice coming down the path. He also found it easier to tolerate my presence but I was still pretty much ignored. The puppy tolerated my presence but his entire world revolved around Raphaela.
The puppy wasn’t the only one to thrive and flourish under her care and attention. For weeks following the funeral, I walked around in a fog, not really caring what happened to me and, at times, praying for the release that would allow me be with Micah and Kai again. As weeks turned into months, I spent much of my days sleeping. I couldn’t sleep at night and sat up for hours letting the tv watch me or counting the spots on the ceiling, anything to stop or distract me from thoughts of my family. I was uninterested in food, typically sustaining myself with coffee and stale crackers, usually in response to nausea. In the mornings, I got out of bed, just to move to the couch in the living room, where I stayed until I moved to a chair on the patio, where I generally remained until it was time to return to bed. I was a little more active once my mother and brothers started openly expressing concerns about my appearance and withdrawal, but I felt no sense of purpose and wandered aimlessly throughout my day.
However, since meeting Raphaela and the puppy, not only has the routine and structure of my day changed but my feelings and attitude has also undergone a transformation. The child not only met the puppy's physical needs, but she attended to his need for companionship, emotional reassurance and hope. Watching the puppy and child together, as they grew to love and depend on each other, set off a corresponding need in me. Where I previously had very little appetite, I’m now ready to eat up everything in the house. I entered the house one morning after leaving the child and the puppy in the gazebo, and suddenly that I was starving. I reached into the refrigerator and was surprised to find it empty except for a block of moldy cheese and a carton of what I suppose used to be milk; it was hard to see the liquid for all the yellow, congealed stuff on the bottom.
“Ugh,” I turned up my nose and gingerly picked up both items and tossed them into the trash. As I thought about my options, I felt energized. I found a discarded piece of paper and a pen and prepared a grocery list. I found that I was actually looking forward to rolling up and down the aisles of the local market and anticipating future meals I would be able to prepare. As I looked around the cabinets to identify other things I needed, I noticed the discarded dishes and pots scattered around the room. I quickly loaded the dishwasher and scrubbed down the counters. The more I worked, the more I absorbed the months and months of neglect around my house. My morning routine changed; each morning after leaving the gazebo, I returned to the house and began to set to rights things that I had been too depressed and fatigued to notice.
I also recognized the need to repair the damage I had inflicted on my family. I had been so consumed by my grief, that I neglected to see that my mother, brothers and other extended family members, had relationships with Micah and Kai, and were also hurting. I was humbled by the realization that, not one of them appeared to blame me or feel resentment that I was unable to grieve with them or allow them to share in my loss. I felt alone and abandoned and so, I shut down and abandoned them.
Several days a week, I made a point to visit with various relatives in the afternoons. I was particularly appreciative of my youngest brother Aaron, who, in his own contentious way, had attempted to break through my barriers. I spontaneously stopped by his office one afternoon for lunch. He was surprised and pleased to see me but accepted my presence there without question. We enjoyed a fun hour sharing a pizza he had delivered and catching up on the latest family gossip. As I prepared to leave, he stopped, pulled me towards him and engulfed me in a big bear hug. He softly kissed my cheek as he released me and whispered,
“Welcome back, sis.”
Repairing the relationship with my mother proved to be a little more complicated. Throughout this entire year, she has been steadfast, my most loyal supporter and defender. She may have secretly agreed with the complaints about my behavior, but she would not allow anyone to speak badly of me in her presence. I think I disappointed her in a very fundamental way, though, in my refusal to attend church and to renew my faith in God. I argued that she couldn’t possibly understand how I felt when she sensitively reminded me that she had buried her husband, my father, and had buried a stillborn baby before me, a daughter.
“How do you do it, mama?” I asked her desperately. “How do continue to worship a God who takes everything away from you?”
She pulled me down onto the sofa before speaking. She grasped my hands between hers and looked intently into my eyes,
“I get through it because I know who holds my future. I know that I will see them both again.” She continued, “My baby daughter and my husband both lay in the arms of Jesus. Micah and Kai are also resting there.”
“But mama, the future is meaningless to me.” I cried, sobbing out my despair, “That was destroyed and taken away from me a year ago. I need to hold my baby in my arms again, right now. I miss him so much! How could He have taken both of them from me, mama? How could He?”
“Honey, I don’t know.” She was now in tears too, “only He knows. Yes, He had the power to stop that accident but He chose not to. I don’t know why. I don’t have all the answers. God allows tragedy to touch our lives for lots of reasons. Perhaps He wants to strengthen your faith. Or maybe He intends for you to share this experience as a testimony to help someone else. I know I’m now in a better position to understand and support you, because baby, I’ve been there. But, don’t you see? God has never stopped loving you and has never once taken His hands off you. It may be hard to see Him in the middle of your pain and grief, but He has been here all the time.”
“Oh, mama,” I implored, I could feel that constant heavy weight that has taken up space in the center of my chest, shift at her words. She continued,
“Your time, our time, with Micah and Kai was a gift from God, treasure that, because honey, I do, every day. But last year, for whatever reason, God took them back into Him. Stand strong in your faith, Nandi and you can trust me on this, you will see them again. He is not punishing you.”
I fell into her arms, curled up in her lap and for the first time since Kai and Micah’s death, I cried. She stroked my hair and held me close to her as I cried out for the lives of my husband and child. I cried for the loneliness and despair I’d allowed to consume me over this past year. My tears washed away the anger and bitterness I had built up in my heart against my family and against God.
She held me until long after my tears dried and my sobs had eased. She held me as my breathing calmed and the tension in my body released. I believe that I may have slept for awhile, perhaps she did as well. When I finally stirred, she kissed my cheek, gave me another quick hug and then started threatening to put me back over her knee unless I agreed to stay to prepare a meal and then eat dinner with her. I laughingly agreed. We were good again.
The next morning, I followed my newly established routine and headed to the gazebo. The puppy was waiting, tail wagging eagerly, grinning, with his tongue lolling out, looking towards the path he knew Raphaela would take. I settled down on the chaise to wait while the puppy kept watch at the entrance. By noon, we were both forced to accept that she was not coming. The puppy abandoned his post and settled on the floor next to me. He jumped up to investigate every sound, ever hopeful that his beloved would arrive.
It bothered me, as it had numerous times before, that I could not call or drop by her house to assure myself that she was ok. I resolved to force her to tell me the next time she I saw her; barring that, I would simply follow her home. I approached the storage container of food we had left there in the gazebo and prepared breakfast for the puppy. He was none too happy that I was doing the honors today and refused to eat or drink. At first. That is, until the reality of the pain in his belly hit him. He then skulked over to the food, reluctance communicating itself to me throughout his entire body. He kept throwing resentful looks over his shoulder, I guess to remind me that he preferred to get his food from Rafaela, but would allow me to do it this one time.
Raphaela was a no-show for the next two days. Indeed, we never saw or heard from her again. On the morning of the third day, I arrived at the gazebo as usual, fed the puppy, who, by this time easily accepted me in my new role. I had walked through the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, without any luck. I even chatted with a couple of the kids I knew and asked them if they knew her or her family, but none recognized her description. I approached the bistro table, preparing to wait for the puppy to finish his breakfast.
“I think I’m going to take you with me to the house while we wait for Raphaela,” I said as he munched happily. It was then that I noticed a slip of paper on the table.
I absorbed the childish print first and smiled at the boxy letters drawn in crayons. However, my smile faltered and my heart lodged in my throat, as Micah's words registered in my brain.
“Daddy and I always take care of you.”
____________________________________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading and following this story. This has been an interesting process for me and a challenging story for me to write. I was thrown off track for a couple days this week and could not decide on an ending (there are two others written). The story you see here is not the one I set out to produce; if you don't believe me, I'll show you my early outline and the notes (LOL!!). But I'm pleased and was actually touched by Nandi's story and rebirth.
Feel free to leave any thoughts, feedback or comments you care to share.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Rainy Days (sixth installment)
Well, it appears that I underestimated the conclusion to Nandi's story; they say that the number seven represents wholeness and completion, so I suppose it's only right that the story is resolved in 7 rather than 6 installments.
Therefore, today, please enjoy the sixth installment of Rainy Days. The 7th and concluding installment should be completed Friday or Saturday at the latest (for some reason, I'm expected to actually WORK when I'm at work, go figure). You can find the fifth installment here.
I looked back into the gazebo, searching for possible clues as to the child’s intentions. The two chaise lounges and wrought iron bistro table and chairs were exactly as they had been during my last visit. The mosquito netting and sheer white gauzy curtains provided the space with an enclosed intimacy, by design, as it were. This was a favorite spot for Kai and me; a place for dreams, a place for planning, a place for loving.
I caught sight of light reflecting off metal on the cedar planked floorboard, near the entry. I can’t believe I’d missed that before. It was a bowl, now empty except for remnants of some type of meat. I took a quick sniff but was unable to identify it. I was pretty certain that it had not been here during my last visit, besides, the meat was still moist. I took one last look down the path the child had taken and wondered what she had been doing here.
