A View From the Tenth Floor

 

On Friday, December 21st, my son had extensive reconstructive surgery on his right rib cage. This wasn't a planned surgery, in fact we had less than 48 hours to prepare for the operation. Thankfully, the surgery was a success, and my son was discharged on Christmas Eve.

On the evening of December 23rd, my son was walking slow laps around the 10th floor of the children's hospital in Memphis. He was determined to be well enough to be discharged home for Christmas. 

 

This is my journal entry from that night:

During the last slow lap through the halls, we stopped at each window to look at the lights of Memphis. While we picked out the bridge to Arkansas, and the holiday lights on the bank building, I looked at Ryann's reflection in the window.
 

Tired, pale, but out of bed, he's made great progress. Hopefully he'll have a good night and be able to go home tomorrow morning. 

 

His recovery won't be easy but six months from now I pray he will have healed and once more be able to lift, push, and pull. But for the next few months -- we must take things slow. I'm exhausted from worry and standing vigil during surgery, and now in recovery. I pray for a renewed spirit as we move through the months ahead.
 

As we turn and continue our walk, I gaze down the long hall on this floor dedicated to burn, trauma, surgery, and cardiac patients. Many of these children will spend this Christmas, and those to come, in the hospital.

Some will go home... 

but to Heaven, instead of their earthly dwelling.

Some will need years of therapy and rehab.

And some, like my son, are expected to go home and live a long life.
Despite my worries and exhaustion, I have no room to complain. 

 

I hold Ryann's hand and we walk down the hall.
My view is bordered by hope and shaded in gratitude.

I couldn't ask for better scenery!

 

 

 

A Picture of Us

Ignored. Taken for granted. Unappreciated.... 
Sounds the way most of us feel. But I'm talking about my refrigerator.
During this month where it's fashionable to give thanks each day for our blessings, I want to go beyond family, friends... look for the unexpected and overlooked. (Something I should do everyday, not just during a month of Thanksgiving). 
Like the black appliance taking up wall space in my kitchen. Day in and day out, we take it for granted. It keeps our milk cool and eggs fresh, it's freezer stores our dinners. But in reality, it's truly a centerpiece in our lives' existence.
It's a photo album and family chronology; 
It's memories and mementos of places traveled and family outings; 
It's a reason to practice music "See that pile of bills from the music store? You better practice!"; It's a homework reminder with science project rules, music scores to review, and a reading log to sign; 
It's a message center with hand-written notes left for each other - sometimes practical, sometimes hilarious, sometimes both;
It's an art gallery of my youngest's creative talents and a repository of my oldest's needs: his creed and his social skills reminders;
It's a printed prayer card and snippets of favorite devotionals;
It is our social life: band calendar, work calendar, reminders. 
It's a statement of human kindness, and God's provision, as a friend gave us this beautiful appliance to use.  
It is a collage of Family. And it is a picture of... Love

The Love Note

I could sense her curiosity. No judgement, no condemnation, but her curiosity was palpable. She had no idea of years past. Of years in churches when I was determined my autistic son would worship with me, yet services would find me consoling him, entertaining him, and on the floor in back rows doing compression exercises and brush therapy. 

She didn't know how far we've come. She merely knew we were sitting next to her in church. She surreptioulsy watched as I held Robert's hands to keep him from picking his skin, or kept my hand on his knee to keep him from jiggling his leg. We may have been a quiet distraction from her worship, but I felt no censure. Still, in the hopes of acceptance, I felt compelled to write her a note. My note is below, as is hers. This is the best love note I've received in a long while...

Reflections on a Band Parent's Rookie Year

The only mementos of my high school band years are an old letterman's jacket, a baton, and some yearbook pictures. Somewhere along the way, I got rid of my rifles and flag pole, but the memories -- they remain. I loved it all: the sweat, the tears, the losses, and the triumphs. But time marches on, and in this chapter of my life, I'm a high school band Parent. If life unfolds as expected, I'll be one for four more years.

I really thought I had a good handle on things, certainly knew why I wanted my sons to be in marching band, but I didn't realize how much I would learn in my Rookie Year as a band parent.

