Little Aggravations. . . large blessings

It has been a tough, albeit short, work week.  A dear coworker and his wife tragically lost their son two nights ago to an asthma attack. Their son was young and healthy (mid 20's) and had successfully managed asthma his whole life.  Yet in a blink, he was gone.


I can't wrap my mind around this.  I don't know what to say to them.  My coworker and his wife stopped in to the office today and all we could do was cry together.  Which seems counter productive to my "fix-it" nature, but I suspect it is all anyone can do. They are handling the routine affairs, sleepwalking through the things that are required when someone passes.  Grieving with someone is also necessary.  So I sat at my desk, all blotchy and red nosed (I am the ugliest crier EVER!).


Last night Rob asked if he could stay out late after work.  His girlfriend had invited him over and he would, he said, be home a bit after midnight.  My wife sighed.  Rob coming in, even when he tries to be really quiet, results in the puppy barking like a maniac for a few seconds.  Not long, but just long  enough to waken my wife who has trouble returning to sleep.


I am normally pretty sympathetic to her.  She and I both have crazy levels of work demands and I get her need for sleep.  Last night though, all I could say to her was how lucky we are that he was going to walk in the door at midnight.  We have friends who would give anything right now to get awakened at midnight with their son coming home.  We are blessed.

KC and Fathers Day

On the way back from our city's downtown festival, KC and I had a chance to talk. I knew something was bothering him. I could tell this morning.  It's just that thing you sense as a parent. Nothing specific, Just a set to his shoulders, a quietness that is at odds with his personality.  I had asked him earlier if things were okay and he said he'd talk to me later.

Walking was a good way to talk. It was just us. But we were moving, yet walking meant staying sort of in synch and step with each other.  It was sort of a way of being connected without looking and touching much. So with his hair brilliantly pink--a breast cancer fundraiser thing he did at the festival--we walked and talked.

He wanted to tell me how hard this weekend is.  Fathers Day advertising has apparently been beating him over the head the past week and it has reached the point where it was very painful.  If I listened to ads, I would have noticed that.  As it was, I was late buying my card for my FIL so clearly I was off my game.

For KC we know nothing about his dad. We have been able to find Mom Y and make contact but there are painful circumstances surrounding his father.  I have not shared those with KC.  I know someday I will have to.  I know I have read that our kids are more resiliant that we think and that they would rather know even a bad thing (and in this case it is a REALLY) bad thing than what they imagine.  But I am absolutely positive that this is not a level of knowledge this guy is ready for.

What I am grateful for is that he was comfortable sharing. My kids all understand that I have no relationship with my father.  My FIL is 'Dad' to me. But KC wisely said that his pain was different.  "At least you know what your dad looked like" he said.  "And even though he was a jerk and doesn't love you, you know that."  "I don't even know if my dad is black."

And he is right.  There is pain in the lack of love that my father has for me.  But I have a sense of identity.  I know my father's family, at least vaguely.  I have a sense of my heritage. For him, there isn't that.  He has decided that he does not want to ask Mom Y if she can share anything about his father.  He is afraid that it might be painful for her and that it would in his words "ruin any chance of a relationship" with her.

It really was a time when all I could do was hug him and tell him I knew he hurt and that I loved him.  It's not the kind of hurt I can heal, but I can be with him while he struggles.  I hope that helps.

Leave Takings and Remembrances

Today was a very emotional day.  It was remembrance day at church, where those who have passed in the prior church year are remembered.  I love how our minister does this because he does not focus on the "big" things about the people. Instead it is the little things, like how one woman was a shoe a holic and the other a Trivial Pursuit fanatic. Yes, they did amazing things as well but it is the little things that we humans (or at least this human) sort of enjoy remembering the most.  The little things bring them closer in our minds.  It has always been so for me.  I remember my mom's second husband saying "boy o boys" whenever the kids and I would arrive and how he would laugh because KC always brought him a small rock and put it in his walker basket.  Sure he was an amazing UU minister and did amazing things in his life, but it was that phrase that always calls him to mind for me.

This Sunday long time friends also got up and announced that they have relocated to another part of the state.  Stan has retired and Deb loves the ocean. They are not inaccessible by any means, but it FEELS so incredibly far away to me. I love them both, but Deb especially has been a friend, mentor, a touch stone in my life for many years.

When we came to the church way back when, Chet was in 8th grade. (he is 29 now for a reference point.)  Deb was the director of the church school.  She was amazing and helped give Chet experiences I am not sure he could have had otherwise.  Despite his autism, he participated fully in a Coming of Age program and grew under her kind and firm tutelage in ways I could not have dreamed possible.