Thoughts about the mysterious child stayed with me for the rest of that afternoon and were the first thing on my mind upon awakening the next morning. I entertained several scenarios about the child's identity and possible purpose on my property, and dismissed as many as I kept. She was far too young to be wondering around alone. So, where were her parents? She looked well cared for, clean and healthy, so that would seem to rule out that she may be lost or homeless. I didn’t recognize her as one of the neighborhood children who used to hang around with Micah, but maybe her family was new to the community?
I decided to head down to the gazebo and wait to see if the child returned. I dressed quickly and headed across the lawn. I settled myself into one of the lounges and prepared myself for patience.
It was a beautiful summer morning. The type of day Kai used to refer to as “God’s Day”. The first time he used that phrase I found it curious and laughingly asked him what he meant. It was during one of our weekend pilgrimages to our time-share in Seaside, off the Gulf of Mexico, roughly 40 miles from Panama City. I think it was probably Labor Day weekend, the year before Micah was born. We had decided to take advantage of the long three-day weekend. It was the morning after our arrival; we were awakened by sunlight glowing through white cotton curtains that blew rhythmically in and out of our room and the sounds of birds barely awake. We curled up together on a soft rope hammock in the shade of the wide screened front porch. I can almost feel the gentle sea breezes evaporating the moisture on my skin as I recalled his words.
“Days like this remind me of the presence, magnitude and favor of God,” he spoke reverently, all earnest sincerity now. “When I take in the beauty that surrounds us daily and the bounty of the earth that nurtures and sustains us, I am reminded of WHO He is. If there was ever any doubt in my mind about whether God lived and loved me, on days like this, He shows me what kind of provider He is.”
I took in the beauty of the morning around me, allowing myself to sink into the peace and to find comfort once again in Kai’s arms and God’s love. The sudden squawk of a nearby black bird taking flight from the brush startled me back to surroundings and with it, came the return of my anger and cynicism.
“If You really loved me, you wouldn’t have taken my family! You wouldn't have left me to go through this alone, without help or comfort. If You love me now, give it back! Give me back my peace and joy. Give me the ability to love and receive love again,” I challenged my unseen God.
Silence.
Hmpf! Figures!
And then, the sound of a high pitched childish voice raised in song, penetrated my churning thoughts. I suddenly remembered my purpose in the gazebo and looked around hopefully, surprisingly anxious to see the mysterious little girl again. The words of her song were suddenly clear as she stood outside the entrance to the gazebo,
“Jesus loves me this I know,” I was suddenly breathless, “for the bible,” the song ended abruptly as the child caught sight of me on the lounge.
She was a breathtakingly beautiful little girl. She was similarly dressed as yesterday in a white cotton shift and bare feet, which were oddly dirt-free. Her hair was neatly combed into two curly afro puffs on each side of her head. Her complexion was as creamy and smooth as milk chocolate.
But it was her eyes that held and captivated me. They were as bright and round as two silver dollars; her little cupie doll mouth formed an oval shaped ‘O’ as she absorbed my unexpected presence. While her surprise was evident, she did not appear frightened and made no effort to leave. She boldly met my eyes as she took her measure of me; after a few seconds, she seemed to resolve some sort of internal struggle.
“Hi,” she said simply.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I responded, “what are you doing here?”
She acknowledged my greeting with an even wider smile, but chose to ignore my question as she ventured further into the gazebo. I took note of the canvas tote she had thrown over her shoulder.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed, apparently delighted at some new discovery. I observed her walking towards the discarded, empty bowl from yesterday. She kneeled down next to the bowl, set the canvas tote at her feet and began to remove the contents.
“What’s your name, honey?” I inquired, my fascination with her actions in direct contrast with my annoyance at being ignored by this young diva.
She continued removing things from the bag as if I had not spoken and as if she were alone. She peeled back the lid on a plastic container. At least the source of the mystery meat was revealed, I thought. The child started emptying the food into the bowl just as I started to ask her about it. Then,
“Shush, I hear him.”
Did that child just ‘shush’ me?
“Here? Who?” I inquired, curious in spite of myself. Just then, I could hear the scratching noises that seem to emanate from the floorboard. I stepped closer, just as a small, furry head revealed itself, scrambling to get to the offering provided by the child.
It was a puppy!? Or at least, it would be a puppy if it had more weight on it, if its hair covered its body more evenly, and perhaps, was given a bath. This was the most pitiable creature I had ever seen. It was evident just to look at it, that this puppy did not have long to be in this world. Not only was it starving, but judging by the wounds barely healing across its little body, it had been horribly abused as well. I could see pus blending in with mud and who knows what else was covering that poor thing.
What in the world was this child doing with this possibly diseased puppy? Where in the heck was her mama? Her folk? Just as I was about to start demanding answers and forcibly pulling her away from the animal, she started to sing again,
“He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands.” She continued to sing softly to the puppy as she coaxed it fully from its hiding place. The puppy was barely able to stand and was visibly trembling as it moved cautiously towards her. She made no sudden movement or any efforts to pull the puppy towards her. Her restraint was an amazing thing to watch, given her age. She patiently waited while the puppy assessed her scent and decided whether or not it could trust her.
“Where did it come from?” I inquired.
So intent was the animal on assessing the little girl, it had totally failed to realize that she was not alone. The sound of my voice startled it so completely that it tipped over and then began a frantic attempt right itself again. As soon as it regained its footing, it disappeared back into its hiding place under the floor.
“Now look what you did!” she demanded, turning furious eyes on me, “you’ve scared him!” She was so outdone with me that she all but stomped her little foot for emphasis.
Before I could offer her an apology, Whoa! Apology? What am I apologizing for? She had already turned and kneeled on the floor in front of the animal’s hiding place. She pushed the food towards the entrance and added a small cup of water. She gathered up the remaining items into the tote and turned to leave the gazebo.
“Wait,” I demanded, “who are you? What are you doing here? Come on honey, talk to me. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
She stopped, eyed me solemnly, her annoyance apparently forgotten. She watched me with an awareness and maturity far and above her years and I admit, it made me a little nervous to be trapped in that watchful gaze. She walked slowly towards me, reached out and stroked the back of my hand. At her touch, a sliver of electricity traveled up my arm. It startled me so much that I yanked my hand back, hiding it between the folds of my sweatsuit pants and took a step away from her. She observed my retreat with sad eyes and said,
“I’ve got to go now,” she stepped back towards the door, “but I’ll be back.” At that announcement, she turned and ran down the path.
I caught sight of light reflecting off metal on the cedar planked floorboard, near the entry. I can’t believe I’d missed that before. It was a bowl, now empty except for remnants of some type of meat. I took a quick sniff but was unable to identify it. I was pretty certain that it had not been here during my last visit, besides, the meat was still moist. I took one last look down the path the child had taken and wondered what she had been doing here.
Thoughts about the mysterious child stayed with me for the rest of that afternoon and were the first thing on my mind upon awakening the next morning. I entertained several scenarios about the child's identity and possible purpose on my property, and dismissed as many as I kept. She was far too young to be wondering around alone. So, where were her parents? She looked well cared for, clean and healthy, so that would seem to rule out that she may be lost or homeless. I didn’t recognize her as one of the neighborhood children who used to hang around with Micah, but maybe her family was new to the community?
I decided to head down to the gazebo and wait to see if the child returned. I dressed quickly and headed across the lawn. I settled myself into one of the lounges and prepared myself for patience.
It was a beautiful summer morning. The type of day Kai used to refer to as “God’s Day”. The first time he used that phrase I found it curious and laughingly asked him what he meant. It was during one of our weekend pilgrimages to our time-share in Seaside, off the Gulf of Mexico, roughly 40 miles from Panama City. I think it was probably Labor Day weekend, the year before Micah was born. We had decided to take advantage of the long three-day weekend. It was the morning after our arrival; we were awakened by sunlight glowing through white cotton curtains that blew rhythmically in and out of our room and the sounds of birds barely awake. We curled up together on a soft rope hammock in the shade of the wide screened front porch. I can almost feel the gentle sea breezes evaporating the moisture on my skin as I recalled his words.
“Days like this remind me of the presence, magnitude and favor of God,” he spoke reverently, all earnest sincerity now. “When I take in the beauty that surrounds us daily and the bounty of the earth that nurtures and sustains us, I am reminded of WHO He is. If there was ever any doubt in my mind about whether God lived and loved me, on days like this, He shows me what kind of provider He is.”
I took in the beauty of the morning around me, allowing myself to sink into the peace and to find comfort once again in Kai’s arms and God’s love. The sudden squawk of a nearby black bird taking flight from the brush startled me back to surroundings and with it, came the return of my anger and cynicism.
“If You really loved me, you wouldn’t have taken my family! You wouldn't have left me to go through this alone, without help or comfort. If You love me now, give it back! Give me back my peace and joy. Give me the ability to love and receive love again,” I challenged my unseen God.
Silence.
Hmpf! Figures!