* I can never say "Thank You" enough to my own parents. They were there to drop me off and pick me up, at all hours. They encouraged me, they sent in money they didn't have, let me go to band camps to refine my skills, made me practice for hours, sat in cold bleachers and under a hot sun... simply and profoundly, just because they loved me. I took this for granted as a child, now it humbles me.

* This isn't your Mama's band. Gone are the days when students packed a sack lunch, loaded equipment on school buses and went off to competitions. Bands roll with 18-wheelers hauling equipment, and parents hauling trailers. Shows are now full-fledged productions with giant backdrops and assorted props. Parents are setting up tents, generators, and grills at competitions to feed children. They haul countless coolers of bottled water and gatorade. They set up satellite tv so the band dads (eh, everyone watches) can watch football scores between performances. We're a mini hard-ware store: hammers and wrenches, duct tape, bungee cords, and velcro. "Do we have more zip ties?" 

* Don't be afraid of the rookie mistake. Understand it, embrace it -- You're a rookie and there's a lot to learn. When you have to work the concession stand the first time, volunteer to be a runner, don't go straight to grilling. Ladies, forget fashion, dress comfortable at the competitions. Pack an extra jacket. If you're wondering "How can I help?"  don't be shy. Pitch in, and keep pitching in. Pick up trash, run errands, and learn. Let the other parents know you care and are going to be around a while... they will really appreciate your help because we need more parents involved. Bands can not function without a good band boosters program! This year - rookie, next year - grilling.

* I never realized how much my band director did for me. I didn't realize it when I was in school, but band directors are truly a very special breed of teacher. Who among us but the most devoted would take a couple hundred teenagers and teach them how to achieve a goal greater than themselves? Who would give up their weekends, summer evenings, and family time so they can teach our children how to bring out their best efforts? Who does not give up, even when students want to give up on themselves? Who helps us teach responsibility and hard work ethic to our children? Who is self-less enough to put up with the assorted concerns of the parents of a couple hundred teenagers? Go tell your band director "thank you"... then do it again.

* You're not the only one. You're not the only strict parent. You're not the only parent who still teaches values and morals. You're not the only parent who cares about your children. You're not the only parent who worries about their children. You're not the only parent who is proud of your child. You're not the only parent who wonders how they're going to pay for things. You're not the only one worried about sending them far away for camp. You're not the only parent who wants something better for their child. And for some of us: You're not the only single parent... It takes a little time, but as you meet other band parents, you find out: You're not the only one, and you're not alone.

* God is alive and at work in all of our children. They might not even realize it, but every day our children demonstrate His love in their actions. They demonstrate His love when they help a younger band student learn how to fold their jacket, when they give pep-talks and encouragement. His grace is apparent when they defend one another, speaking up for those who can not speak up for themselves. They demonstrate His care when they give of themselves. When their band-mate is thirsty, they give them drink. ("Did you get some water?") When they're hungry, they make sure they eat. ("My mom sent pop-tarts, who wants some?") God's unity is alive when students gather to pray before performance, and when they give thanks afterwards. 

In these band students, and their families, I see displays of God's love everyday. Unexpectedly, but powerfully, my rookie year has been a lesson in hope!

This Side of Heaven

Growing up in her Pittsburgh neighborhood, she attended Catholic grade school and enjoyed the love of a large family. She married later in life and moved with her new husband to Florida, so very far away from everything she held dear. She and her husband owned a small grocery and in a few short years, she had a daughter... the apple of her eye.

In time, she grew weary of her husband's drinking, of his womanizing, and ultimately of his physical expressions of anger. She knew she had to get away and build a new life for her daughter and herself.

She was ashamed to tell her family of the true circumstances regarding her marriage. They'd warned her he drank too much, but she had been stubborn and in love. And she certainly didn't want to tell her Catholic family that she needed a divorce. It was 1950, and women just didn't leave their husbands and strike out on their own.

But she was going to ... so she secretly saved up money, then packed up clothes for herself and her daughter into two suitcases. She boarded a train in Florida and traveled to Norfolk, VA. Besides the clothes on their back and in their suitcases, they had no other belongings. She knew no one in Norfolk. But she was determined to make a life for her daughter that was safer and peaceful.

She took a civil service job at the Navy Base and eventually bought a little house in a peaceful neighborhood. She watched her daughter grow, finish school, get married, and start her own family nearby.

