Is there anything more heavenly than springtime in Texas?  I can't get enough of dirt roads and highways lined with bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush.  I love wandering the woods near our house; the creekbeds have mounds of honeysuckle that grow there, and we all know that's a Texas girl's favorite treat.

I spent the first half of the day outside today, plucking weeds and digging a new flowerbed.  I didn't think I would have time to do that this year, but I made a square in the yard and amended the soil with some richer stuff.  Hopefully I'll have a variety of zinnias popping up there in a few days.

My grandmother always had a huge garden.  I miss it.  I don't know how she did it, because there was a giant pecan tree growing in the middle of it, but she managed to do onions, tomatoes and bell peppers.  She grew okra that was almost six feet tall and she had grapes that she made jelly from every year.  I miss her so much...I would love her advice but I guess I'm doing okay.

I don't understand people who don't go outside.  I was thinking about this the other day.  I can't sit in the house, in front of the tv.  I can't lay on the couch while the sun is shining.  I have to go out there.  There's stuff to see.  There are things to find.  The only time I can be that couch potato is if it's raining outside or it's dark.  Little Abby and I just finished a mini-documentary on Borneo, and now I want to go.

I'll add it to the list.

Today I went to visit my son and we had the best visit ever.  He was happy; he sat next to me or in my lap and we talked for almost an hour.

I have to say by far that this experience has been the hardest thing I've ever been through in my life.  There have been many other heartbreaking times, and perhaps it's only because the pain of those experiences has faded, but anything that involves your child generally takes the cake.  I would rather go through my parent's divorce all over again than deal with this.  Or have my first child all over again, which literally almost killed me.  Anything but this.  But here we are.

I am learning, however, through this situation, to be so grateful.  Today is Easter Sunday.  I am so thankful for my Savior, and for His atonement.  I'm thankful for a Heavenly Father who loved us all so much that He could let go of His only begotten son so He could do what needed to be done in order for us to return to Him. I really couldn't deal with this situation without Him.  Prayer is the rock I lean on.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Stay away from people who make you feel like you are hard to love.

The end.

I'm not sure what to write here tonight.  What I can do is write about Logan every night, but doing so won't change anything.  I miss him.  I cry almost every day when things get hard.  But, as someone recently pointed out to me, in a gentle and patient way, he is not gone, and I have three other beautiful children that are depending on me also.

What I did do today was throw myself back into work again.  I've had many days since this whole thing started where I wandered around the house, unable to focus on anything at all.  I would pick things up and put them back down, or pace from room to room, or go to a store and buy random stuff that I didn't need.  People do crazy things when they're trying to cope.

But today I sat down and refocused on the things that are ultimately supposed to get me from point a to point b, which is mainly school, and real estate, and our support group, and my kids...in particular, appointments that they have, or other things that they're involved in.  And it's good to focus on things like that, because it gives me less time to make mistakes.  One of the first rules in business is "don't get emotional".  I think this applies to other areas of life.  Getting emotional is inevitable, but if you do it too much, then you can't make important decisions.  So, I have cried, I will probably cry again sometime, but I am standing up and dealing and that's the only way to go. Woe to whomever stands in my way. 

One thing I did notice today was that there are rocks scattered all over my house.  They are in the bathroom, in the medicine cabinet.  On the kitchen window sill.  On top of the tv cabinet.  On my front porch.  On my nightstand.  And would you believe I thought, I don't have enough "specimens"??  And then I thought, I have a problem.  And then I thought, I don't care. 

I think, though, that it's time to be picky and only keep the very best stuff.  The same applied to the closet I cleaned out today.  I was ruthless.  And when I was done I wondered why I thought I didn't have enough shoes.  Ironic, for someone who would actually prefer to go barefoot in the grass most of the time.

For those of you following this, I do want you to know that Logan is fine.  He is doing well where he is and I have every confidence in the treatment team that is in charge of him. I'm grateful for all of the love and support I've received on a daily basis from friends and family members who keep us in our thoughts and prayers.  I am blessed.