And then, the sound of a high pitched childish voice raised in song, penetrated my churning thoughts. I suddenly remembered my purpose in the gazebo and looked around hopefully, surprisingly anxious to see the mysterious little girl again. The words of her song were suddenly clear as she stood outside the entrance to the gazebo,
“Jesus loves me this I know,” I was suddenly breathless, “for the bible,” the song ended abruptly as the child caught sight of me on the lounge.
She was a breathtakingly beautiful little girl. She was similarly dressed as yesterday in a white cotton shift and bare feet, which were oddly dirt-free. Her hair was neatly combed into two curly afro puffs on each side of her head. Her complexion was as creamy and smooth as milk chocolate.
But it was her eyes that held and captivated me. They were as bright and round as two silver dollars; her little cupie doll mouth formed an oval shaped ‘O’ as she absorbed my unexpected presence. While her surprise was evident, she did not appear frightened and made no effort to leave. She boldly met my eyes as she took her measure of me; after a few seconds, she seemed to resolve some sort of internal struggle.
“Hi,” she said simply.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I responded, “what are you doing here?”
She acknowledged my greeting with an even wider smile, but chose to ignore my question as she ventured further into the gazebo. I took note of the canvas tote she had thrown over her shoulder.
“Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed, apparently delighted at some new discovery. I observed her walking towards the discarded, empty bowl from yesterday. She kneeled down next to the bowl, set the canvas tote at her feet and began to remove the contents.
“What’s your name, honey?” I inquired, my fascination with her actions in direct contrast with my annoyance at being ignored by this young diva.
She continued removing things from the bag as if I had not spoken and as if she were alone. She peeled back the lid on a plastic container. At least the source of the mystery meat was revealed, I thought. The child started emptying the food into the bowl just as I started to ask her about it. Then,
“Shush, I hear him.”
Did that child just ‘shush’ me?
“Here? Who?” I inquired, curious in spite of myself. Just then, I could hear the scratching noises that seem to emanate from the floorboard. I stepped closer, just as a small, furry head revealed itself, scrambling to get to the offering provided by the child.
It was a puppy!? Or at least, it would be a puppy if it had more weight on it, if its hair covered its body more evenly, and perhaps, was given a bath. This was the most pitiable creature I had ever seen. It was evident just to look at it, that this puppy did not have long to be in this world. Not only was it starving, but judging by the wounds barely healing across its little body, it had been horribly abused as well. I could see pus blending in with mud and who knows what else was covering that poor thing.
What in the world was this child doing with this possibly diseased puppy? Where in the heck was her mama? Her folk? Just as I was about to start demanding answers and forcibly pulling her away from the animal, she started to sing again,
“He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. He’s Got the Whole World In His Hands.” She continued to sing softly to the puppy as she coaxed it fully from its hiding place. The puppy was barely able to stand and was visibly trembling as it moved cautiously towards her. She made no sudden movement or any efforts to pull the puppy towards her. Her restraint was an amazing thing to watch, given her age. She patiently waited while the puppy assessed her scent and decided whether or not it could trust her.
“Where did it come from?” I inquired.
So intent was the animal on assessing the little girl, it had totally failed to realize that she was not alone. The sound of my voice startled it so completely that it tipped over and then began a frantic attempt right itself again. As soon as it regained its footing, it disappeared back into its hiding place under the floor.
“Now look what you did!” she demanded, turning furious eyes on me, “you’ve scared him!” She was so outdone with me that she all but stomped her little foot for emphasis.
Before I could offer her an apology, Whoa! Apology? What am I apologizing for? She had already turned and kneeled on the floor in front of the animal’s hiding place. She pushed the food towards the entrance and added a small cup of water. She gathered up the remaining items into the tote and turned to leave the gazebo.
“Wait,” I demanded, “who are you? What are you doing here? Come on honey, talk to me. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
She stopped, eyed me solemnly, her annoyance apparently forgotten. She watched me with an awareness and maturity far and above her years and I admit, it made me a little nervous to be trapped in that watchful gaze. She walked slowly towards me, reached out and stroked the back of my hand. At her touch, a sliver of electricity traveled up my arm. It startled me so much that I yanked my hand back, hiding it between the folds of my sweatsuit pants and took a step away from her. She observed my retreat with sad eyes and said,
“I’ve got to go now,” she stepped back towards the door, “but I’ll be back.” At that announcement, she turned and ran down the path.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Rainy Days (fifth installment)
You can find the fourth installment here.
Somehow, I made it through the funeral. I actually managed to appear quite stoic throughout most of the service, a relatively easy task since most of the time I felt numb and outside of myself. My only spark of life occurred at the closing of the viewing period, just prior to the beginning of the actual funeral. The funeral directors were preparing to close Micah’s casket prior to the actual service; due to the physical damage Kai sustained, it was agreed that his casket would remain sealed. As one of the directors approached my son’s casket, I suddenly experienced a choking sensation, as if my windpipe had been constricted by some unseen hand. I also had the protective urge to push each of those men away from my child. My mother, ever sensitive to sudden changes in my mood, took hold of my hand in hers and began to audibly pray. Aaron, seated on my right, took his cue from our mother, wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me into him. The panic eased as I sat there surrounded by them, but I felt a flicker of anger that my mother would call upon Him at this particular place and time. Why couldn’t I make her understand that God stopped listening to me a long time ago?
Finally, the service was over, the last dinners were consumed and for most, this period of grief and mourning was beginning to past; family and friends to return to their own lives and routine. It took several weeks and a few mild squirmishes with Aaron, but I finally convinced my family of my need to return my own home. They were increasingly worried and concerned by the lack of tears and emotional displays, even weeks after the funeral. I was unable to express to them the utter blackness and despair that consumed me, such that nothing touched me, not even the thought of being alone.
I tried to quit my job, however, my boss refused to accept my letter of resignation; he placed me on an extended leave of absence instead. The extended family concluded that I wanted to quit because of the ample insurance payout and Kai’s 401K that could potentially support me for the rest of my live if I chose to. My mother and brothers, however, suspected the real reason, which was that I simply no longer cared what happened to me or my life and that I only wanted to spend my time waiting until I could see Micah and Kai again. They let me return to my house, but kept up regular visits, each alternating casual drop-bys several days a week.
Weeks turned in to months and as concerned as I knew them to be, not even they could continue to devote all of their time to me. They each had their own families, employers and interests and were gradually forced to resume their previously established patterns. Daily visits became daily phone calls, which eventually became weekly and then occasional visits. I was alone.
I listened to the water drizzling through the trees outside on the deck in back of our house. I could almost hear the rain water as it was greedily consumed by the thirsty earth this late summer afternoon. I relished the brief respite from despair the rain always brought to me. Over the past few months, this has been the only time I could freely think about Kai and Micah without feeling overwhelmed and doubling over in pain.
Out here in the rain, with no one around, for those brief, stingy moments, I could remember the love and joy that surrounded and radiated from this house. I catch gentle echoes of Micah’s giggles and laughter as he and his dad tossed a football at each other in the back yard. I can feel Kai’s strong arms gathering me into him as we stand together on the deck watching Micah stubbornly struggle with a pup tent because refused either of our assistance. I can feel the scratchy brush of Kai’s jaw as it caressed mine when he leaned in close to tease that our son was “stubborn, just like you.” If I concentrate hard enough, the light summer breeze carries a tantalizing whiff of Kai’s shaving lotion given to him during our first Christmas together. I can feel my lips curve into a smile as I think about the dozens of other fragrances I had purchased for him over the years. But aside from an initial obligatory wearing, he routinely returned to this fragrance. We had only been dating about 6 months at this Christmas. And every year since, he would remind me that this would always be his favorite fragrance because “this was the moment that I knew that I would love you always.”
I had been sitting on the deck for a couple hours, long after the rain shower had ceased, so completely caught up in my memories. I suddenly caught a whisp of movement out of the corner of my eye. I scanned the area trying to detect further movement, near the gazebo, I think, I mused out loud, which stood towards the outskirts of their property. I looked closely for a couple minutes but there was no further movement. I turned away, about to dismiss the entire incident when. . . yes. . .there! Yes, someone was there.
I was too far away to identify the person or persons and while I briefly gave thought to chasing after them, I was suddenly unable to work up enough interest and felt overwhelmed by fatigue. I started towards the patio doors.
Besides, whoever it was would be long gone before I could even reach the gazebo, I tell myself. I figure it was probably couple of kids probably playing hide and seek. Maybe I'll go out and check the gazebo later for damage.
I had all but forgotten the odd incident by the time I woke up later that day. This was typical for me these days. I continued to find it difficult to work up much interest in anything anymore. I cooked only to sustain my body, I had lost any pleasure I used to have in eating. I limited my movements in the big house to the downstairs guest bedroom, kitchen and living areas. The one or two times I ventured into Micah’s room, I felt such an overwhelming sadness, that I had not been able to muster the courage to return. The thought of sleeping in the master bedroom without Kai was unbearable.
