tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46352748281436261802013-07-28T02:09:00.342-07:00Thriving with AutismBeahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-71169362346205958872013-07-01T23:24:00.002-07:002013-07-02T00:53:35.295-07:002013-07-02T00:53:35.295-07:00Pieces of My HeartPieces, blocks <br />
Zoob things. <br />
Cars. Rubber ducks. <br />
Cards. Pictures. <br />
Alphabet. Numbers. <br />
Grouped color by color<br />
Or by height and size.<br />
Placed in just the <br />
Right position<br />
And looking at them in<br />
A sideways glance<br />
Or staring at them <br />
With an enthusiastic<br />
Excited hand flap<br />
Reveling and lingering<br />
in his happy<br />
Peaceful place<br />
<br />
Until it comes<br />
Without warning<br />
Because of a mere<br />
change of the direction<br />
Of the wind<br />
Or sound of the first drops<br />
Of rain <br />
Never mind the thunder<br />
Resonating in the sky<br />
But mind the roar <br />
Of your heart<br />
That distinctly says<br />
"Here it comes. <br />
Brace yourself."<br />
And in a split<br />
Second before <br />
You even can,<br />
They all come <br />
flying off--<br />
Blocks. Zoob things. <br />
Cars. Rubber ducks. <br />
Cards. Pictures. <br />
Alphabet. Numbers. <br />
Chairs. <br />
For some, tables.<br />
Tears. Shrieks.<br />
Kicks. Slaps. <br />
Pinches,<br />
For some, punches<br />
Glares of "Why?"<br />
As in "Why do I have <br />
to do this?"<br />
"Why can't I make <br />
you understand?"<br />
"Why can't YOU understand?"<br />
Unanswerable<br />
Questions<br />
From both sides<br />
<br />
And the last to <br />
fly off are the<br />
Pieces of my heart.<br />
Crumbling<br />
Piece by piece<br />
Falling down<br />
On the colored<br />
Rubber mats<br />
"Pick it up.<br />
Pick it all up." <br />
I, as calmly <br />
As I could<br />
told the little boy.<br />
Blocks. Zoob things. <br />
Cars. Rubber ducks. <br />
Cards. Pictures. <br />
Alphabet. Numbers. <br />
Chairs. <br />
And he did<br />
With angry <br />
And confused<br />
Tears in his eyes<br />
Hands curled<br />
up in a tight<br />
fist <br />
As if<br />
Barely containing<br />
the wave of<br />
emotions <br />
His little body<br />
could hold.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Pick it up. <br />
Pick it all up.<br />
All the pieces of <br />
Your heart."<br />
I, as fiercely<br />
as I could, <br />
Told this <br />
Breaking<br />
Mama's heart. <br />
And I did. <br />
My weary hands<br />
groping for <br />
All of it<br />
In the vale<br />
of tears<br />
Piece by piece.<br />
The words<br />
"Because" and<br />
"My" and "little" <br />
and "Prince" <br />
"I" and "love"<br />
and "you".<br />
<br />
<br />
He sits down<br />
quiet. <br />
And I say <br />
to him<br />
With my eyes<br />
liquid<br />
And throat<br />
voiceless dry<br />
"I have no <br />
answers <br />
For now, <br />
And this--<br />
Every piece<br />
of my heart<br />
This is <br />
All I can<br />
Offer you, <br />
I hope this <br />
will do..."<br />
<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-79562333569297424912013-06-19T18:40:00.001-07:002013-06-20T20:26:47.340-07:002013-06-20T20:26:47.340-07:00NBA and My Two Little Champions<br />
I never thought I would be writing about NBA. Or any kind of sport for that matter. But I am. Although in a non-conventional way. Because with all the heat and excitement of Game 6 yesterday of the NBA finals, I cannot help but be overpowered and drawn by the hype. So bear with me. But of course, mostly, this will be about the two little men in my life who are way more gorgeous than Tony Parker. <br />
<br />
Babbles, utterances, single words that most of the times serve functions other than what it's meant for, these are what my boys have in their language bank. Often times I wondered whether they actually mean something by them or whether these are just one of the many repetitive behaviors that are characteristic of kids on the spectrum. As an autism parent, it is second nature for me to anticipate my boys' needs even before they realize it themselves so much so that I fail to recognize and realize that despite their language impairment and cognitive delays, they still absorb everything they hear, see and feel and that they are always, always communicating something important. Admittedly, I have been too afraid to hope that the time will come when my boys can communicate with me as clearly as other kids do with their parents. Having been disappointed so many times, where my patience is constantly tested, where every bit of hope and perhaps even my faith exhausted, I forget that every little thing I do as a parent, as a mother, as a teacher to my boys does bear fruit. <br />
<br />
No matter how long it may take. <br />
<br />
Simply because miracles happen. <br />
<br />
