Logan's Place

(photo from realtor.com)

In your darkest hours, if you keep the faith, Heavenly Father will lift you up and open doors that you never thought you would see opened.

We got a phone call two weeks ago that a placement had been found for our son.  At this time, I am not going to go into a lot of detail. What I will say is that we have been to the place and signed all the necessary paperwork, and that he will be moving into that place in two weeks.

What I will say is that it is the perfect situation for him.  I have met the person who runs the home, and she is a good person.  I have met one of his caretakers, and she is a good person.  All of his needs will be met.  Finally, after all this time, the care that he has so desperately needed will be available to him.  If God had placed this solely in my hands, and told me to take care of it, I could never have designed it as well as this.

I want to tell everyone that throughout this process I cried so much.  I couldn't conceive of how this could ever be a good thing, even though with each prayer and blessing, the firm answers we received were that he needed to go this route.  I did go forward with a lot of blind faith, because there was no concrete proof to me that this would be okay.  And it is more than okay.  In so many ways.

God is good, and He always, always keeps His promises.  We did everything He asked us to do, we followed every direction.  And we were not disappointed.  We now know that our son will be well taken care of in ways that we never could have done here at home, and we will also still be able to be part of his life, to go visit him, and bring him home for visits.  One day, when the time is right, he may be able to come home again.  But for now, Heavenly Father is looking out for one of His own, and I will never doubt Him again.

Confession

Tonight, I tucked him into bed and I thought,

How in the hell am I going to do this?

Sometimes it doesn't matter how many positive answers you've received, how at peace you may feel when you receive the confirmation that yes, you are doing what is best, for your family member and the other family members.  Knowing that you are doing what is right, or what Heavenly Father wants, or what is best and safest and healthiest for everyone concerned in a situation is NOT the same thing as making something easy.

This is not easy.

This is going to be, by far, the hardest, most difficult thing I have ever done in my life.  And since my life is, statistically, only half over, I shudder to think what fresh hell might open up in the coming years.

That being said, I also know that Heavenly Father doesn't point us in certain directions and open doors that would have remained closed if He doesn't want us there.  And that's what this situation has been.

But make no mistake, dear readers.  My heart is breaking.  No matter how much I smile.

Love is making room in your life for someone else. -Neill F. Marriott

The Privilege of Growing Olde

(image from theodysseyonline.com, originally from crafthubs)

It's 7:11 pm and I'm in my pajamas.  The week before school starts is a busy one for most parents, and the more children you have, the busier it is.  In addition to that, I've made arrangements for Logan to continue going to school here while at the same time trying to make plans for if he is not here, and that's a little complicated.

But anyhow, I put on my pjs because it rained today and a cold front came in.  I know, it's not "cold", but it was a good excuse.  I stared at myself in the mirror and thought, Hey, I put on my pjs and it's not, like, midnight.  Am I old now?  My grandma was in her pjs by 6pm sitting in front of the telly.  My granny was too.  So that's what I'm thinking of when I ask myself that question.

I don't like the word "old".  When we throw out it food, it's because it's old.  When we get rid of something that's broken and doesn't work anymore, it's usually because we've had it so long that it doesn't function, like a piece of furniture or a washing machine.  We get rid of it because it's "really old".  My kids won't listen to some music because it's "old" ("Our Lips Are Sealed" by the Go-Go's came on the radio the other day, and my fourteen year old daughter said, (with as much disgust as a 14 year old can muster, which is quite a lot), "What is that?")

I used to think, kind of naively, that if I just decided that I wasn't going to get old, then I just wouldn't.  That the aging process would slow, the same way that people use mental imagery to battle terminal illnesses.  (Cue the laughter of elders here.)

Certainly your outlook plays a huge role in how you confront life changes.  So I've decided that instead of getting "old", I'm going to get "olde".

Besides loving almost all things British, I love the word "olde".  Think about it.  If you shop at Ye Olde Grocery Store, you are at THE grocery store.  There is no other store but that one.  It's the place to be.  If you eat at "The Olde Restaurant" then you are probably eating really good food, and if you stay at "The Olde Stone Cottage" or the "Olde Inn" then you are probably staying at some wonderfully cozy and quaint place that has beds as soft as a cloud and giant stone fireplaces and a woman that somebody calls "mum".