The past couple months though, I have made more of an effort to be more sociable. Not so much out of any desire to be around people, but because I figure I needed to do something to allay my family’s growing concerns that I was losing my mind! Their startled and frightened expressions, as they slowly took in the obvious weight loss and the complete lack of attention to detail displayed in my dress and grooming finally penetrated my consciousness. It just wouldn’t do for them to start thinking about hospitals or sanitariums. It was only after Carolyn and Charmane gave up all attempts at discretion and started to openly discuss various psychologists or psychotherapists in the area that I realized I had to make some changes. Or at least, I needed to give the appearance of change.
I was sensible enough to know that I needed to appease their fears, to reassure them that I was not a candidate for an asylum and so I played the game. I started showing up like clock work for Sunday afternoon family dinners at my mama’s house and made certain that everyone observed that I sampled every dish on the overworked dining table. I started taking calls again at the house instead of allowing them to go to voicemail but kept a careful eye on the clock so that I could limit the duration of the calls otherwise, someone would start fussing about my retreat and the need to be more active.
I drew the line, however, at returning to our weekly church services. I found that there was a limit even to my hypocrisy. I knew God did not exist, or if He did, He no longer visited my neighborhood, so I thought it only fair that I stay out of His. I was insulated from the cares and concerns of most of my family, but I found that nothing protected me from my mother’s suffering and distress at my decision not to return to church. Nonetheless, I found that I didn’t have the words to comfort her which only made the pain worse for both of us.
The following Monday, the sun rose early and brightly. The early morning air had the clean crisp feeling that typically follows a cleansing rain. The ground was still saturated and one had just a hint of the humidity that would come as the sun reached higher into the sky.
I was surprised to find it nearly 11 o’clock when I finally arose that morning. More often than not, I have trouble falling asleep or if I fall asleep ok, I’m awakened throughout the night by nightmares. It seemed that for once, at least, I had been given a pass to sleep soundlessly. As was my habit, I went into the kitchen and made coffee after carelessly throwing on an old pair of sweats. The oppressive silence of the house had it’s usual effect and I started to feel claustrophobic. Just as I reached the patio doors to go outside, I thought I heard the sound of a child’s laughter. My heart skipped a beat as I briefly considered the possibility of the laughter belonging to my son, and then just as quickly dismissed it. As much as it would be a relief to become as crazy as some of my family believed me to be, I knew I was completely sane.
I paused at the door, straining to hear the sounds again. Yes, I can hear it clearly now. The childish laughter came from the gazebo. Yesterday’s incident came back to me and I wondered it this could be the same visitor. It was difficult to make out anything clearly in that area due to the covering of trees and shrubbery, but I was fairly certain that I could see someone moving in the gazebo.
I slipped my feet in the first pair of shoes I found, a discarded pair of rubber boots belonging to Kai. I sloshed and stumbled my way across the lawn in the oversized shoes. The closer I got, I could clearly hear a child’s voice as she alternately talked and giggled to some unknown other. Just before I reached the steps, I could hear the sudden sound of movement and running footsteps. I reached the entrance in time to see a little girl, perhaps 5 or 6 in age, running away down the path leading to the property line of my next neighbor. She was wearing a white eyelet sundress and did not appear to be wearing shoes. She neither looked back, slowed down nor responded in anyway as I called after her.
Finally, the service was over, the last dinners were consumed and for most, this period of grief and mourning was beginning to past; family and friends to return to their own lives and routine. It took several weeks and a few mild squirmishes with Aaron, but I finally convinced my family of my need to return my own home. They were increasingly worried and concerned by the lack of tears and emotional displays, even weeks after the funeral. I was unable to express to them the utter blackness and despair that consumed me, such that nothing touched me, not even the thought of being alone.
I tried to quit my job, however, my boss refused to accept my letter of resignation; he placed me on an extended leave of absence instead. The extended family concluded that I wanted to quit because of the ample insurance payout and Kai’s 401K that could potentially support me for the rest of my live if I chose to. My mother and brothers, however, suspected the real reason, which was that I simply no longer cared what happened to me or my life and that I only wanted to spend my time waiting until I could see Micah and Kai again. They let me return to my house, but kept up regular visits, each alternating casual drop-bys several days a week.
Weeks turned in to months and as concerned as I knew them to be, not even they could continue to devote all of their time to me. They each had their own families, employers and interests and were gradually forced to resume their previously established patterns. Daily visits became daily phone calls, which eventually became weekly and then occasional visits. I was alone.
I listened to the water drizzling through the trees outside on the deck in back of our house. I could almost hear the rain water as it was greedily consumed by the thirsty earth this late summer afternoon. I relished the brief respite from despair the rain always brought to me. Over the past few months, this has been the only time I could freely think about Kai and Micah without feeling overwhelmed and doubling over in pain.
Out here in the rain, with no one around, for those brief, stingy moments, I could remember the love and joy that surrounded and radiated from this house. I catch gentle echoes of Micah’s giggles and laughter as he and his dad tossed a football at each other in the back yard. I can feel Kai’s strong arms gathering me into him as we stand together on the deck watching Micah stubbornly struggle with a pup tent because refused either of our assistance. I can feel the scratchy brush of Kai’s jaw as it caressed mine when he leaned in close to tease that our son was “stubborn, just like you.” If I concentrate hard enough, the light summer breeze carries a tantalizing whiff of Kai’s shaving lotion given to him during our first Christmas together. I can feel my lips curve into a smile as I think about the dozens of other fragrances I had purchased for him over the years. But aside from an initial obligatory wearing, he routinely returned to this fragrance. We had only been dating about 6 months at this Christmas. And every year since, he would remind me that this would always be his favorite fragrance because “this was the moment that I knew that I would love you always.”
I had been sitting on the deck for a couple hours, long after the rain shower had ceased, so completely caught up in my memories. I suddenly caught a whisp of movement out of the corner of my eye. I scanned the area trying to detect further movement, near the gazebo, I think, I mused out loud, which stood towards the outskirts of their property. I looked closely for a couple minutes but there was no further movement. I turned away, about to dismiss the entire incident when. . . yes. . .there! Yes, someone was there.
I was too far away to identify the person or persons and while I briefly gave thought to chasing after them, I was suddenly unable to work up enough interest and felt overwhelmed by fatigue. I started towards the patio doors.
Besides, whoever it was would be long gone before I could even reach the gazebo, I tell myself. I figure it was probably couple of kids probably playing hide and seek. Maybe I'll go out and check the gazebo later for damage.
I had all but forgotten the odd incident by the time I woke up later that day. This was typical for me these days. I continued to find it difficult to work up much interest in anything anymore. I cooked only to sustain my body, I had lost any pleasure I used to have in eating. I limited my movements in the big house to the downstairs guest bedroom, kitchen and living areas. The one or two times I ventured into Micah’s room, I felt such an overwhelming sadness, that I had not been able to muster the courage to return. The thought of sleeping in the master bedroom without Kai was unbearable.
The past couple months though, I have made more of an effort to be more sociable. Not so much out of any desire to be around people, but because I figure I needed to do something to allay my family’s growing concerns that I was losing my mind! Their startled and frightened expressions, as they slowly took in the obvious weight loss and the complete lack of attention to detail displayed in my dress and grooming finally penetrated my consciousness. It just wouldn’t do for them to start thinking about hospitals or sanitariums. It was only after Carolyn and Charmane gave up all attempts at discretion and started to openly discuss various psychologists or psychotherapists in the area that I realized I had to make some changes. Or at least, I needed to give the appearance of change.
I was sensible enough to know that I needed to appease their fears, to reassure them that I was not a candidate for an asylum and so I played the game. I started showing up like clock work for Sunday afternoon family dinners at my mama’s house and made certain that everyone observed that I sampled every dish on the overworked dining table. I started taking calls again at the house instead of allowing them to go to voicemail but kept a careful eye on the clock so that I could limit the duration of the calls otherwise, someone would start fussing about my retreat and the need to be more active.
I drew the line, however, at returning to our weekly church services. I found that there was a limit even to my hypocrisy. I knew God did not exist, or if He did, He no longer visited my neighborhood, so I thought it only fair that I stay out of His. I was insulated from the cares and concerns of most of my family, but I found that nothing protected me from my mother’s suffering and distress at my decision not to return to church. Nonetheless, I found that I didn’t have the words to comfort her which only made the pain worse for both of us.
The following Monday, the sun rose early and brightly. The early morning air had the clean crisp feeling that typically follows a cleansing rain. The ground was still saturated and one had just a hint of the humidity that would come as the sun reached higher into the sky.
I was surprised to find it nearly 11 o’clock when I finally arose that morning. More often than not, I have trouble falling asleep or if I fall asleep ok, I’m awakened throughout the night by nightmares. It seemed that for once, at least, I had been given a pass to sleep soundlessly. As was my habit, I went into the kitchen and made coffee after carelessly throwing on an old pair of sweats. The oppressive silence of the house had it’s usual effect and I started to feel claustrophobic. Just as I reached the patio doors to go outside, I thought I heard the sound of a child’s laughter. My heart skipped a beat as I briefly considered the possibility of the laughter belonging to my son, and then just as quickly dismissed it. As much as it would be a relief to become as crazy as some of my family believed me to be, I knew I was completely sane.