Showing Sympathy in Tough Situations

So, like I mentioned in that previous post, sometimes people just don't know what to say in situations like this.  Instead of making it specific to my situation (Notice I did NOT title this "What to Say When Your Friend/Family Member/ETC's Son is in a Psych Ward", I'm going to say that this little post will give you a good idea of what is appropriate to say or do when someone is going through a difficult time full of emotional upheaval that society in general would view as awkward.  So you might call this "Mrs. Stogner's Guide to Awkward Emotional Situations" or "How to Not Put Your Foot in Your Mouth and Keep It That way" or "Don't be an Ass".  Here we go.

Awkward emotional situations include:  divorces, separations, illnesses that are awkward to talk about (You had a boil removed where??), hospitalizations that are not the norm (Dad's drying out in a substance abuse clinic?  awesome).  Or other situations like these.  These are situations that are talked about in whispers, as if something scandalous had happened.  In reality, what happened is LIFE, but some people are more adept at turning it into something else, like fodder for Sunday afternoon gossip.

Here are some GOOD things that you can say to the person who is going through these kinds of situations:

1.  "Are you okay?" or "How are you holding up?"  It's a safe question.  It shows concern and gives them the opportunity to either spill their guts or keep it to themselves.  Be sure to convey, when you ask this, that you are available to listen if they need you to.  Don't just say, Are you okay? then move on to some other topic.  The key here is "listening".  A foreign concept to some.

2.  "I can't pretend to know what you're going through".  Thank you.  Yes, this is actually a good thing to hear.  You're acknowledging that this situation is beyond your scope of experience while letting the person know that you are prepared to sympathize with them.

3. "Yes, it sucks." For me, at least, it's a relief to hear this.  I hate people who sugarcoat things, or try to make things seem different from what they really are. I am in the situation.  I am aware of how badly it sucks.  If you come to me and try to tell me that "It's okay" or "It's not as bad as you think it is", then I can't relate to you.  I'll also be finally convinced of your idiocy and smile and nod and walk away.

4. "What can I do?" or "Can I do anything?"  This is worded like an offer.  You're not throwing out the pat, "Hey, call me if you need anything."  Guess what?  I am not going to call you.  Someone once said this in a church talk.  I think it was Dieter F. Uchtdorf (I love him), that said, "If someone is drowning you don't sit there and ask if they need help or tell them to call if they need something.  You recognize that they are drowning and you do something." (paraphrased). That something may be a simple thing like listening.  It may be a batch of cookies.  It may be a card with a handwritten message like "Thinking of you".  No one is asking you to cure the situation.  Sometimes just knowing someone cares is enough to lift a person out of the sadness they're feeling, for a while.

And now I'm going to throw out the big, giant DON'T.

Don't EVER, ever, EVER EVER EVER, try to talk the person out of their feelings, tell them that they shouldn't be feeling that way, tell them that their feelings are wrong, tell them that they should have done x, y, z, tell them that they are "too" anything:  "too" angry, upset, grumpy, rude, or whatever.  Don't gloss over their feelings.  Don't treat their feelings like they're unimportant.  Don't do any of these.  If you cannot be around the person without doing this, then don't be around them.  You'll do more harm than good.  If you can't handle being around them when they are sad or angry because of the situation they are in, then you can tell them that you are having a hard time dealing with "It" too, in your own way, and send them a card or something neutral.

And it's that simple, readers.  It really is.

One Good Thing

Well, Dear Readers,  there is one good thing that comes out of going through severe trials in your life.  And that's finding out who is real.

I had a friend call me today on the way home from a very long day at work and ask me if she could kidnap me and feed me chocolate.  She offered this, even though we were going to go out and have lunch the next day.  That is real.

My mother took my older children to get haircuts and then bought us all dinner.  That's real.

Another friend asked me how I was and wouldn't accept the answer when I said, "I'm fine".  They also wouldn't let me turn the conversation around to something else before they had every detail of what I was feeling.  Real.

I have had numerous texts, hugs, offers of support, sympathy, empathy, encouragement, prayers, our names put on a temple prayer roll at two different temples, and it just doesn't get any realer than that.