She was an incredible woman who smoked more cigarettes that some would think humanly possible. She always had a cup of tea steaming on the table. When family would travel in from Pittsburgh there would be big dinners and a house full of laughter. She grew pretty flowers in her back yard and spoiled her grandchildren. She was independent and smart and never slowed down till a stroke took her from this earth, on October 4, 1984 just 2 days before her birthday... our birthday.

I always loved the idea of having the same birthday as my Grandmother. We would have two cakes, and she always had so many more candles on her cake than I did! It was just one of the many things that bonded the two of us together.

It's been 28 years since she left this Earth, but her spirit lives on! Whenever I begin to question how I will manage this raising of two children, so far from my family (but where I was led), I think of her. I know if she can do it, so can I, in God's grace. I can't wait to sit down and have a cup of tea with her when I get to the other side. 




(I originally wrote this in 2008, and it's been languishing in an archive of notes... today seemed a good day to pull it out again). 

It's a Dude Thing

I wish I knew how to be a man. Seriously.

No, I'm not thinking about a sex change operation or making an announcement about my gender. I like being a woman. It's how God made me, and after all these decades, seems to be working for me, last time I checked.

But I'm raising two teenage boys on my own. Their father isn't around and their Grandfather (my father) is deceased. While I might wish to meet a nice man, I'm in no hurry, and have no desire to date just anyone to have a man around the house.  

So where does that leave us? 

Oh yeah, I'm trying to learn to think like a man...

God gave me these boys to raise and he knew what I'd be up against, so He graciously gave the boys great role models in teachers, friends-of-the-family, and via activities. But there's no significant male influence in our home. So it's up to me.

I can teach them manners (so far neither one scratches themselves in public very often) and I can teach them morals, praying they're listening. But the dude stuff? 

About a year ago I realized, I had to get with the program!  

So, we tackle dude-type projects together. Google has become my friend. I research inexpensive do-it-yourself projects and we take them on. The boys have learned about weeding and have done some landscaping and gardening. This spring we plastered and painted the kitchen, and made a backsplash behind the kitchen sink. We work as a family and we work hard. Our results might not be up to Bob Villa's standards, but they're ok!

But what about the rest of the dude-stuff? How to court a woman, how to be a gentleman, how to be a Dad? Well, I just tell them how I think a Man should act, how he should treat a lady, how to be respectful. And they've learned in their own way about how to be a real Dad. Antiquated or not, they open doors for women, they let ladies go first, and while they're a little young for dating I've already said "Well, if you were the parent of a teenage daughter, how would you want a boy to treat HER?" 

I strive to raise up two righteous Christian young men who will go out and be successful in this life -- however that success is defined.

But the other day, a commercial came on tv depicting two men standing at a water cooler. One man started discussing sports, and the other mentioned yoga... Yoga dude ends up with water being thrown in his face. On some levels, I think the commercial is tacky. But, it's as if water was thrown on my face, too, because I realized...  I have to teach a sport to my boys. I don't want them left out at the water cooler when they grow up!

I think my youngest son will be ok, he's sociable and is a great conversationalist. 

But did I mention my oldest is very high functioning autistic? He has Asperger's Syndrome and has to be taught social skills. He's still coming to terms with the fact not every person will want to hear about his latest coin acquisition or his geckos, and he is slowly accepting the notion of making small talk with friends.

So I sat down with the boys and told them, "You have to pick a sport and come to understand it so when you grow up, and other guys at work start talking sports, you can talk about it too and fit in. It's a dude thing." His response was basically, "Mom, I know I'm a guy. I don't have to like sports." I don't know if I was right or wrong, and I don't know what a man would do but I said, "I don't care if it's your favorite thing, but it's something you need to know. It's a man thing."

So now we're going to pay attention to football and hockey a little more than we already do, and I'm going to pray about other male-bonding things I have to teach the boys. 

Because of me, and all the Aunties in their lives, they'll probably be the most polite men around the water cooler, but hopefully, they'll fit in and understand how to act like a dude in a man's world.

Geckos taught My Son to Love

"Mom, I love them" sounds simple enough, but to me... It's truly an answer to prayer.

My oldest son is diagnosed as having Asperger's Syndrome. He is brilliant in his own way, a junior professor on things of science and history. He is verbal and surprisingly social, loving time spent with his peers in school and marching band. I credit this to lots of therapies, and certainly God's guiding hand.