I paused at the door, straining to hear the sounds again. Yes, I can hear it clearly now. The childish laughter came from the gazebo. Yesterday’s incident came back to me and I wondered it this could be the same visitor. It was difficult to make out anything clearly in that area due to the covering of trees and shrubbery, but I was fairly certain that I could see someone moving in the gazebo.
I slipped my feet in the first pair of shoes I found, a discarded pair of rubber boots belonging to Kai. I sloshed and stumbled my way across the lawn in the oversized shoes. The closer I got, I could clearly hear a child’s voice as she alternately talked and giggled to some unknown other. Just before I reached the steps, I could hear the sudden sound of movement and running footsteps. I reached the entrance in time to see a little girl, perhaps 5 or 6 in age, running away down the path leading to the property line of my next neighbor. She was wearing a white eyelet sundress and did not appear to be wearing shoes. She neither looked back, slowed down nor responded in anyway as I called after her.
Look for the sixth and final installment on Wednesday.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Family Day
We had an awesome Saturday! The UniverSoul Circus was in town this week and for those who've never attended, you are missing out on a really, really, loud, rambunctious, fun good time! This circus includes the typical circus stuff, tigers, elephants, acrobats and clowns; what makes it unique is that all of the performers are people of color from around the world including Beijing China, South America, Cape Town South Africa, Russia, and various parts of the United States. My Heart and Soul and I were debating who had the most fun; then my 75 year old aunt chimed in that she had more fun than either of us!! I seriously think that I did though; the elephants and tigers had me on the edge of my seat. During the tiger performance, the ringmaster kept tweaking the tail of one of the tigers and the big cat started growling and swatted at him. I was sure that he was gonna pounce and eat him! He didn't, but it was fun and horrifying waiting to see if he did. One move by one of the elephants actually had me gasping out loud. And it was so funny watching the elephants bounce (on beat, by the way) to Michael Jackson's "Beat It".
Of course, I could not include any footage of the actual circus, but the following is a snippet of a conversation with my Heart and Soul and auntie. Enjoy!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Celebrating successes
Thursday's 504 meeting at the school went relatively smoothly. I'm a little cautious about an all out celebration because we've been here before and have had the rug pulled out from under us. So, for now, I'll just say that there was no bloodshed, no wounds, no weapons.
One factor that made a significant difference, I believe, was the presence of our therapist. She did most of the talking for us and I was able to sit back and look cute. There was a little ugliness initially as the teacher, principal and guidance counselor read down a list of his prior sins (so unnecessary to me; let's focus on what's happening right now); I had to sit on my hands and pop a mint in my mouth to keep from speaking. However, once our therapist introduced the change in our treatment philosophy about my son's emotional issues (his regulatory system is underdeveloped due to early trauma and neglect), there seemed to be a sigh of release from all present, and a more collaborative spirit settled in the room and we were able to keep the conversation focused on identifying behavioral strategies to be implemented by both the staff and my son, that may help him to be more successful. I had the feeling that everyone walked away feeling optimistic about the next few weeks.
Please keep us in your prayers. My son has been happier, at home at least, for the past several weeks. I've observed him repeating to himself, "it doesn't have to be perfect" and asking for help when he needs it (a huge step for him), especially when we're doing homework. We have continued with our nightly bonding activity; we compromised on the bath and lotion thing. He bathes himself and I put lotion on him and we cuddle, chat and speak love things to each other before saying our prayers and settling in for bed.
I think I also saw an example of his improved ability to regulate himself last night. We had a special guest minister at our church last night. Normally, my son would have been with his buddies in the nursery during worship services, however, the nursery was closed last night due to repairs, which meant that he had to remain with me in the sanctuary. Just as the service started, he looked back and spotted two of his favorite buddies and their mom sitting a couple pews behind us. He asked to go sit with them and I agreed. I kept looking back to make certain he was "all right", but after awhile, I realized that my concerns were unfounded. Ordinarily, this would've been a highly stressful situation (sensory overload) for him due to the crowded mix of people and the loud sounds from the music, choir and minister. At one point, however, I looked back and he was sitting quietly in his chair sharing a book with his buddies and another time, writing in a tablet the other mother had provided for them. Ok, some of you may be saying, "and? your point?" Because, yes, I know, this is entirely age appropriate, age expected behavior for most 7 year olds. This has not however, been the norm for MY 7 year old but I'm prayerful that it will become so.
One factor that made a significant difference, I believe, was the presence of our therapist. She did most of the talking for us and I was able to sit back and look cute. There was a little ugliness initially as the teacher, principal and guidance counselor read down a list of his prior sins (so unnecessary to me; let's focus on what's happening right now); I had to sit on my hands and pop a mint in my mouth to keep from speaking. However, once our therapist introduced the change in our treatment philosophy about my son's emotional issues (his regulatory system is underdeveloped due to early trauma and neglect), there seemed to be a sigh of release from all present, and a more collaborative spirit settled in the room and we were able to keep the conversation focused on identifying behavioral strategies to be implemented by both the staff and my son, that may help him to be more successful. I had the feeling that everyone walked away feeling optimistic about the next few weeks.
Please keep us in your prayers. My son has been happier, at home at least, for the past several weeks. I've observed him repeating to himself, "it doesn't have to be perfect" and asking for help when he needs it (a huge step for him), especially when we're doing homework. We have continued with our nightly bonding activity; we compromised on the bath and lotion thing. He bathes himself and I put lotion on him and we cuddle, chat and speak love things to each other before saying our prayers and settling in for bed.
I think I also saw an example of his improved ability to regulate himself last night. We had a special guest minister at our church last night. Normally, my son would have been with his buddies in the nursery during worship services, however, the nursery was closed last night due to repairs, which meant that he had to remain with me in the sanctuary. Just as the service started, he looked back and spotted two of his favorite buddies and their mom sitting a couple pews behind us. He asked to go sit with them and I agreed. I kept looking back to make certain he was "all right", but after awhile, I realized that my concerns were unfounded. Ordinarily, this would've been a highly stressful situation (sensory overload) for him due to the crowded mix of people and the loud sounds from the music, choir and minister. At one point, however, I looked back and he was sitting quietly in his chair sharing a book with his buddies and another time, writing in a tablet the other mother had provided for them. Ok, some of you may be saying, "and? your point?" Because, yes, I know, this is entirely age appropriate, age expected behavior for most 7 year olds. This has not however, been the norm for MY 7 year old but I'm prayerful that it will become so.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Rainy Days (fourth installment)
You can find the third installment here.
Suddenly, I hated them all.
I hated that doctor for the dispassionate and clinical way he had described the circumstances of my husband’s death. I wanted to physically strangle him for casually predicting the poor chance of survival for my-larger-than-life little boy. I hated my brothers and their wives for the pity and concerned looks they passed my way when they thought I wasn’t looking. I hated that they still had each other and the sickening way they leaned on and supported each other, as if it were them that had lost their life force. I even hated my mother for the whispered conferences that I was not supposed to hear about how they were going to “take care of” me made me want to smash all of their faces into a brick wall.
But most of all, I hated God.
I made it as far as the emergency room entrance before Aaron stepped abruptly in front of me, furiously grabbing my arm.
“You need to get your ass back in that room and talk to them doctors about Kai and Micah. What the hell wrong with you? You act like you’re the only one hurting. We loved that baby too!”
I shook my arm out of his grasp and attempted to walk around him, determined to put as much distance between him and everything else as fast as I could.
“Nandi, come back here!” he was all but screaming at me. I could feel the harsh energy radiating from him in waves.
“No, Aaron, leave her alone,” our mother had reached us and spoken before I had an opportunity to respond, “don’t do this here.” Steven, the oldest, who followed after her, inserted himself between Aaron and me and pulled him back.
My mother, in the meantime, wrapped me in her arms and the anger and urge to leave disappeared as quickly as it came. I allowed myself to relax into her embrace and for a few moments allowed myself to forget about a future filled with emptiness and despair.
From that moment, that tiny woman had everybody hopping with orders she tossed out like a drill sergeant. She ordered Aaron out to get coffee for everyone, to which he reluctantly complied, after throwing one last sullen glance in my direction. She then directed Steven to locate the head nurse and inquire when the hospital would be able to release Kai and Micah to the funeral home. She called everyone and I mean every one of our extended family members to inform them of the news, and then ordered a couple cousins to her house to begin cooking and to make up a bed in her guest bedroom, “’cause, baby, you don’t need to be all alone in that big house right now.” All through this whirlwind of activity, she never once released my hand and remained within physical contact of me at all times. I started to believe that her touch was the only thing keeping me anchored on this side of sanity. Just when I thought I could not stand one more second of the vice-like pressure steadily growing in my skull, she squeezed my hands and made it all better.