And, because they're called miracles, they seem to not come very often as much as I want them to. They come at the most unexpected moments. They come at the most opportune time where I am barely hanging on by a thread of my faith, just when I am about to give up. And maybe the old adages are right in that miracles come simply when the time is right. When we have worked our asses off that we're pretty damn sure they're literally falling off. And what does this imply? It means we work for it. I have to work for it. Miracles. The truth may be that we have to earn it. I have to earn it.<br />
<br />
This morning, as I was helping Morgan get his drink of water, I did the usual prompting and commenting, "show give" (for open palm gesture) expecting him to reply with the usual "Mmm", because no matter how many times I prompted him in the past days to say "drink" no response ever came close. So when he suddenly said, "ding" before putting the bottle to his lips it took two or three seconds to register that he meant "drink" in my dumbfounded brain, I was ecstatic! I quickly ran out of the room to tell their father which elicited a kind of joy on his face only a father can have that surpasses the joy had the Spurs beat Miami in Game 6 of the NBA finals. (Wink!) <br />
<br />
And now as my two thumbs are furiously punching the qwerty keypad of my phone, Garret is constantly asking me to open his pack of eggnog cookies. I pause every now and then to do the work, "Garret, say 'Open'." He looks at my mouth and with all the darn apraxia his brain could manifest but with all the strength of will of my little prince could expel, he looks at my mouth, looks at the ceiling as if in concentration, and says an emphatic, " Ppphuh!" Again my heart soars and again I quickly went to inform my better half. And again appeared the face that confirmed how no matter who won the NBA finals, it doesn't matter. Because all that really matters is that his little man said " Ppphuh". <br />
<br />
This is what I learned today: <br />
<br />
One, my boys' babbles and utterances do mean something. They are absorbing everything I teach them, they are feeling every facet of life I show them. They are communicating to me and the world around them. I just have to pay closer attention and listen more carefully.Because when I do, I am able to give value to my boys' manner of communicating. And when I am able to give value to what they are telling me every single day, I am able to give more importance and more meaning to our connection. I am able to have a deeper connection with my boys. And maybe even a relationship with them not unlike neurotypical parents and their neurotypical kids where conversations and out of the box ideas flow freely. Maybe an even more profound relationship if I haven't already. <br />
<br />
Two. I mustn't lose hope. Because as Tyler Knott Gregson says, <blockquote></blockquote>"I do not believe there is a more destructive and dangerous force than hope but I do not believe that there is a more necessary and perfectly beautiful one either."<blockquote></blockquote><br />
More than a mother with a strength of a thousand armies when it comes to loving my boys, I am but human though, I do what I can with the best of my abilities and through my frailties I get impatient, arrogant and easily discouraged but when it comes to my boys this I should always, always carve in my heart, I shouldn't and mustn't give up. When it comes to my boys I mustn't give up. Because to love them unconditionally is to always believe in them and to give them the ultimate gift of the human spirit--hope. Hope in themselves, hope for better things to come after every struggle they will surely face and hope in the best of people they may encounter in their lifetime, no matter how many times they fail, no matter how many times they get disappointed, no matter how dark and winding the tunnel of their life map may seem. <br />
<br />
Three. Faith. I have to believe. Because miracles do not work if I do not believe. Every day. 365 days a year, until my last breath. I need to trust in the universe. That everything is working according to a higher and deeper purpose. That the outcome of my journey as a mother, as a person, the end mission of my boys' journey and their autism and the journey itself, are by and in themselves miracles in every essence of the word. Good things come to those who wait, the saying goes. And better things come to those who work for it. With faith comes patience and discernment. I need to believe, be patient and reflect on things that have come to pass and pray for whatever will come to pass. <br />
<br />
<br />