She was still the Director when we began the adoption process and brought Robbie home.  When we tried to adopt Fiona and failed miserably.  When we adopted KC.  By the time we adopted Lissa she had passed the diretorship torch on to another wonderful person. But we remained friends.  She was a person I could confide deeply in, share joys, share sorrows and fears in equal measure. She celebrated with me when I became Fiona's guardian, knowing full well how deeply I felt about the fact that Fi had been unable to live with us.

And now she will be gone.  Or at least a lot farther away.  I won't see her smile on every Sunday morning as I have for low these many years. Or get that encouraging hug that she always magically knew when I needed it.  We will stay in contact via the net, but it will be different.  I knew we were supposed to be sad but also to celebrate this next chapter in Deb and Stan's life together. They have earned this retirement, in a place that they love and want to share together.  But my soul was too busy grieving to do more than have a really fake smile through my tears.

Which reminds me of how our kids felt coming to us.  Leaving the life they knew and joining a family where virtually everything was different.  Where a new family was so happy that they were there.  Where they lost their first families, in part or in whole. And how we had all smiled through lots of tears.  Loss always hurts, even when something "good" is coming out of it.

Aftershocks

Rob went out with his girlfriend last ngiht and came home a bit later than his curfew.  I went out to the kitchen prepared to remind him of his responsibilities but stopped short when I saw his face.  Something was wrong and he had a really heartbroken look on his face.

He literally fell into my arms sobbing. Rob's taller than me, so I suspect we were quite a picture!  Rob is not a fellow who cries often or easily.  As a young child he would scream in terror but I can count on one hand the number of times that there were tears of sadness or even of anger.  I think that early experiences in his life taught him not to do this.

He was beyond words for a few minutes but eventually was able to share that he was feeling emotionally overwhelmed after meeting J. Last night was not the itme to start delving deeper.  It was just a time for holding, and reminding that he is loved and he does not have to figure this out on his own.  I told him the same thing I told Fiona on Saturday.  That conflicting emotions are normal, and that we are family and here for him. But in the days and weeks to come, we need to work together on this. I hate watching my kids hurt.  I rarely have trouble sleeping but I did last night.

Open Doors

When Rob was very little--2 or under--his first mother forgot he was outside playing, locked the door and left the house to go get his siblings at school.  He didn't notice her leaving and while she was gone, tried to get in the house and could not.  He screamed and kicked the door in terror.  I have always been appalled by this bit of my son's history, hurting for that little boy that he was.  For many many years, if he thought a door was locked he would revert to that frightened toddler, kicking and pounding on the door with glazed eyes, afraid that he had been once more locked out. We have an old house and the doors routinely stick in the humidity of summer, so there were a number of these incidents.

Over time, they stopped, though I will admit I have always been super careful to make sure doors were unlocked when he was out.  Also I can't ever go to sleep when my kids are due home so I am always up when he comes in from where ever he has been, regardless of the time.

A couple of nights ago he was out with his girlfriend. My wife and I were in our work room doing piece work when he came in the front door about 10.  He had a really funny look on his face.  I asked if he was all right, and if he'd had a good time.  "the back door was locked," was his reply. It turned out that K had absent mindedly locked it behind her when she brought the dog in from his final tour of the yard that night. I said "honey there will always be a door open for you here at home."  He gave me a huge hug, I think perhaps because he was the one needing it.

There was no kicking or pounding on the door, so one certainly can say that progress has been made.  But there was a look in his eyes that I can't describe. That look let me know that there is still that abandonment fear buried down there underneath the tall handsome strapping young man that he is now.

So for his birthday, he is getting a key to both doors.  I have not been one to give out keys to the house.  My kids lose things like you will not believe.  But it would not be safe to do a Hide A Key in our neighborhood at present.  So I am going to trust that on the brink of man hood, he can handle a couple of keys.  And in reality, for him to feel that he can always come home trumps the cost of a lock change if he loses them.

Re-Claiming

My "real" birthday is January 21st.  I have not celebrated it on that day since I was 19.  That year my father chose to leave right after my birthday celebration.  I knew he was doing it; it was this miasma of hurt that flowed over everything that day.  But I hated it.  I hated watching the pain in my mom and my sister's faces.  I hated the fact that he thought I was not supposed to care.  The next year I could not dream of celebrating on that day.  Everything was raw and fresh.  I chose to celebrate my birth on September 9th instead.  It was my grandfathers birthday and he was someone who I loved and admired deeply.  A therapist could make all sorts of very logical connectionis about this.  They would probably be true.  My father and I don't have a relationship.  He remained close to my sister but although I tried to have a relationship with him, it didn't work out.  He moved across country and never told me.  I am not one for begging or needing to be beaten over the head to get the point, so that ended things.

My kids have   always known the story of how my "new" birthday came about.  In some ways it has been helpful to have a painful experience like that.  They have experienced greater losses than I but there is a thread of understanding  and connection that they feel because of this.