Funeral arrangements were finalized. Family members arrived from out of town, meals were prepared and shared. And once again, I was consumed by my impotent anger and rage. I managed to offend or reject outright almost everyone on a daily basis. Their concern, pity and grief smothered me; I couldn’t breathe. My only relief came when they left me alone.
Only Aaron refused to coddle me. Every time he showed up, he managed to engage me in some type of conflict. The quiet, sad, funereal atmosphere of my mother’s home was peppered by periods of yelling, cussing and at times, screaming matches between me and my youngest brother. Although, I had to cut Aaron some slack, because even though he was being an ass, he was at least giving me honest emotion. It was almost the only time I felt anywhere close to being alive.
He not only refused to coddle me, but expressed resentment towards anyone else who tried. He insisted that I take an active role in the planning of the wake and funeral. When I balked, he bodily forced me into the car and drove me there himself.
The family got to where they knew better than to mention Kai or Micah to me. More than a few of them had already gotten their feelings hurt. However, Aaron made it a point to call their names at least hourly during his visits; regaling whoever was present with stories about his last golf game with Kai or Micah’s last birthday party. I learned quickly to either ignore him or tune him out. The one or two times I tried leaving the room, he followed and initiated another of our frequent arguments.
One afternoon prior to the funeral, my mother’s younger brother came by to visit along with his children and various other family members. After abruptly leaving the living room, I could hear bits and pieces of the heated discussion that erupted following my departure. My uncle Henry had made the mistake of suggesting that it was God’s will for Kai to die the way he did to make up for all of the trouble he had caused when he was younger. My uncle Henry was blustering now, but before I left the room after giving him a piece of my mind, he was doing his best not to cry.
Aaron stormed in the bedroom right behind me, not bothering to knock as usual.
“Dude, I ain’t in the mood right now,” I warned, before he could say the first word.
For once, he didn’t make a smartass remark or chastise me for offending yet another family member. Instead, he walked over to the bed, sat down closely beside me, and just breathed with me. After a few moments, he lovingly took my hand and rubbed the inside of my wrist as we sat there for what seemed like hours; neither looking at nor speaking to each other. After awhile, I looked over at him and was surprised to see his face bathed in tears. When he realized I was watching, he sheepishly turned his head. He sniffed and coughed a few times and wiped ineffectively at his face. He stood up then and tugged his clothes needlessly into place.
“I sent Uncle Henry home,” he announced and with an awkward pat on my shoulder and one final look at me, left the room.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Theraplay: Treatment phase
This is a picture drawn by my son Monday night during our therapy session. He had had a rough day at school; had apparently refused to complete a trial spelling test, according to his teacher.
According to him, he became frustrated because he was unable to spell the words correctly. Unlike some children, he will not do something if he is not fully confident that he can do it 'perfectly.' The picture represents his broken heart and his tears as he worried how I would respond to the results of his test.
I felt like crap when I saw this drawing because I took the word of his teacher before I fully considered how he might have interpreted these events. I had fussed at him from the time I picked him up to the entire way to our session. Of course, my response confirmed his fears, right? Thank goodness we had our session tonight before more damage could be done. After we talked about his emotional and behavioral response, we did more touching and holding and reassuring for the remainder of the session. In fact he got so relaxed that he fell asleep in my arms, cuddled against me just like he did as a baby.
We are scheduled for an IEP meeting this Thursday at his school. Our therapist has agreed to attend to advocate for us, which is a very good thing. I spoke with his teacher Monday evening after we returned from the session and tried to offer an explanation for the behavior and tips to avoid future interactions and she pretty much blew me off. "I just wanted to tell you what happened today. He was really out of control today." This encounter activated my fear response, which manifests as anger, because of how easy it is for me to fall into their interpreation of his behavior. In their worldview, the problem lies entirely with my son. In the real world, it is the result of his interaction with that very much so flawed system. She didn't want to hear about how to help him avoid a repeat of today because she does not want to do anything to change her behavior. She just wants me to fix him. This is pretty typical of my encounters with his school staff; I am so glad that I won't have to speak for myself during this meeting. I'm also hoping I won't have to punch somebody in the throat. Y'all, please pray for me!!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Rainy Days (third installment)
You can find the second installment here.And in an equally emotionless tone, described the likely mortal injuries to my 6 year old child. The doctor allowed me a few minutes with Micah before the surgery. It was all I could do to walk into the ICU area. “Not my baby.” He was unconscious and looked like a used up rag doll; he was so tiny in that bed. The sight of the mixed collection of wires and machines attached to him, used to extend and maintain his life, was obscene to me. I needed him to wake up. I needed him to know that his mommie was here and that I would make all of his hurts go away, just as I have always done. I needed him to give me his brilliant smile and I needed him to ask me when he could go home. I needed these things like I needed my next breath.
I walked over to the bed, my mother followed closely behind me.
“Mama, I need to be alone with him,”
“But honey,” she started to protest. I interrupted before she could continue.
“I need to be with my baby, mama. I need to be alone with my ba” I broke off as my voice broke as a cry threatened to emerge. She hesitated, took in my determination and then complied.
I slowly approached the bed, afraid to disturb him, a completely ridiculous idea, since the doctor assured me he was in a coma and could not be disturbed by an earthquake. I took his hand in mine and started to rub gently. He was so cold! I looked for an extra blanket and not finding one, I climbed in bed with him, careful to avoid pulling loose any of the offensive wires.
I lay there cuddling and warming my baby as random thoughts of him passed across my mind. I smiled at the memory of his birth and watching his daddy pass out cold, right there in the delivery room at the sight of Micah’s head crowning at the entrance of the birth canal. I remembered the extensive, and at times, heated debates about what we would call him. Kai was thinking about Deontarious or some other such nonsense, while I wanted something simple and classy like Jared or Richard. However, all debate ceased the moment we discovered the meaning of the name Micah, which is “he who is like God.” I also remembered the little tug at my heart at the memory of the first time Micah smiled at me; a real smile, not just a grimace as he passed gas.
“How old were you then?” I mused, looking down at him and kissing the wooly softness of his head, “two, three months?” That memory led to the time when Micah finally spoke his first word and the word was “Daddy.”
“I was doing some serious hatin’ that day,” I spoke again to my son, “all the stuff I’d done for you and you call his name first. What’s up with that?” I chuckled softly and then broke off abruptly as more memories surfaced.
“Oh Kai,” suddenly feeling his presence right there in the room with them. “No baby, please, I can’t think about you right now, I just can’t.”
“Mommie?”
I looked down to see Micah stirring, his eyes unfocused, but calling for me.
“Oh, sweetie I’m right here.” I hugged him fiercely, thanking God with every part of my being that he was conscious and alive.
“Mommie, where’s daddy?”
“Baby, daddy’s not here right now.”
“Yes he is, mommie, there he is. Hey daddy!” he called out weakly, still not looking at me, “See mommie, he’s here.” I followed his unfocused gaze to an empty corner of the room.
I went icy all over. I pulled him closer to me and fought back my raising panic.
“Oh, please God, please God, noooooo.”
“I love you mommie.”
“Oh, I love you too baby, my most precious baby. God, please don’t take him from me!” I implored desperately.
“It’s gone be alright, mommie. Daddy and I always take care of you.”
I continued to lay there, arms wrapped securely around my son and prayed to a distant God for mercy. After awhile, I became aware of someone touching me and trying to pull me from the bed.
“No, leave me alone. I’m not going anywhere.” I said as I attempted to shake myself free. “He’s cold and he needs me to keep him warm. I’m not going ANYWHERE!”
“Nandi, you’ve got to let him go, baby,” my mother pleaded.
“No,” I screamed, suddenly furious. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see he needs me?”
I looked at her then and watched the silent tears streak down her face, as she stood in front of me, helplessly. I slowly took in the sight of my brothers and sisters-in-law behind her, openly weeping and grieving. The sound of a high pitched alarm and the nurse who worked silently to turn off the equipment, brought the reality of the hospital room back to my remembrance. Finally, I looked down at my son.
He was so still.
He could have been sleeping except that I was aware that I could no longer feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine. His face was already taking on that waxiness that comes when a person’s life force is no longer behind it. I pressed my lips to his forehead; I gently extricated myself from around him, rested his head back on the pillow and arranged the covers over around his body. I took one last look at all that was pure and good in my world, and without a word, I walked out of the room.
Love List Continued
76. The hair on his arms, chest and legs is sexy. 77. He allows me to be in a foul mood and gives me time to recover on my own. He does not automatically assume that it has anything to do with him.
78. He has dreams and freely shares them with me.
79. He is loyal to me and our family. He does not allow anyone outside of us to talk about or demean us in his presence.
80. He does the dishes and cleans the bathroom just because he knows that I hate doing it.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Rainy Days (second installment)
I know I indicated that I would update this story weekly, but it is developing more quickly than I anticipated; this young woman has a story to tell and is not inclined to wait on my time frame. You can find the first installment here.
Photo by Kate Kerrigan (www.katekerrigan.net)
Rainy Days
One year earlier.