If by some miracle the Spurs do win the NBA finals, I'm sure Garret and Morgan's papa would be very happy. He usually pushes for the underdog. Me, on the other hand, I could care less about basketball and all that hullabaloo. All I know is that I'm rooting for my two "underdogs" in the world of normalcy and neurotypical development, always. Because in my eyes, with every struggle they face and overcome everyday living in our "normal" and if I may add, chaotic world, they are champions, in every sense of the word, miracles even from the moment they were conceived. Of course, without having to say it out loud, but affirming it nonetheless, for the father of my boys, if Tony Parker, Manu Ginobli and Tim Duncan would be few of the San Antonio Spurs' hands holding that elusive NBA championship trophy, for him, that would just be an added bonus to the challenges our little men overcome everyday. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RExht2sHJ6w/UcJaqh-dnjI/AAAAAAAAAnc/JIswe-PDzpI/s1600/20130620-704376_4421758875951_1405438284_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RExht2sHJ6w/UcJaqh-dnjI/AAAAAAAAAnc/JIswe-PDzpI/s400/20130620-704376_4421758875951_1405438284_o.jpg" /></a></div>Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-58503732761465761112013-06-01T04:04:00.002-07:002013-06-01T17:45:48.807-07:002013-06-01T17:45:48.807-07:00Autism Proof<br />
I never thought the day would come when I would be explaining to my son why I spanked him. But it did. And for me, for us in our family, this is another milestone achieved. It's not so much as me explaining to him why I had to do it as it is he understanding my explanation. As in really understanding the events that led me to him spanking him. And perhaps truly understanding the most important reason of all.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FS6EsEuyxbY/UanZylihGxI/AAAAAAAAAl0/pi9wSuEiPaE/s1600 /487847_10200246028267223_31517482_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FS6EsEuyxbY/UanZylihGxI/AAAAAAAAAl0/pi9wSuEiPaE/s320/487847_10200246028267223_31517482_n.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Garret is 8 years old. He has single words now here and there. A-koo (Apple), Ana-na (Banana), Graesh (Grapes), Fish, Skweh (Square) among those that are more or less consistent, clear and unmistakable. Two word-phrases still elude him though. Conversations, all the more. But I haven't lost hope. If there's one thing I still believe, it is that one day, my little prince and I will be talking under the sun, the moon and the stars non-stop. One day. And I could just imagine the things we would talk about. Or maybe I will just gape in wonder at him when the time comes and he will be doing all the talking.<br />
<br />
Language is expressive and receptive. There can be no true language without both. Expressive language obviously can be measured by how much a child speaks and how he speaks, uses the words, etc. Receptive language, on the other hand can be partly measured by how much a child expresses himself. And this is where the discrepancy happens, I believe. Because so much of what a child understands does not necessarily translate into verbal responses. After all we have what we call "choices". Even at a very young age, children begin to practice making choices, choosing what to answer. Yes or No. Cake or Ice Cream. Blue or Red. Behave or misbehave. And it seems, as they grow older, mental mapping, reflection, pondering, processing any input from the environment all the more contribute to the quantity and quality of verbal responses and behavior, of course. I would love to cite a reference for this paragraph but I think I do not need to because these few sentences are products of what we all experience. Common sense, you may call it, don't you think?<br />
<br />
So back to the point of this blog post. Two nights ago, I spanked Garret. Our newly-cropped ears Dobe, Riley was trying to play with him, licking him as he went out of the room,which Garret does not like. So he pinched the ear of Riley. I called his attention once. Still he did not heed my reprimand. He pinched Riley's ear again. This time I swatted his bottom with one firm smack. He looked at me, went to our room and hid under his pillows. His papa called to him. He refused to approach his father. He sobbed quietly, looking at me like it was my fault he was crying, which of course was understandable. It went on like this for 10 minutes or so until I couldn't take it anymore and approached him. He was lying face down. I did the same beside him and put my arm around his back. I stroked his hair and said, "Garret, I spanked you because you did not listen to mama. Riley's ears will get hurt if you pinch it. And I have to spank you because you have to learn to listen to what mama says." Or something like that. I tried to make my words really simple and easy to understand. He looked at me, tears in his eyes. I continued, "Mama spanked you because Mama loves you." At this, I left him alone to process everything I said. After three minutes or so, he stood up and joined Morgan jumping on the bed, smiling slowly as if