Influences

When my sons and I are out in public and someone asks, "Are they twins?" We usually glance at each other, smile slightly, and I'll answer, "No." Sometimes, the person proceeds to say, "They sure do look alike." Another glance at each other, and depending on our collective mood, I may say, "Actually, they aren't my biological sons, nor are they biological brothers, but they are my sons, and they are brothers." This usually causes the person to pause and look carefully at me, then at my sons. Generally, the next comment is a thoughtful, "They sure do look like you." This causes smiles all around and the short conversation that follows is often my way to promote adoption awareness.

Certainly, at a quick glance, we seem to be a fairly matched set, yet my sons' DNA is from their birth parents, not me. But make no mistake, they are my sons... Robert has a vocabulary years beyond his age, and Ryann seeks justice with a servant's heart. Robert has a northern accent from our time in New Hampshire, Ryann has a southern accent honed in Virginia and Mississippi, yet both have mid-Atlantic inflections much like mine. They are both inquisitive, like a good story, and enjoy history, hockey, and music... just like their Mom.

Like most parents, I've taught them right from wrong, how to tie their shoes, and to turn off the lights when leaving a room... but what other things have I imprinted on their consciousness?

Listening to Ryann read his book about the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, I realized I've given my boys a love of the ocean. Because of my gravitation to the sea, we read books about historic storms, shipwrecks, and floods. They know the impact of the Hurricane of 1938, the adventures of Misty of Chincoteague, and know there are treasures and stories off the shores of the Graveyard of the Atlantic (the Outer Banks) and the Pacific Graveyard (Cape Disappointment, Washington). 

A few years ago, they were playing football in the backyard when I heard Robert say to Ryann, "You be the Pittsburgh Steelers, I'll be Virginia Tech." They were little, and didn't understand the difference between pro and college ball. The memory still makes me smile, but it illustrates again how our interests influence our children.

Growing up in what-was-then rural, eastern Virginia, I knew a world of farmland, marshes, and the sea. But through stories, my own father imparted a love for the mountains of his beloved Montana. He would tell stories of growing up in Big Sky country, bringing the mountains to life in my imagination. He shared his love of horses, the outdoors, and gardening. 

When people come to visit, I'm not content until I fix them some coffee, some cookies, or a meal... This is because my Mom, and her Mom, did the same thing. They always opened their humble homes to friends... and made them feel welcome. My Mom would not let anyone leave without feeding their bodies, and dare I say, their spirit. My mom made sure I knew the joy of a good book, the great music of the 1950's, and she taught me manners and etiquette.

Who I am today is a result of God's unconditional love and my family's influence. I think it is that way for all people, whether the family influence is good or bad.

I'm a single parent. There is only one of me. I can only do so much. I'm getting older. Sometimes I get tired, and I lose patience, and I feel disheartened. I pray my sons do not take these negatives to heart. 
 
Sometimes the thoughts overwhelm me:
Am I doing enough? 
Is my influence a good one? 
What am I teaching them? 
Are they ready for this world?
Am I planting strong family roots?
Do they know I love them?


I pray my sons see the positives, feel the positives, know the positives. I am not ashamed to let them see me on my knees in prayer. I admit my mistakes as I realize them. I challenge them to search for justice, encourage them to be positive, advise them to turn to God in all things, and I always tell them to Give Thanks. 


I humbly whisper to the Heavens, "Help me be a good mom. Let them come to know You deeply. Let them be safe and know they are loved. Thank you for letting me be their mother. Let my influence be a good one."

Cape Henry (Virginia Beach), Virginia. 2006

A Declaration of Independence

A few days ago, I made the following post on Facebook. Yes, it's a testimony, but it's more than that, for it's also my declaration. Life is different. Life is good.
Change.
Hope.
Thanksgiving.
Peace.

"There is no way we can be all things to all people. There is no way we can make everyone happy. There is no way we can do all things on our own. 

Being a Survivor nearly killed me... took me to a deep, dark place inside where my only champion, my only hope, was Me. Failure was not an option. I fell further away from God, and deeper into myself. My vision was clouded by despair and hopelessness, hurts, stress, exhaustion, and loneliness. And where did that lead me? No where good. I set myself up for failure. I am imperfect, like every soul on earth.

But this summer, my life took an amazing, miraculous route. At a time when I felt I had hit rock bottom, when I fell on my knees, when I took off my Survivor charm, when I truly understood: "I Cannot Do This On My Own.... I Give It All to God" then Love and Peace took over!

My life changed. My job changed. My focus changed. More time for my children and I. More prayer and meditation. A life truly focused on God and His word and His ways. I said, "Lead me, Help me."

It's been an amazing ride these last 7 months. He has taken me places and changed things inside of me. I am actually stronger and more at peace from letting go of the negatives that held me down. I am healing, getting stronger, focusing on what really matters. That doesn't mean it's "easier" but I do have peace.