And then there's people who just aren't...real.  You thought they would say something.  Or ask if you were okay.  Or that they would feel the same kind of sadness and grief you were feeling.  Surprise.

I think that sometimes, people don't know what to say in this situation.  It's not a situation that really comes up in society that often.  If someone had died, you could send flowers, or a sympathy card, or make some damn funeral potatoes.  If someone was physically ill, you would send soup, or say, I hope you get better.  If a dog died, you would cry with the person, because people show emotion more readily where an animal is concerned than a human.  Perhaps you would even do like a friend did with my mom and put a puppy in her backyard.  (Note:  This is not a hint.  I do not want a puppy. I have four dogs.)

So, here is what I'm thankful for, because heaven knows that I will take whatever little gift can be found in this situation:  I'm thankful to know who would actually stick by my side when my house in burning down instead of whistling Dixie and picking their nose. 

And that's the one good thing, besides the help that my son is getting. 

Catch-22

Having a family member receiving cancer treament, psychiatric treament, Alzheimer's treatment, or any other medical treatment that causes them to be someplace far away from you is a hard thing to deal with.  Your emotions are so conflicting.

My Grandma Rose became very ill some years ago.  She had battled rheumatoid arthritis for years.  The pain, for her, was excruciating as her fingers and hands twisted and deformed to the point that she could no longer bake, or crochet, or do other things that she loved.  Eventually she could no longer drive and even dressing herself was difficult.  This was a hard thing for a woman who was used to being independent, getting her hair done and putting on sharp outfits and makeup for work.  She started spending her days in a dressing gown, walking up and down the ramp in front of her house to get exercise.  The gardens that she so lovingly tended slowly went wild or died.  She fell one day and couldn't reach anyone for three hours.  She was so rattled by that experience that she knew it was time to go into a nursing home.  She was in the nursing home about a week when she caught pneumonia, and she died a short time later.  My theory is that she never intended to be there long.  She wasn't big on nonsense.

At the sermon her pastor gave during her funeral, he acknowledge that we all missed her.  But then he asked a very important question:  "But would you bring her back, the way that she was when she left, knowing how much she was suffering?" and the answer was, of course, no.  When you love someone, you want them to be at peace and be happy.

This is where the conflicting emotions come in regarding Logan.  I miss him so much.  It is a huge adjustment, not having him around here to take care of, knowing that someone else is covering him up at night, waking up at 3am and not going to stare at him and make sure he's breathing.  That is the part that's hard to deal with.  The other side of that coin is that he really is where he needs to be, and he is happier there.  Would I disrupt that, his chance to receive the treatment he needs, just to satisfy this longing that I feel?  No, I would not.

But I miss him so much.

Something More

When you first find out that your child has autism, you go through a series of emotions.  There is an actual grief cycle that parents go through upon learning that their child has a diagnosis, and that cycle involves denial, anger, bargaining, and acceptance.  It also involves blame, although you probably won't read about that much in a textbook.  Parents often question themselves, especially mothers:  Did I do this to my child somehow?  Did I give them something to eat that they shouldn't have eaten?  Did I do something wrong when I was pregnant?  Maybe I didn't hug them enough?  Perhaps I shouldn't have slathered sunscreen on top of their head?

Pretty soon the parents realize that they didn't do this to their child and that's when they get angry and try to find some other explanation, because it's very human to want explanations for devastating things in our lives.  I did this too.  The sunscreen was my personal question.  We were at the beach the summer Logan was two, and I did put sunscreen all over his head, and afterwards wondered if that had something to do with it.  Logically, of course, I know it didn't.  But you can't pass judgments on people in these situations. People want answers, and with this disorder, there really aren't any.

Did I get through that grief cycle?  Yes.  I think it's obvious that I did.  I moved on. I accepted it.  I wrote about it, of course.  I researched.  I started a support group.  I stopped being angry, because anger doesn't help you, and it can stop you from giving your child what they need, which is a focused, involved parent.  Autism is not your child. Autism is something they have, that you have to learn to accept and live with.  So we did.