“Hello?” I answered, annoyance evident all through my voice, as I struggled to hold the phone with my left shoulder while trying to control 3,000 pounds of metal rolling down the interstate at 75 mph., “yeah, who is it?”
The silence on the other end was palpable.
“Who is this?!” I demanded, just seconds from pushing the “END’ button on my cell phone.
“Nandi? Where you at, baby?” a soft, concerned voice inquired.
“Mama? Hey, uhmm, can I call you back? I’m on the interstate right now and traffic is heavy. I should be home in about 15 minutes. I’ll call you then, ok?”
“Nandi, I need you to meet me here at the hospital,” my mother insisted.
“Wh. . . hospital? Are you all right? What’s wrong?” I demanded, focusing in on her for the first time.
“Baby, I’m fine, but I need you to come on up here to the Baptist Hospital”
“But, mama,” I began my protest, but she continued speaking as if I had not interrupted,
“I’ll wait for you at the Emergency Room entrance.”
“Mama, what’s going on?!” I demanded a straight answer, panic was starting to settle somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
“Baby, I’m not going to get into this over the phone. You just get on up here and I’ll explain everything then.” The connection between us ended.
I tossed the phone carelessly back into my purse and then searched for the nearest exit that would allow me to re-route my trip towards the hospital. As I did so, I took a quick, mental inventory of my extended family members and wondered which one of them had fallen sick or been in an accident. My breathing quickened when I realized that this would not get me the answers I needed and I concentrated on reaching my destination quickly and safely.
Upon reaching the hospital, I briefly searched for a parking space and then decided to take a chance on a ticket or tow by parking near the emergency room entrance. The tapping of my heels kept time with my breathing, while I anxiously searched for the face of my mother. I finally caught sight of her sitting stooped over in one of the bank of chairs near the nurse’s station. As I got closer, I realized that she was praying. Dread consumed me.
“Mama, what’s going on now? I’m here. Who’s hurt?” Before she could speak, my two brothers and their wives came around the corner. Both men had their arms wrapped securely around their wives.
“Ok, y’all are scaring me! What is going ON??!! Who’s hurt?”
“Come on, baby, sit down,” she began,
“No, mama, just tell me, PLEASE.” I was afraid that I already knew.
She took my hands and pulled me to the nearest chair. “Baby, there’s been an accident. Kai’s car was blindsided by an 18 wheeler this afternoon. They tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your phone. They called me instead as the next of kin.” Her eyes began to leak as she looked imploringly into mine,
“Baby, Kai’s gone.”
“No, mama, you are mistaken. Y’all are making a mistake. I spoke to my husband not three hours ago, things were fine. He was gonna pick up Micah this afternoon since I had a late meeting . . .” I paused when my sister in law, Carolyn broke off a choked cry and turned her face into my brother’s shoulder.
“Nandi,” my mother drew my attention back to her, “listen to me. There has been no mistake. I identified him myself. But baby, there is more. . .”
“Mama, stop now,” I interrupted coldly, “I told you Kai is fine. He and Micah probably stopped off to get some ice cream or something. I keep telling that man that it ruins Micah’s appetite for dinner, but does he listen to me? Of course not!” I scoffed of her concerned looks.
“Baby, I need you to look at me and I need you to hear me,” she said, much more sternly, “Kai was killed this afternoon in a car accident. He had Micah with him. . .”
“Mama, stop,” I interrupted, furious with her. Why was she trying to hurt me with these ridiculous lies?
“Micah was badly hurt and they are prepping him for surgery,” she continued, brutally. “He’s alive baby, but they’re not giving us any hope. I need you to come with me now to give the doctor permission to begin surgery.”
I looked at her then and could not think of a word to say to her. Nothing she’d just said was true, of course, but I couldn’t figure out why she would get me down here this way. I was so cold, deep down. It didn’t even help to rub my hands up and down my arms; this cold was bone deep. It defied the 90 degree heat outside.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing emerged, not even air. My mother stood up and pulled me gently to my feet. She took my left arm, while my brother, Aaron took firm hold of my right. Together they led me to the nurse’s station. We were directed to the office of the surgeon who, in a matter of fact tone, informed me of the death of my husband, my life partner for the past 10 years, my friend. My love.
“Hello?” I answered, annoyance evident all through my voice, as I struggled to hold the phone with my left shoulder while trying to control 3,000 pounds of metal rolling down the interstate at 75 mph., “yeah, who is it?”
The silence on the other end was palpable.
“Who is this?!” I demanded, just seconds from pushing the “END’ button on my cell phone.
“Nandi? Where you at, baby?” a soft, concerned voice inquired.
“Mama? Hey, uhmm, can I call you back? I’m on the interstate right now and traffic is heavy. I should be home in about 15 minutes. I’ll call you then, ok?”
“Nandi, I need you to meet me here at the hospital,” my mother insisted.
“Wh. . . hospital? Are you all right? What’s wrong?” I demanded, focusing in on her for the first time.
“Baby, I’m fine, but I need you to come on up here to the Baptist Hospital”
“But, mama,” I began my protest, but she continued speaking as if I had not interrupted,
“I’ll wait for you at the Emergency Room entrance.”
“Mama, what’s going on?!” I demanded a straight answer, panic was starting to settle somewhere in the pit of my stomach.
“Baby, I’m not going to get into this over the phone. You just get on up here and I’ll explain everything then.” The connection between us ended.
I tossed the phone carelessly back into my purse and then searched for the nearest exit that would allow me to re-route my trip towards the hospital. As I did so, I took a quick, mental inventory of my extended family members and wondered which one of them had fallen sick or been in an accident. My breathing quickened when I realized that this would not get me the answers I needed and I concentrated on reaching my destination quickly and safely.
Upon reaching the hospital, I briefly searched for a parking space and then decided to take a chance on a ticket or tow by parking near the emergency room entrance. The tapping of my heels kept time with my breathing, while I anxiously searched for the face of my mother. I finally caught sight of her sitting stooped over in one of the bank of chairs near the nurse’s station. As I got closer, I realized that she was praying. Dread consumed me.
“Mama, what’s going on now? I’m here. Who’s hurt?” Before she could speak, my two brothers and their wives came around the corner. Both men had their arms wrapped securely around their wives.
“Ok, y’all are scaring me! What is going ON??!! Who’s hurt?”
“Come on, baby, sit down,” she began,
“No, mama, just tell me, PLEASE.” I was afraid that I already knew.
She took my hands and pulled me to the nearest chair. “Baby, there’s been an accident. Kai’s car was blindsided by an 18 wheeler this afternoon. They tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your phone. They called me instead as the next of kin.” Her eyes began to leak as she looked imploringly into mine,
“Baby, Kai’s gone.”
“No, mama, you are mistaken. Y’all are making a mistake. I spoke to my husband not three hours ago, things were fine. He was gonna pick up Micah this afternoon since I had a late meeting . . .” I paused when my sister in law, Carolyn broke off a choked cry and turned her face into my brother’s shoulder.
“Nandi,” my mother drew my attention back to her, “listen to me. There has been no mistake. I identified him myself. But baby, there is more. . .”
“Mama, stop now,” I interrupted coldly, “I told you Kai is fine. He and Micah probably stopped off to get some ice cream or something. I keep telling that man that it ruins Micah’s appetite for dinner, but does he listen to me? Of course not!” I scoffed of her concerned looks.
“Baby, I need you to look at me and I need you to hear me,” she said, much more sternly, “Kai was killed this afternoon in a car accident. He had Micah with him. . .”
“Mama, stop,” I interrupted, furious with her. Why was she trying to hurt me with these ridiculous lies?
“Micah was badly hurt and they are prepping him for surgery,” she continued, brutally. “He’s alive baby, but they’re not giving us any hope. I need you to come with me now to give the doctor permission to begin surgery.”
I looked at her then and could not think of a word to say to her. Nothing she’d just said was true, of course, but I couldn’t figure out why she would get me down here this way. I was so cold, deep down. It didn’t even help to rub my hands up and down my arms; this cold was bone deep. It defied the 90 degree heat outside.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing emerged, not even air. My mother stood up and pulled me gently to my feet. She took my left arm, while my brother, Aaron took firm hold of my right. Together they led me to the nurse’s station. We were directed to the office of the surgeon who, in a matter of fact tone, informed me of the death of my husband, my life partner for the past 10 years, my friend. My love.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I'm pulling out my beam
Being a parent is the most rewarding, satisfying decision I have ever made. But it is a difficult job. Being the parent of a special needs child makes my job even more challenging. Add in the fact that I am a mental health therapist who works with special needs children and you potentially have a recipe for disaster.
Let me tell you why. Somehow or other I think I had it in my mind that raising my special needs child would be a breeze for me, because I have successfully assisted countless other parents to effect positive change in the lives of their children. One of the things that makes an effective therapist is one who can separate from his/her own emotions, judgments, perceptions, and reflect back only to their client whatever it is that person needs to make a change. When I work with my clients, I am emotionally invested only to the extent that I am with that person IN THAT MOMENT. I rarely take my client's burdens home with me once a session has ended. If I did, there would be no way I could have survived 20 years in this business.