I'm not sure where exactly He's leading me, but I now know, I'm really not alone. Those negatives and past hurts that haunted me are gone. I know He will be with me. And I know he's put some amazing people in my life to help me (as I pray I can help them) when life's trials weigh me down.
Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. I know this isn't the popular type of facebook posts where folks spout off about politics or drama. But it was heavy on my mind today. I just wanted to say "Thanks for loving me, Thanks for loving my children, and Thanks for being with us on this journey." 

 

 

Celebrate!

As the Miss America pageant took place tonight, the global autism community was cheering on Alexis Wineman, Miss Montana.

Alexis became one of the most popular contestants of the pageant. Not only was she named a finalist, she was also the youngest competitor at this year's pageant, winner of ABC's People's Choice award, and the first contestant in pageant history (to admit being) diagnosed with Autism, specifically PDD-NOS. (Pervasive Developmental Disorder-Not Otherwise Specified).

A miracle!
A vindication!
A winner!
A beauty!

Yet in all the excitement, my mind kept wandering to thoughts of her parents.

According to online articles, they were told their daughter was autistic 7 years ago, long before she ever entered a beauty pageant. 
They knew something was different about their child. 
They've heard the doctor's diagnosis. 
They've had to hold to console their child after she was bullied. 
They've had to endure melt-downs. 
They've had to deal with school concerns.
They've had their parenting questioned. 
They've had sleepless nights.
They've had to teach their child to exist in a non-Autistic world.
They're two parents doing the best they can for their family and their special needs child.
They aren't glossy or glamorous.
They've struggled.

They are "one of us"...

70 years ago, Alexis' parents would've been advised to put their autistic daughter in an institution. This evening, Alexis' parents saw their daughter in a tiara and the Miss America pageant!

I have a secret to tell you:

Tonight I celebrate Miss Montana, but I'm also celebrating her parents!




Sources:
http://www.abilitypath.org/love-laugh--live/family-fun/alexis-wineman-miss-montana-2012.html
http://www.missamerica.org/news/press-releases.aspx?id=625
http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20664029,00.html
http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/entertainment/2013/01/alexis-wiseman-miss-montana-first-autistic-miss-america-contestant/
http://www.greatfallstribune.com/article/20130111/NEWS01/130111005/Miss-Montana-Alexis-Wineman-makes-history-first-Miss-America-contestant-autism

Big Brother

Growing up, I longed for an older brother. In my dreams he would've been a protector and advisor. He'd have taken some of the burden off me (I'm the oldest child in my family), he'd have guided me through awkward social situations, helped me study, and eased some of life's challenges. Obviously, my dream could never be a reality.

Many decades later, I'm raising two sons. In the natural order of things, it would be safe to assume my 16 year old plays the role of Big Brother to my 13 year old.

But never assume anything, especially when considering a special needs family. My 16 year old is diagnosed autistic: a compilation of Asperger's Syndrome, Sensory Integration Disorder, ADHD, reading comprehension issues, and sparkling brilliance. He is a delight, but he has not been able to take on the traditional authoritative role reserved for a family's oldest child.

Instead, the role of Big Brother has fallen on my youngest son. He is the organized one, the Communicator, Mentor, and Coach. When I'm at work, he makes sure things are ok at home: dinner's in the microwave, chores are checked off each boys' list, alarm is on, showers taken. When my oldest misses social cues, his younger brother clues him; When my oldest "isn't sure" what someone said, my youngest chimes in; when my oldest leaves things scattered or needs an activity break, my youngest reminds him to be focused. It does not always work smoothly. There have been times when my eldest son says, "Why does he act like the big brother? I'm older." And times when my youngest is simply tired of shouldering the burden. (He has his own sensory issues, including Auditory Processing Disorder. Sometimes, one more noise, sound, or word is too much to tolerate).

So, it's not easy. Sometimes there is chaos and impatience. But it's not "bad" either. There is love and commitment. There are priceless bits of character development. Siblings of special children are often more compassionate, tolerant people.They are warriors and defenders, they develop thick skin, and excellent coping skills. They often champion life's underdogs, and they learn early that Disney lied: it's not all happily-ever-after, but it can be good.

However, our little family's dynamics were recently altered, rather quickly. My youngest has had reconstructive surgery of his right rib cage. For several months, he can not pull, push, or lift ANYthing. He must be careful not to fall, or to get jostled in a crowd. And he fatigues easily. As he recovers, he must fully rely on his older brother to cook dinner in the microwave, to carry clothes for him, to open the door for him, to carry his toys. Physical limitations are not easy for an independent 13 year old to accept. But in this mix of healing energy and angst, I also sense: Relief. From both of my sons.

For my youngest, some of the burden has been reduced. And my oldest now gets to take on the role of Big Brother. He must put down his coins and geckos and focus on the task at hand. He must protect, nurture, and care for his brother. It's time to take the next steps in maturity, to become the caretaker of himself and someone weaker than him. His egocentric universe is going to be under attack, and he may rebel a bit, but he will become a better person, and brother, in the process.

The next few months promise to be ones of healing and rest, they will also be ones of challenges and trade-offs. Possibilities abound and Hope carries us forward.