Except that KC feels it is wrong.  He spoke with Kirsty yesterday and informed her that they had to bring me breakfast in bed tomorrow. Kirsty reminded him that  the kids and I usually leave to go shopping before she gets up in the morning.  KC was adament:  "She can at least have a piece of toast in bed Mom," he said.  Kirsty reminded him that we always have a big party in September.  "I know Mom" he responded, "but this is the day she was BORN that we are talking about here."

I've not thought about my actual birthday in years.  Unless I need to renew my license it is a non issue to me. But my son's love and sincerity is so touching that tomorrow I will really enjoy my toast in bed!

R.I.P Hush!

So back when KC was 2 1/2 and needed an abcessed tooth removed and then a round of antibiotics--antibiotics he flatly refused to take--we did what all responsible parents do in such situations.  We bribed.  As in, "if you take your medicine you can get that fish you have been begging for."  He did, and Hush came home from the petstore in one of those baggies that fish live in for the big journey to their new aquarium.

Hush was a betta fish and after the first week when he was stared at daily, he sort of became a fixture on the living room shelf.  People said hi as they walked by and he just quietly lived there.  For a really long time because KC is 7 now.

Hush was fine yesterday, but today, well, Hush had moved beyond the corporeal demands of fishly life.  Unfortunately this was discoved while KC was at art class.  Lissa was pretty fascinated by the fish death and because I knew she couldn't wait to tell KC when he returned home, he got told pretty soon upon arriving.

And he is devastated.  We are making a poster of Hush and everyone is going to write on it something they remember about him and we will hang that as a memorial. But my lil man went to bed tonight crying bitter tears over the passing of his fish.

Mothers Day 2011

Today we gave K a really  nice mothers day.  The kids woke at 5:30 because they were so eager to fete her on her day.  I managed to hold them at bay for an hour but then we got up and got together her vanilla scones, tea, flowers, cards and gifts. It looks very much like a royal procession going into her room, with KC first carrying flowers, Rob following next with the decorated tray filled with goodies, Lissa following Rob with gifts and Chet bringing up the rear with the cards.  Unfortunately for K, our back yard neighbors had a gathering last night so she only had gotten to sleep about 2:30 a.m.  Ah well!  LOL  She did love everything and then we left her in peace while I fed the tribe and got them ready for church.  And incidently, if you want to make vanilla scones  you really should use the recipe on the PW Cooks blog/website.  They are really good and K says that they are better than the ones you get at Starbucks. 

At church one of our members stood up at joys and sorrows and said that she was an adoptive mom and that her children's mothers hadn't planned on what had happened and her kids had not planned on what had happened and that we should remember adopted kids "without moms."  OK so I am sitting there with my adopted kids and this is not a hallmark moment.  I get what she was saying and I know she was very much coming from a place of pain as I could hear the tears in her voice.  I think her Mothers Day was not filled with cards and flowers.  And I do think of my children's first mothers on this day.  Truthfully not just on this day, but often.  But her wording was so unfortunate.  Adoptive children, at least my adopted children, do not live with their first mothers--or natural mothers--or birth mothers whatever terminology fits best.  For my kids we have used first mother and birth mother depending on what they wanted.  But they also really see us as their mothers too and I read a lot of confusion in Rob's eyes at her statement. None of them at this point in their lives at least, sees themselves as motherless and while I have walked (and will walk again) the paths of the pain of loss with 3 of my 5 kids all ready, this was just harder than other situations we have encountered thus far.  Sigh.

Marking a Passage

I've been shopping for one of my residents that lives where I work for a while now.  The kids have become friends with Mr. D. too.  Undeterred by the oxygen line snaking through his apartment, or his somewhat quirky nature, they would smile and chat with him while I unloaded his groceries and explained what I had chosen for him at the market that week. As the weeks passed, I learned his "favorites".  I think he had even forgotten he had favorites because his illness had confined his choices to the local 7/11 type market until I began shopping for him. Sometimes I would throw in a few of the cookies we had made here at the house, telling him he was helping my waist line by taking them. (this is not a lie, that is a help!!)

This Saturday when I did his shopping I knew I could not get there till Sunday to deliver the groceries because of the party at our house.  He was fine with that.  I tried calling several times on Sunday and there was no answer.  I was marginally concerned.  I brought the food with me to work today and tried calling him from the office.  There was no answer.  Now I was  really concerned but one of my staff said they saw him out walking on Saturday so I convinced myself he must have gone to an appointment.  Then the hospital called my office.  He had passed away Sunday  night.  The hospital called us because they could not locate the next of kin.

We gave them the number we had for his sister.  They said that they had that number but no one was answering.  We said we didn't know what else to do right then as we had no other number. The hospital had the nerve to say and this is sadly a quote:  "Well that is no help and now we are stuck with him."

My coworker who had answered the phone said that Mr. D was a really nice man and the jerk from the hospital backed down.  By the time I got  home tonite his sister had been located. But passings should be marked by more than being an inconvenience to hospital staff so this is my marking the passing of Mr. D.