"Olde" implies a history, something that has been there and seen things, something that is worth going to and something that will be there for years to come.  Growing old may be a privilege, but growing olde sounds like an adventure.  

The Future

I have a few things on my mind this evening.

The first is that I read a blog post by Elizabeth Bastos entitled "Why I Decided to Stop Writing About My Children".  It was a very insightful post, and she made some very valid points.  You can read it, here:  http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2016/07/29/why-i-decided-to-stop-writing-about-my-children/?smid=fb-share&_r=0

Chiefly, one of the points she makes is that writing about the details of her childrens' lives could be construed as an invasion of privacy.  She also states, "My children didn't give me permission to tell their stories".

This was so gut-wrenching for me to read, really.  Logan didn't give me permission to write about him because he can't.  He will, in all likelihood, be unaware, for the rest of his life, that his mother chronicled his journey through media. 

I would be lying if I said that I hadn't asked myself these same questions:  Is it really okay to write about him, and what goes on in our lives because of the things he struggles with?  Is it ethical? 

I've heard from both sides of the table on this.  One mother, who shares circumstances similar to mine, said she thought about writing about it, but decided not to "put herself out there".  I can understand her sentiment.  Putting yourself out in public like this, in a very raw, real way, opens the door to a lot of criticism, and that's something we always want to protect ourselves and our children from.

But then I heard from two very dear friends today, who happen to run a local theater.  And one of them remarked that some people derive a lot of comfort from hearing about other people who have similar struggles. The other one remarked about how he read my blog, and seemed surprised that I would consider stopping once our son goes to live in a different setting.

The fact of the matter is, the whole intent of this was to let other people in similar circumstances know that they weren't alone.  I have had many people who are raising special-needs children come to me and say how happy they were to know that they weren't alone, that someone else was experiencing the same thing they were.  I've commiserated with other moms over the best way to keep a child from escaping from a seat belt, the intricacies of the special ed program, what kind of locks to buy to keep your child from wandering out the front door, and how to de-escalate a meltdown. 

The other purpose of writing about this so bluntly is because there is no other way to foster awareness.  Special needs parents tend to stay in the shadows.  We become prickly, we keep to ourselves over time, because we become so used to navigating life in a certain way that we forget there are other ways to do it.

Eventually, I will stop writing about this.  I am at a point in my life where frankly, I am worn out.  I am tired.  My heart is tired.  I feel I have illustrated, as much as can be illustrated, what this is about and how it can bless a family and also raise issues in a family.  I feel like awareness has been achieved, as much as it can be achieved through a blog. 

But as I told my dear friend JaceSon today, This does not mean I am going to stop working for these people.  I feel like I have spent twelve years learning about something that some people never have to touch in their lifetime.  I feel like there is so much suffering, and need, and room for growth, where this is concerned.  I feel hopeful about the future, and my plans are huge.  I don't know if they will come to pass, but Logan makes me want to try.  All of the children, and their families, that I have gotten to know over the past few years, make me want to try.  Here's to the future.

Writing is easy when you break all the rules.

The Process

image from workinghomeguide.com


Onward, ever onward, in the group home process.

Here's a little tidbit, for anyone that ever has to do this for a family member:  They don't explain the process to you.  You tell them you need to find a placement for your child/relative/whatever, and they say they will get started on the "process".  It really is a process.  But it's a secret process, because they don't explain it. Even if you say that you don't know what the process is, they are either so busy or so short-staffed that they don't have time to go step by step with you through what will happen and what to expect.

Today, in the mail, I received a manila packet of papers. Some of the papers had little sticky labels on them that said "sign here".  There were also little warnings in the paperwork about notifying people within 30 days of our preference for a service provider for Logan.

And here is my reaction to that:  How the hell should I know?  What makes one better than the other?  Is there one that's really great with autistic children who also have an IDD diagnosis?  How many complaints does this one have, if any?  How do I choose?

I didn't even know that I needed to sign this paperwork, so I didn't know it was coming in the mail. At least it came certified.

And this, my friends, is just one of the many illustrations of how the system works.  Or doesn't.