nothing happened. And that was when it struck me, as in really struck me-- Garret understood me. Really understood what I just said. In his own non-verbal way. Actions do speak louder than words ever will. He understood more than any two-word phrases and sentences could ever measure. But more than anything, I was amazed at the thought that what I said got through to him. Somehow beneath the seemingly sound-proof walls that autism builds around the world of my son, my words were autism-proof. I connected with my son on a different level, and he connected with me. And that meant everything. Because just when I was up to my neck with self-doubt and on the brink of losing my patience and perhaps some parts of my faith all together, a breakthrough like this happens.<br />
<br />
So what have I learned from this? Three things: One, language is more than just spoken words. More importantly, it is seen, clearly seen in what is not said. What I say, what I do, my little prince is taking it all in. As Morgan does. They understand everything that goes on around them in their own way perhaps even in a more hypersensitive manner. They may have autism but they may be more in tune with life than I am. So this is a note to self in my other aspects in life as well. I have to be more sensitive to body language, facial expressions, subtle nuances that people I interact with, communicate with me. Sometimes, words only serve to cover what is the truth.<br />
<br />
Two, even if I begin to lose hope and question if any of what I'm doing as a parent is ever working, even if I forget the one true thing that gets my boys through, the one powerful force that nothing could ever surpass, the Universe does not forget and somebody up there is just taking it all in as well. And when the time is right, he / she tells me, shows me in his own verbal and nonverbal way as well, like saying, "I did not forget. And here it is, what you need. I may have had to postpone some miracles so you would learn the value of patience, discernment, reflection and gratitude always. And I did this for no other reason than because I love you." Well, what do you know, my stubbornness and know-it-all attitude is also given a firm smack on the bottom.<br />
<br />
And three to wrap it all up in one tidy neat bow: Love, what I have for my boys, what the Universe has for me unconditionally, is autism proof always. :)<br />
<br />
<br />
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-7095662260893208432013-05-25T02:04:00.004-07:002013-06-01T17:43:48.930-07:002013-06-01T17:43:48.930-07:00Sarah Kay for My Boys or Better Yet for Me <br />
Recently I just discovered an amazing Spoken Word Poet, Sarah Kay. And among the few ones I have heard her perform, "B" is the most poignant and moving of all for me. I would like to think that these are the words I want to tell my boys when the time comes when they can understand my words, my spoken words more deeply. But, on second thought, maybe these very words, are what they are teaching me ever since they were born. Life does have a different way of making me find out and live out what is sacred in life itself. When I think I already know how things should go about, it takes a different turn, the road diverges into a narrow, rough patch without even an early warning device. And all I am left to do, compelled to do is to ponder, wait, trust the process and be thankful for everything. Because nothing in this life is without a purpose. So here's Sarah Kay's "B" for my boys, my little prince Garret and feisty king Morgan, or better yet, my boys' daily reminder for their mama. <br />
<br />
If I Should have a daughter… (For my boys, or better yet For Me)<br />
<br />
By Sarah Kay<br />
<br />
If I should have a daughter…“Instead of “Mom”, she’s gonna call me “Point B.” Because that way,<br />
she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I’m going<br />
to paint the solar system on the back of her hands so that she has to learn the entire universe before she<br />
can say “Oh, I know that like the back of my hand.”<br />
<br />
She’s gonna learn that this life will hit you, hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up so it can kick<br />
you in the stomach. But getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs<br />
how much they like the taste of air. There is hurt, here, that cannot be fixed by band-aids or poetry, so<br />
the first time she realizes that Wonder-woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure she knows she doesn’t have to<br />
wear the cape all by herself. Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will<br />
always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried.<br />
<br />
And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just<br />
smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost<br />
everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to<br />