He loved to share a joke, or something he heard on the TV or the radio.
He had wonderful memories of his mother who had predeceased him.
He was so very proud of a nephew who lives far away and always shared the boys athletic accomplishments with us when he heard of them.
He knew he had made mistakes in life and was willing to acknowledge them.
He was honest to a fault.
He had a very sweet way of paying back when help was offered--bringing up a pen set or a calendar for me  or a lighter for my coworker.
He loved all kinds of music, especially classical that he heard on the local public radio station.
He will be missed.

Letter Writing

This is about the time of year I start mulling over what I am going to write in the annual "holiday letter."  I work hard for it to sound natural and not braggy and gross and it takes time to craft it.  Then I put it in a Word doc that I can tweak slightly for each person. It is more personal than just running off a ton but still takes me far less time than the old days when I would write about 50 or so by hand.  I clearly was demented!  LOL

Thinking of the holiday letter also makes me think of two other letters I write annually. I write letters to my 2 youngest children's first mothers in care of the agency we adopted them through.  Our adoptions are closed.  We were told that neither woman wanted to have contact.  There are good reasons why each of those women may legitimately feel that way.  Or have  felt that way.  But people change and I always worry that they are out there somewhere wondering how a little baby boy and baby girl are doing.  So I have always written an annual update letter to the folks at the agency, and enclosed a letter for each mom with instructions to please keep this on file should they ever want information or contact.

Writing these letters is infinately harder for me.  I spend hours wondering if I sound the way I feel--which is incredibly blessed and lucky.  I realize they made a really hard choice for deeply personal reasons.  I don't want to sound like I am talking down.  I worry that I don't include information that they would want.  At the end of the day, after the 15th re-write or something like that, I say "it is what it is" and hit print.  I also enclose a scrapbook page collage of KC and Elisabeth with random shots taken that year.  I don't know if either mother will ever see these but it is important to me that they be there, waiting for when the time is right.

Merry Christmas!

The above shot was KC and Rob heading down the stairs from their rooms on Christmas morning. We rose early, the kids were awake at 5:30 but I made them wait till 6 to come downstairs. The photo doesn't capture the eubullient joy that KC had for the holiday this year.  Even Rob was cracking up watching his little brother. "Santa came!  He really really CAME"  he shouted with eyes as big as saucers.  ROFL  K and I said afterward that he acted like a kid in a holiday special on TV.  No one would believe that this was just how he was acting for real!  And was Lissa ever in the on the action this year.  Thank goodness for the color system for the presents as they were little present opening machines, especially the diva princess.

The interesting thing is that all morning long they played really happily with the rather simple toys that we got.  Art supplies, a wooden alphabet train, a glorified game of tiddly winks called Dino Toss.  All extremely low tech!  One of our family traditions is that Santa brings the toys but  everyone gets something handmade from us.  KC and Lissa got aprons for cooking(they cook all the time with us) , Rob got PJ pants, Chet got knitted fingerless gloves.  I got fabric for a gorgeous skirt that K will make me and fingerless gloves out of this cool sueded yarn.  I am sadly not particularly crafty so my handmades for K consisted of the cool personalized baking pan that I saw on the Pioneer Woman website and also a beautiful sequined scarf that I got on an etsy site.

Christmas breakfast was our traditional home made cinnamon buns.  Lunch is sort of catch can--sandwiches and sparkling cider for the kids usually.  We have a bigger meal about 5 and will have a pretty table set for that.  Also I have baked a cake for dessert in KC's beloved new cupcake cake pan.  He has asked Santa for this for 2 years.  Santa couldn't believe he wanted it last year but when it showed up on the list again this year, I guess he figured it was a for real wish!

I was especially proud of Chet who showed genuine happiness at the pillowcases that I helped Lissa and KC make for him.  The white one has snowflakes stamped on it, the pink one (Chet's fave color) has gold peace symbols (also his favorite symbol).  Lots of times, he says a thank you that is almost rote.  Probably  is  rote actually as I think about it.  Lots of autistic people sort of file away "x is expected when y happens" and they just sort of do it and don't feel the things behind the situation that neurotypical people do.  He really seemed to be touched by their gift so that was truly a huge gift to me!

We called my mom and wished her Merry Christmas. She bought herself a new car yesterday and seemed in a better place emotionally.  I am glad she is happier, sad that it took incurring debt for it to be so. I do know that when K's mom died, her father was much the same, buying things all new, like somehow starting fresh took away the pain of the loss.

  When I opened email (which I thankfully did not do before we called to wish her a happy day) I found that she was letting me know that she got the picture of the kids and our Yule card and that she thought it so sad that KC had to try and look like a sick reindeer.  Sigh. Sometimes the fact we live several states away is a very good thing!  LOL