The fact of the matter is that the people who work for MHMR are probably doing the jobs of more than one person.  Funding has been cut for some MHMR programs this year, and some MHMRs (not all of them) need to beef up on their training programs.  The people who do work for MHMRs are overworked, they are underpaid, and they are trying to provide services that people in Texas desperately need.  Just to give you a better idea of what this means:  Not all the patients at MHMR have the issues my son has.  MHMRs treat people who have all manner of mental disorders.  They help adults with intellectual disabilities as well, by teaching them how to do basic at home stuff, like cooking and doing laundry.  They help people with schizophrenia get medication.  They help veterans who suffer from PTSD.  They help anyone who qualifies for the program get the treatment and medication they need to function.  It's a much-needed service in our state that never gets the funding it needs to be as successful as it could be.

Now it's after 6, dear readers, and I have to go show a house.  And yes, I promise, I will get out of the heat before something bad happens.

When You Don't Take Care of Yourself

(image from dancesafe.org)

What can I say?  I could have died today.  That's being sort of dramatic, but not really.  I'm a realtor, I went to show a house today.  We're in Texas and it was over a hundred degrees today.  I was in a house with no electricity or AC, I was outside with barely a breeze, and I did this for over an hour.

It's fine if you work outside, if you're a roofer or you're used to being out there.  I'm a lily white air conditioned white girl who makes white girls look like Brazilian natives.  Seriously.  I don't tan, I refract.  Eventually, my skin will cook itself to a pretty rose color.   Eventually.

So I was out there for more than an hour and I brushed off that feeling in the pit of my stomach that maybe I had been outside too long.  As of now, about two hours later, I am sitting in a dark room on my second 16 oz glass of water, and my cheeks are still burning and I still feel hot.  The AC is cranked and I have on my lightest clothes.  This was after the feeling that I was going to chuck everywhere went away. Right now the chills are starting to go away.  Sorry, if that's too graphic. But I'm telling you all this for a reason.

Sometimes, we don't take care of ourselves.  There are so many ways to do it, self-neglect.  We eat too much of the wrong things.  We tell people we're fine when we're far from it.  We listen to depressing music and watch dark things because it matches our mood, instead of seeking out uplifting media.  We give, emotionally, to the wrong people, because surely if we do that, they will appreciate it, or surely they must care just as much as we do, right?  We waste money, sometimes, on helping someone in need, only to become a personal bank for that person for months or years.  We take on too much in work or school or life and we burn out and become unhealthy simply by reason of the great load we carry.

And if we are strong-willed and capable and smart, we raise a hand in the air and say, Hey, no it's okay, I've got it.  No worries.

And I am just now learning how bad this is.  How bad this is to do this to yourself, to tell yourself that you can handle ANYTHING.  It's one thing to be capable and know that you can carry quite a lot.  It's another thing to insist on doing it when you really don't have to.

At some point this evening, I should have stopped everything and said, Hey, listen, guys, it's a bit too hot out here for me.  Let's pick this up again tomorrow.

Why didn't I?

Because I didn't want to disappoint someone.

Isn't that why we do it?  Aren't we afraid we'll disappoint someone?  Aren't we all afraid, at one time or another, of falling short, of showing weakness? And isn't this why we don't take care of ourselves?

I am terribly guilty of this.  Sometimes, I keep investing my time into something that isn't doing much for me, just because I think I have to or I should, or that one day, I'll get a different answer than the one I already got.  Sometimes, I beat myself up because I eat too much, or I eat the wrong things.  Sometimes, I sign up for too much work, because I think if I work a lot, I won't have to think about other things.   Sometimes, I make bad decisions.  We all do.

But what does this tell my children?  That it's okay to impose impossible standards on themselves, at the expense of their health, self-esteem, and emotional wellness?  In the past two weeks I have realized that this entire situation with Logan, while I have written about it, I have also held it close to me like a tight little ball.  And that's wrong.  I am not the only person hurting, or worrying, or hoping.  And I feel bad that I left all those other people out and assumed that no one could possibly be hurting as much as me, because I am his mother...nothing could be further than the truth.

It's important to take care of ourselves.  It's important to be good to ourselves and to recognize that brushing off pain, and sorrow, and telling those lies (No really I'm fine how are you) isn't the right way to go.  We're all children of God, and we're all here, together.  We all need to take care of ourselves, and each other.

Quote of the Day

I love this.