However, I have a confession to make.  This blog was intended to be used honestly.  There are scores of parents out there in my situation, who think they are alone, so I promised myself I would write about what no one would talk about.  So, with my son's admittance to the state hospital, I find myself getting swallowed up in that grief cycle again.  It's now not about accepting his autism, it's about how well I managed it.  And I find myself going back over the years, again and again, wondering what else I could have done, what I could have tried, perhaps if I had been more patient, or tried a certain kind of therapy, or done something.  I should have done something more. That's what I keep coming back to, is that elusive something more.

I know I didn't cause Logan's autism, or his other co-morbid disorders.  But I am stuck in the notion that I could have handled his disorders better.  I am stuck with the idea that I didn't do enough.  A friend of mine cried for me the other night and asked, shouldn't there be a magic pill, or something?  And I think, absolutely, there should.  There should be a magic pill or a secret plan or a gateway to another dimension or a Tardis or something,  There should be something.  But there's not.

There is nothing more, except this time period of waiting, and hoping that he can come home again.

A Different Kind of Loss

When someone says the term "state hospital" or "psychiatric facility", generally you garner pictures in your head of strait jackets and shock therapy.

There is still such a stigma tied to these places.  We did take our son there, and while the buildings were old, they were exceptionally clean and in good repair.  Everyone knew our name when we arrived, from the administrative secretary down to the children in our son's wing.  They had been told he was coming and welcomed him, and us.

There were bright blue benches scattered around the grounds and tulips and daffodils in full bloom.

The doctor talked to me for almost two hours.  He never interrupted, but wrote constantly as I talked.

Because this place is so far away, we can only visit our son on the weekends.

Do I question our choice to place him there?

Yes, of course.  But then I remind myself of what we have dealt with at home for the past four or five years, and of how hard of a time he had when he was home, briefly, from our local hospital, and I would not put him back into a situation where he was suffering.  The truth is that right now, he functions better in this kind of environment, and he needs the help that is available to him there.  We do not have that option here.

This entire situation is a new one to me, and it's not one that families like mine have to face very often.  The emotions that come with it are new, and sometimes terrifying.  The house is quiet.  We have been 24 hour a day caregivers for 11 years, and now we are not.  It feels strange.  It feels empty. His absence in our home is profound in countless ways.  I have laundry leftover that I have to do, and I had to hang some of his shirts up in his closet today.  And that was strange, because he always pulls his clothes off the hangers and throws them around.  But now they're just hanging there.

It's the tail end of spring break, and normally I would be reassuring him about school starting back up next week.  Instead of driving him to school on Monday, I will be going up to the school to withdraw him so he can go to school in the ISD that the hospital is located in.  They do have school there.  And PE.  And art. They also have a "quiet room" with a chair outfitted with restraints.  It's a very last resort, you know, in case the patient is trying to harm themselves or someone else and they've run out of options.  That's a hard thing for parents to see, after they've dropped their child off there.  Then I think about the number of times my husband has had to practically lay on top of my son and hold his arms down for this very reason.  And I understand the existence of the "quiet room", when I think of that.

There really aren't enough words to explain the sense of loss we feel here.  This entire situation is so hard to write about.  But I also feel like it needs to be talked about. Do we know what the outcome to all of this will be?  No, we do not.  And that's the scariest part, not knowing what will happen next, or if we will finally have to come to the conclusion that he thrives in a different environment because he is, in fact, a different child.

The Inebriated Crow

image from wikihow.com

I made it to yoga tonight, which I don't normally get to do on a Tuesday evening.  Tonight was a different class, and our instructor decided to take us through an entire Ashtanga sequence instead of spending time perfecting certain poses. Just so you know what this means, it means one pose building on another building on another, and constant movement for an hour with really no resting.

Well, that pesky crow pose was one of those we had to get into and I've not been able to master it yet.  Except tonight, I made some headway.  I was actually able to lean forward and pick one foot up off the floor.  I was very wobbly, hence the title of this post.  At the top you can see a picture of what a correct crow is supposed to look like.