But one of the challenges persons with Asperger's face is: lack of social or emotional empathy. And one of my son's challenges is having me as a Mom. I hug my friends and am not shy with my sons, or my friends. Daily, I tell my children I love them. I hug them, I praise them, I support them, even as I discipline them.

My examples, combined with his own sweet heart, planted well in my youngest son. He, too, is a hugger and has a kind, caring heart. He worries about others and has a social conscience.

But my oldest. I had to teach him to give "a two-armed hug" even when he shied away from physical contact with family members. And I had to teach him that a handshake (which he prefers to hugs) is not only considered a  social statement of respect, but expected in our society. So now he extends his hand in greeting not so much out of happiness to see his friends ("Don't they know I'm happy to see them?") but because he's learned it is a proper social gesture.

When he became obsessed, as those with Asperger's will do, with weather and storms, I became concerned. Never once did I hear him talk about all the people affected by Katrina or Andrew. But I heard all about the incredible power within these storms. So every time he started discussing these intense storms, I would remind him of the social toll of the storms, of the ways humanity was touched. I deliberately sought pictures and stories about the human element. Thus, over time, he learned not only fascinating statistics, but he also learned about devastation, of the faces of loss, and he would have to answer my question: "How do you think those people feel now?"

He learned to empathize or at least, how to think in terms of humanity. I am proud of him!

But L-O-V-E. How was I supposed to teach this abstract feeling? Through works of the care and concern for others? Through story books? Sure, we can do all that... but I worried. And I prayed. Would he ever really understand what it is to love someone? Could he come to love someone?

Did I mention I prayed about this? And don't we know God hears the smallest whisper of our heart? He knows the desires of our hearts? He heard my prayers...

And he sent two leopard geckos home with my son one day. A science teacher could no longer care for the geckos in her home and asked Robert if he would like to raise them. She gave the geckos, an aquarium, and starter items to my son. Eeks! I was less than happy about having reptiles in my house. But God has used them to teach my son how to care for others, how to give of himself, how to show concern, how to nurture and....he has learned to love!  

So the other day, as I watched the delight dance across my son's face, and he said "Mom I love them" when he talked about his geckos, I gave thanks!

Sometimes I feel very needy as I turn to God, but I am constantly being reminded... don't stop praying! He hears our prayers, and He will answer, in His time and in His way. Even with a couple of geckos.

How Do I Look?

When you hear the word "Single Mom" what image comes to mind? C'mon, confess: an image came to mind.Was the woman young or old? White, black, hispanic? Was she dressed conservatively or immodest? Did you picture a hoard of children or perhaps just one or two?

How about we change the negative stereotyping of Single Moms? Many of us work, more than one job, to provide for our children. We pray, we tithe, we volunteer in our community. We are the sole decision makers for our family and often the sole financial resource for our families. We are law-abiding persons striving to raise beautiful children.

Yet, we endure condescending comments like "I know what you go through, my husband travels a lot." Really? That makes you understand the demands of a single parent? Boy, you're not seeing the real picture!

Single Moms are patronized and demeaned. We lay awake worrying about paying for doctor's visits, band fees, babysitters. We are tired. We wait on an antiquated child support enforcement system to help us meet our children's needs. We put our social lives on hold, and we lift up our children! We are seen as weak, undeducated, and somehow "less" because circumstances have led us to this place in life. The sermons we hear in church are often (wonderful yet) geared to the two-parent family. We feel embarrassed about our divorce or our choices in life so we feel as if we are less. We don't need you to help us feel any less or to see us as any less.

We are tired. We are working hard and doing the best we can. We put ourselves last. We are broken. But we are striving and we seek peace!

Instead of pitying us, instead of saying "Glad it's not me" ... How about stepping up and pitching in. Offer a night of babysitting for free, fix a meal, mow the lawn. Put your faith into action!

And instead of patronizing us, put us on your prayer list. Make us your daily prayer... so that we may fully come to find peace in God, that we come to understand we are never alone, that we feel rejuvenated in spirit and strong enough to fight off the world's negative messages. Prayer changes, Prayer empowers, Prayer helps. (Thank God, it has changed me!) ... And prayer will also help you see us as we truly are.