However, as a parent, I eat, sleep and breathe my son's burdens. I can't step outside myself and be objective in the way I can with people I work with professionally. And so, I make the same mistakes I see others do daily in my practice. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place. Looking back, I can see where I have tried to remain logical and objective, when what my child really needed from me was emotional nurturing and reassurance. I think it took me so long to seek another professional's help because I was stuck in the belief that given enough time, I could do for my child whatever needed to be done.
That was an unrealistic expectation and I am grateful to have come to this conclusion before more time has passed. I, indeed we, are already reaping the benefits of seeing ourselves reflected through the filter of a professional and I expect things to continue to improve. Not only for our family, but I feel an affinity for my clients that I may not have felt before. I have a better sense of how difficult the change process is and how hard it is to change ingrained, self-defeating habits.
How can you say to your brother, 'Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,' when you don't see the beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! First remove the beam from your own eye, and then you'll see clearly enough to remove the speck from your brother's eye." Luke 6:22.
Let me tell you why. Somehow or other I think I had it in my mind that raising my special needs child would be a breeze for me, because I have successfully assisted countless other parents to effect positive change in the lives of their children. One of the things that makes an effective therapist is one who can separate from his/her own emotions, judgments, perceptions, and reflect back only to their client whatever it is that person needs to make a change. When I work with my clients, I am emotionally invested only to the extent that I am with that person IN THAT MOMENT. I rarely take my client's burdens home with me once a session has ended. If I did, there would be no way I could have survived 20 years in this business.
However, as a parent, I eat, sleep and breathe my son's burdens. I can't step outside myself and be objective in the way I can with people I work with professionally. And so, I make the same mistakes I see others do daily in my practice. I say the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place. Looking back, I can see where I have tried to remain logical and objective, when what my child really needed from me was emotional nurturing and reassurance. I think it took me so long to seek another professional's help because I was stuck in the belief that given enough time, I could do for my child whatever needed to be done.
That was an unrealistic expectation and I am grateful to have come to this conclusion before more time has passed. I, indeed we, are already reaping the benefits of seeing ourselves reflected through the filter of a professional and I expect things to continue to improve. Not only for our family, but I feel an affinity for my clients that I may not have felt before. I have a better sense of how difficult the change process is and how hard it is to change ingrained, self-defeating habits.
How can you say to your brother, 'Brother, let me take the speck out of your eye,' when you don't see the beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! First remove the beam from your own eye, and then you'll see clearly enough to remove the speck from your brother's eye." Luke 6:22.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Progress
I have followed our therapist's suggestions all week. Each evening, I have given him a bath and then lotioned him while talking about whatever he wanted that day. Mostly, he just lay there and enjoyed it in silence, with a big grin on his face. Last night, though he proclaimed,
"I think I'm ready to give my own self my own bath, mommie. I can do it by myself."
"Well, I know baby, but I really enjoy this time with you." I responded. He paused for a minute and then said,
"Well, I like it too, but I really can do this on my own." What do you say to that? I compromised.
"Ok, you can give your ownself a bath again, and I'll just continue to put the lotion on. How's that?" He agreed.
Then this morning, as we're doing the lotion routine, he declares that he wants to do this again on his own too! Me, wanting to follow instructions at least until we meet with our therapist again next week replied,
"But I'm really enjoying this. I like loving on you and putting lotion on you and sharing this time with you." He chewed on that a moment and then responded,
"Well, I like it too. How bout this, you can continue to love and lotion on me everyday except Saturday, and then on Saturday, I'll do it myself?"
Of course I agreed with this compromise, but it got me thinking. This is either a display of his age appropriate need for independence or the intimacy is making him uncomfortable and he is attempting a retreat. The answer is likely a combination of both. *le sigh*. I'm going to press through with our plan and discuss further in our next session.
This is the 4th day of the first week of school and there have been no complaints from his teacher or school staff. Yaaaaayyyy!!! I spoke with the teacher this morning, who told me that he was mostly compliant. At times during the day, he separates from the group and "does his own thing,"; she allows him this space but encourages him to return when he's ready, which he eventually does. I was about to get into a discussion about how this behavior represents a fear response and he is likely trying to self-regulate when he steps away, but then I thought, "why bother?" I've been here before. Instead, I walked downstairs to the principal's office and requested that she schedule an IEP meeting ASAP. The benefit of this action is to involve the school psychologists, as well as allow them to meet with our therapist, who has agreed to get involved with him at school and supporting the teacher in ways to help him stay regulated in the classroom.
So, it looks like we have one successful week under our belts. I am praying for more.
"I think I'm ready to give my own self my own bath, mommie. I can do it by myself."
"Well, I know baby, but I really enjoy this time with you." I responded. He paused for a minute and then said,
"Well, I like it too, but I really can do this on my own." What do you say to that? I compromised.
"Ok, you can give your ownself a bath again, and I'll just continue to put the lotion on. How's that?" He agreed.
Then this morning, as we're doing the lotion routine, he declares that he wants to do this again on his own too! Me, wanting to follow instructions at least until we meet with our therapist again next week replied,
"But I'm really enjoying this. I like loving on you and putting lotion on you and sharing this time with you." He chewed on that a moment and then responded,
"Well, I like it too. How bout this, you can continue to love and lotion on me everyday except Saturday, and then on Saturday, I'll do it myself?"
Of course I agreed with this compromise, but it got me thinking. This is either a display of his age appropriate need for independence or the intimacy is making him uncomfortable and he is attempting a retreat. The answer is likely a combination of both. *le sigh*. I'm going to press through with our plan and discuss further in our next session.
This is the 4th day of the first week of school and there have been no complaints from his teacher or school staff. Yaaaaayyyy!!! I spoke with the teacher this morning, who told me that he was mostly compliant. At times during the day, he separates from the group and "does his own thing,"; she allows him this space but encourages him to return when he's ready, which he eventually does. I was about to get into a discussion about how this behavior represents a fear response and he is likely trying to self-regulate when he steps away, but then I thought, "why bother?" I've been here before. Instead, I walked downstairs to the principal's office and requested that she schedule an IEP meeting ASAP. The benefit of this action is to involve the school psychologists, as well as allow them to meet with our therapist, who has agreed to get involved with him at school and supporting the teacher in ways to help him stay regulated in the classroom.
So, it looks like we have one successful week under our belts. I am praying for more.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Rainy Days
Now that the writing bug has bitten me again, I am determined not to lose my momentum. I am currently working on my next short story called, "Rainy Days" that I would like to introduce here. This is a work in progress, even I don't quite know how it will evolve or end YET; at this point, I'm just trying to get it OUT. For my own accountability, I plan to present the next installment of the story each Wednesday afternoon until the story is complete. Feel free to comment and/or critique (keep it constructive, please). This is a draft, so parts of it may not be polished; I plan to pretty it up later. Please enjoy!
Rainy Days
I love rainy days!
I know that makes me a little different from most folk. Rain is typically perceived as bringing trouble or at least, inconvenience. Things like traffic jams, unnecessary accidents, and short tempers are associated with rain. The thought of rain is confronted with dread. Sistas worry about their hair, while the bruhs get mad because they just cleaned up their ride. I can hear Ms. Peebles despairing of it in “I Can’t Stand the Rain.” The Carpenters complained about it in,” Rainy Days and Mondays,” and you can still hear Johnny Nash exhaling in “I Can See Clearly Now.” They represent the general consensus that rainy days suck. Not me.
Rain. . . it works for me.
Rainy days remind me of all that is good and clean. Aside from the more obvious benefits of helping things to grow, putting out fires, and curing drought, rain replenishes me. The water offers endless opportunities for renewal and growth. On rainy days I can dream. I can make up my own ending to the story of my life.
On rainy days, I remember my purpose. I remember what love is. I remember the dreams and plans we made for our life and our future. Some of our best sex happened on rainy Saturday mornings. The rain created the sweetest intimacy and intense sexual energy. All petty arguments, annoying habits, outside pressures, bills; they were all washed away by the love found in that cocooned intimacy and space brought on by rainy days.
Rainy days allow me to remember the beauty of my baby boy's eyes and his heartbreaking smile. They bring gentle echoes of his laughter and his joy as he demonstrated his newest acquired skill. On rainy days, I allow myself to briefly recall his scent that was a mixture of the summer sun, chocolate, and his dog Chuckie.
Oh yeah, on rainy days, I remember all of that.
It is on sunny days, that the pain of loss returns. Those are the time that I remember that I now sleep alone and it is on sunny days, that I remember that I will never see my little boy’s smile or hold him against my body ever again.
Thought of the Day
Three things in life that, once gone, never come back -
|
|
|
|
| Opportunity |
|
Three things in life that are most valuable -
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Three things in life that are never certain -
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Three things that make a man/woman -
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Three things in life that can destroy a man/woman -
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Three things in life that, once lost, hard to build-up -
|
|
|
| |
|
|
P.-----pray
U.----until
S.----something
H.----happens
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