So, what is the point of me telling you all this?  It means that when you start something, you are going to have mental blocks and think that you can never get to the level that you want to be at. It can be intimidating to go to a class like this and see women who are old enough to be your mother doing handstands and back bends.  The point is if you keep doing it, eventually you will get there.  Weeks ago I couldn't get one foot of the floor.

I guess this ties in to what is going on in our lives right now.  We have reached a point with our son where we know that he needs more help than we can give to him right now. It's one of the most difficult things, as parents, to realize that your child needs something and it is beyond your ability to provide it or fix it.  Even if it's beyond our control, the point is, it's beyond our control, and that is a nightmare where your own child is concerned. Tomorrow we will take our son to a state hospital where he will be admitted and receive help that might not otherwise be available to him here.  My family and close friends view this as a positive thing.  I view it as a positive thing.  But as a mother, am I okay with taking my baby hours away from me to people I have never met, knowing that I will only get to see him on the weekends?  No.  I am not okay with this.  Everything in me rebels at the thought of it.  But I have watched him struggle since he has been home and I know that he is not happy, that in many ways, he is suffering, and I am somewhat alarmed at the changes I see in him. I have never seen him so upset.  I have never seen his moods dissolve so quickly into depression and frustration as they have this week.  If he can go here, and come out the other side better for it, then who am I, even as his mother, to deny it to him?

I know that there will be some people who look at this situation and question how a mother can do this.  I remind myself on a daily basis that my husband and I are not the only ones parenting Logan.  He also belongs to God, and He is aware of my son, and He knows, even more than I do, what my son needs, what his joys and fears are, and what is best for him.  I cannot go wrong with a partner like that...not in the raising of this child. And I am so thankful that God thought enough of me to entrust me with someone so innocent, so special, and so vulnerable.  Logan has been and always will be my greatest teacher in this life.  One day at a time.

"The good life is a process, not a state of being.  It is a direction, not a destination." -Carl Rogers

Peacocks and Crinoids and Roses oh my

The weather was gorgeous today, right?

 I enjoyed this day, simply because I spent part of it outside in our raised beds planting beans with my son.  The other raised bed got a dose of African violets and "cutting garden mix".  When we first put those beds in, I was told not to plant flowers there, because flowers aren't "edible".  So for a couple of years, even though I was itching to do it, I didn't.

This year I thought, how ridiculous, to be afraid to plant flowers.  Especially if I'm the one doing most of the work in the garden in the first place.  I love having fresh flowers around the house.  (Note:  Fake, plastic flowers really irritate me.  I know they have their uses, like decorating a gravesite so that they won't fade and stuff, but I really hate them.  I've already told my kids when I kick it they need to just plant a rosebush on top of me.  They laughed, but I was serious.)

I also went out to look at a piece of property that was way out in Venus, TX that was on an acre.  I really, really want a mini-farm. When I described a mini-farm to my 15 year old, he laughed at me and said that wasn't a farm. So, I changed it to "micro-farm".  This is what a micro-farm is, to me:  two or three acres with a ginormous produce garden, fruit trees, and a BUNCH of flower and herb beds, a creek or pond, chickens, maybe a pot belly pig (my daughter loves piggies), a fainting goat (because it's fun to watch them), a miniature pony, and peacocks.  Yes, I will have peacocks.  They are gorgeous.  I know they're noisy, but I really want one!

So, that is a micro farm.  The house also has to be big enough for a bunch of people, just because I expect everyone to come hang out.

Anyhow, the place in Venus needed way too much work, and it just wasn't quite right.  It's kind of a dream, but it doesn't hurt to think about it, right?

The other thing I did today was I unabashedly ate a mint chocolate chip ice cream sandwich..twice...and bought a miniature rose that was an unusual color I had never seen before.  White.  But tinted green.  A very, very, very pale green.

Logan also requested that we look for fossils in the front yard.  I have never found one there, even when I've dug up flower beds, but our entire family has the whole week off, so we may head out to the fossil park in Mineral Wells.  The Fossil Park is free.  It's way the heck out in the middle of nowhere. There is no shade, no bathrooms, and there are bunches of crinoids.If you don't know what that is, Google it.

Other than that, I will continue trying to distract myself from what this week may bring. 

Who you turn to in your moments of deepest emotional turmoil can tell you truths about your own heart that you weren't really capable of recognizing otherwise.

On a different, lighter note...one way I've been coping with all of this recent stress is by getting my hands dirty, either by making something or digging in the dirt.  I planted 35 gladiola bulbs today around a dead tree stump in our front yard.  I have to say that whenever I plant something in the yard, in my head, I'm not actually in my yard.  I'm somewhere else...like a giant estate in Great Britain, and I am surrounded by acres and acres of wild sweetness and gorgeous blooms.  It's all in how you choose to see something.  The reality is I have a few blooms that are interspersed with weeds, but sometimes reality is overrated.

The problem with gardening is that now, when I go outside and bring the shovel, my kids (namely, the two younger ones), think that we're digging for fossils.  It's because last summer, I dug a giant pit in the back yard and we actually found one or two really cool ones.  So now they think we can find them every time.  I think there is still also a geology degree in my future.  You cannot stop dreaming, dear readers...if it's on your bucket list, you should make plans to do it.

The other thing I "made" was that I repaired my piano.  After going through four kids who banged and banged on it, it was in sad shape.  There were three or four black keys that were missing.  But, did you know that you can order those on amazon.com?  You glue them on with PVC glue.  I also had to open the thing up and pull out some odds and ends: a hot wheel car.  And also, a grade school paper from my son who is now 15.  Anyhow, I had to open that thing up and realign the hammers.  The only one I cannot fix is that darn B flat key.  And the entire thing needs to be tuned.  It doesn't matter though.   Nothing can match how I felt when I sat down for the first time in years and started playing some church hymns and "Fur Elise" and excerpts from "The Piano".

Heaven and Earth

Logan is home from the hospital for the time being.  I don't mind saying that this is a very stressful thing, but not for the reasons people may imagine.

The entire 2+ weeks he was gone, I didn't really allow myself to think about it.  Visiting hours in that wing of the hospital are very restricted.  I know that there were probably people who saw me out and about at different times of the day and wondered why I wasn't with him.  The answer was because of the visiting hours.  I could always call to check on him.  I could never spend the day up there with him; it simply wasn't allowed.  And even if it had been, it probably would have made it that much harder for him to cope with being there, since our presence was a disruption for him anyway.

So, now he is home.  He proclaimed on the way home that he was happy to be going home, that he wanted to see me, and that "mommy is cute". 

I started to cry when I saw him getting out of the car in the driveway.  I couldn't help it.  I felt angry and happy and sad and scared all at once.  It was too much. And I think that the stress comes from mostly not knowing exactly what will come next.  He's here for now.  He's having a very hard time adjusting to being home and has frequently said, throughout the day, that he doesn't feel good, that his head hurts, and that he's sad.  For anyone who doesn't understand this behavior, it's pretty typical of autism.  Moving a child from an extremely regimented, calm environment to the chaos of a six person family home can be very disrupting to that child and it may take them a couple of days to fall back into the rhythm of the household.  So, the behavior was not surprising at all.  I expected that. 

I know, that at some point, perhaps as early as next week, he will go to a different hospital where he will receive longer term treatment.  I have gone back and forth with myself over this so many times.  I have been told, by hospital staff and family members, that this is the best choice for him.  I agree.  But it's hard.  And it's not knowing that stresses me out and scares me the most.  We've never done this before.  What will it be like?  How long will it last?  Maybe something will happen and it won't happen at all?  These questions are the greatest source of stress.

So, to those of your reading this blog and still not understanding:  why would someone like me put their child in a state hospital to receive psychiatric care?

There's the glaring fact that I don't owe anyone an explanation.  But this is why someone like me would do this:  when your child has serious behavioral issues, and they can no longer be regulated reliably with discipline, in-home structure, and medication if necessary, then it is time to consider that option.  It's time to consider that option because as time goes on, those behaviors will regress and become a problem for the child and for the household he lives in.  It's vital to address it in a child with serious mental disorders, because if you don't, that child grows up to become an adult with serious mental disorders, and that adult may become a statistic or a story on the evening news.

In some ways that is being dramatic or borrowing trouble.  But in some ways, it is not.   There are countless stories in the news of how an autistic adult didn't interact with the police appropriately and got shot or mistreated.  There are countless stories of mentally ill or disabled adults who end up in the prison system, because they cannot make decisions and don't really understand consequences, and there is no other place for them in this state.  But that's a different post.

The point is, the reason someone like me would do something like this is because I love my kid, and I will move heaven and earth to help him in any way possible.  Even if that means plunging into the unknown; even if that means trying something new.  Even if that means being scared. 

This morning I woke up feeling sort of "blah", but I'm the kind of person that doesn't really pay attention to that sort of thing until it knocks me on my bum.  Now here I am, after 9pm, and I am feeling the kind of exhaustion and achy-ness that you only get when your body is trying to flush itself down the toilet.

Stress can make you physically ill.  If you're constantly running back and forth, trying to fulfill an inhuman amount of obligations, and you're in the middle of a family crisis of sorts to boot, then you may just be doing yourself in.  I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine, who is a nurse, and she confirmed that yes, stress can cause many physical symptoms.  While my hair hasn't started falling out, I think it's time to dial it down a notch. (Yes, stress can make your hair fall out. No, mine really isn't.)

Since it's spring break at my university, and I'm caught up on everything, and the weather is supposed to be super stormy and rainy and cold (thank you, Texas), I think it will be good day to stay in.  Maybe sit down and make something.  Perhaps *gasp* waste time watching a movie with the kids.

Sometimes you have to give yourself permission to breathe. 

image from screenrant.com

"We have to be strong because worlds literally depend on us."

The Posts that Disappeared

You may have noticed that there were a couple of posts that I took off of this blog recently.  I wrote those when I was really depressed and upset.  It's a bad habit I have, writing when I'm in a bad mood.  When I do this, my writing has a pretty black outlook.  You'd think I would have learned not to do that by now!

Anyhow, I took those posts away because of the above reason, and also because my mother reads my blog (hi mom).  I didn't want her to worry.  Yes, at my (advanced?  haha) age, I still care what my mom thinks and appreciate her opinions.  I feel blessed to have her in my life.

 

Up before 630 am on a Saturday.  Look at me, seizing the day and stuff. Carpe (yawn) diem.

I'm Going to Take Care of You

Tonight at my yoga class we ended the session, before savasana, with something called a reclined spinal twist.  It's really beneficial; it helps realign the spine and do all kinds of wonderful things for your back, especially if you have back pain.  But I was doing it wrong.  Our yogi had already turned the lights down in preparation for savasana (if you don't know what that is, google it...I love savasana), and she came around and started to reposition my shoulder and one of my legs because I was "crooked".  I started to move and she said, No, you don't have to do anything.  I'm going to take care of you.

And I said, Can I please take you home with me???

Because no one ever says that to me.  "I'm going to take care of you".  Those words are so foreign to me.

So is, You don't have to do anything.

I think that wives and mothers feel like this a lot.  We are caregivers, and the majority of what we do in our lives is for someone else.  A lot of times that gets lost in the shuffle.  We are cleaning a house, or making sure someone did their homework, or cooking a meal, or checking up on a friend, or laying with our eyes wide open because a family member is either not home or they are sick down the hall or right next to us.

I know that there are some people out there who would read this and say, So what?  This is your job.  This is what you're supposed to do.  And there are some who would say, she must like doing all of that or she wouldn't do it.

What people don't understand, sometimes, is that being a mother is all-consuming.  You give everything.  You give the body you had before you gave birth, and it's not the same again.  Even if you do fifty burpees a day, or do some other kind of exercise, there will be some change to it that will never leave.  You start putting other people first. The time that you spent doing all those hobbies and things you loved starts getting allocated to other things.  And that is not a bad thing, but being a mother is a sacrifice, also...because it changes who you are, and it demands your heart.

Did my yogi go home with me?  I wish she had.  She's a wonderful lady, and I always feel a sense of peace around her.  What I do take home with me is learning how to breathe during the tough times, and understanding that just because things are hard now, doesn't mean they will always be hard.

My heart is still breaking.  But it's also hopeful.

If you have a child like mine, then your child will alternate between loving you unconditionally and screaming, I hate you Mommy!!! when he doesn't get what he wants.  If you have a child like mine, he will fall peacefully asleep while watching his favorite movie...after an eventful day of shrieking and hitting himself on the head repeatedly.  If you have a child like mine, then he has hit you more than once, fallen on the floor screaming when his father tries to take him out of the room, or gotten so upset that he has made himself throw up.

If you have a child like mine, then he is the loudest child receiving psychiatric services at the children's hospital.  If you have a child like mine, he flies into a rage if you brought the wrong toy to the hospital, then yells at you to leave.  A child like mine will sit in your lap and tell you silly jokes, plant a garden with you, go for a walk, help you cook in the kitchen, draw pictures.  A child like mine will make up songs for every person he knows, and his smile is like the sun.  A child like mine will also scream at you when you ask him a simple question.  A child like mine is complicated.

I wish that "autism awareness" really was "autism awareness".  Because it's not.  They are not all savants who can play Beethoven's 5th after hearing it once at the age of three.  They are not all catatonic mutes who stare at a corner all day, unresponsive to any outside stimuli.  Many of them are like my son, where the lines between "autism" and "co-morbid disorder" get blurred in a serious way. For us, autism is not a "different way of being" as so many people like to describe it.  It's something we manage, because we know that on good days, our son is there, waiting with his gorgeous smile.  On the not good days, he disappears and he's replaced by this screaming child who cannot be calmed.

Eventually you come to the realization, as much as you've tried not to, that you cannot do this anymore.  You realize that the crisis mode that you, and your family, has been living in for years has spawned a plethora of other problems.  You are tired all the time.  You hurt, physically, all the time.  You do things to "escape" from the situation, like shopping or spending time outside the home or working yourself to death.  Your other children become affected by it too:  they don't come out of their rooms, and chaos management becomes the norm.  For years.

But what else could you have done?  The one person in the house who needs the most help, all the time, is also the one that is the most unaware of all of these issues.  Eventually, he becomes too hard to control, even for you, because sometimes, love is not enough.  Even though you thought you could do that.  That if you loved him enough, and gave him everything, then maybe, just maybe, the screaming would stop, and somehow, he would understand that he shouldn't hit you.

So, after his latest incident, you take him to the hospital, where a kind, soft-spoken family therapist gently leads you to the inevitable conclusion:  your son needs more help than you can give him, anymore.  Perhaps you would consider putting him in a longer-term treatment facility?

And you agree.  Because you are tired, because you know, that if the situation continues in the same manner, someone will eventually get hurt.  Because you are tired of living in a fox hole, waiting for the next round.  Because you hurt for him, and underneath all the screaming and the raging you can also hear his confusion and frustration, and try as you might, you cannot sort that out for him.

What this means is that when a space opens up, your child will go live somewhere else.  It might be for a week.  It might be for three months.  Who knows.  And if he can't get the help he needs at this place, then you may have to face the possibility that he can't live with you anymore. That his time with you, in your home, is limited.

I've had many people tell me that this must be a heartbreaking situation.  It is.  But sometimes you have to love someone enough to do what's best for them, even if it's not what you would have wanted.  Sometimes it's the only option left open to you. The ideal outcome would be that he goes and gets the help he needs, and that afterward, he's able to come home.  We may not have an ideal outcome.  It's too soon to tell.

I don't know what's going to happen in the future, with my son.  I can only imagine that there are hundreds of mothers like me, faced with these circumstances, who don't get the help they need.  I don't know what these mothers do.  I know that eventually, their children grow up, and they go to live in a group home somewhere else.  What I do know, is that no matter where he is, or what has to be done in order for him to be taken care of, I will never stop loving my kid, and I will never, ever stop fighting for him.