see if you can change him.”<br />
<br />
But I know that she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an extra supply of chocolate and rain<br />
boats nearby, ‘cause there is no heartbreak that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks<br />
chocolate can’t fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away everything if you<br />
let it.<br />
<br />
I want her to see the world through the underside of a glass bottom boat, to look through a<br />
magnifying glass at the galaxies that exist on the pin point of a human mind. Because that’s how my<br />
mom taught me. That there’ll be days like this, “There’ll be days like this my momma said” when you<br />
open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises. When you step out of the phone<br />
booth and try to fly and the very people you wanna save are the ones standing on your cape. When your<br />
boots will fill with rain and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment and those are the very days you<br />
have all the more reason to say “thank you,” ‘cause there is nothing more beautiful than the way the<br />
ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it’s sent away.<br />
You will put the “wind” in win some lose some, you will put the “star” in starting over and over,<br />
and no matter how many land mines erupt in a minute be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this<br />
funny place called life.<br />
<br />
And yes, on a scale of one to over-trusting I am pretty naive but I want her to know that this world<br />
is made out of sugar. It can crumble so easily but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste<br />
it.<br />
<br />
“Baby,” I’ll tell her “remember your mama is a worrier but your papa is a warrior and you are the<br />
girl with small hands and big eyes who never stops asking for more.”<br />
<br />
Remember that good things come in threes and so do bad things and always apologize when you’ve<br />
done something wrong but don’t you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining.<br />
Your voice is small but don’t ever stop singing and when they finally hand you heartbreak, slip hatred<br />
and war under your doorstep and hand you hand-outs on street corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell<br />
them that they really ought to meet your mother.<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://embed.ted.com/talks/sarah_kay_if_i_should_have_a_daughter.html" width="560" height="315" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe>Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-64051412603277657292013-05-19T18:35:00.000-07:002013-06-01T17:30:33.017-07:002013-06-01T17:30:33.017-07:00(H)OOO-RAY!<br />
After two long days of Speech and Language Workshop, follow-up sessions and evaluations, I'm quite beat. But happy beat. There's nothing more rewarding and affirming than coming home to my two little royalties kissing me full on the lips and embracing me with the tightest hug they can will their little boys' arms to ease their mama's tired body and mind, like they're saying to me in their own nonverbal way, "You did good, Mama. And boy, are we glad you're home now." <br />
<br />
It's been 5 years. This roller coaster life of autism. Garret was diagnosed April 2008, three months after I gave birth to Morgan. And Morgan, diagnosed almost two years ago. A slew of therapists, therapy sessions, teachers, methods. How do I briefly explain what a roller coaster life we have been living? Well, everything has been an adventure. And as all adventures go, it's full of unknown pathways, surprising rewards, terrible emotional breakdowns, severe testing of your faith and sometimes the losing of oneself in the uncharted ocean of humanity and a constant questioning of fate, destiny, determinism, will, choices, control, peace, joy and life in general. <br />
<br />
The Autistic mind is a literal mind in more ways than one. It's part of their social impairment. They have difficulty understanding hidden meanings. So for the sake of those who want a clearer, more "literal" description of what living with autism is like, let me explain it in no other way than in literal terms. If only to put oneself in the shoes of my two boys. <br />
<br />
It's like you wanting to go to an amusement park. And you line up for one of the many many adventure rides. You wait in anticipation for the excitement, the exhilaration you will surely feel, the fear of what could possibly happen to your body and mind while on the ride. The beauty and terror of it all. And you hold this conviction in your heart that no matter what happens, you will have fun. And you will have something to talk about afterwards. Funny stories. Good stories about the ride. So your turn comes up, you hand over your ticket to the operator. You climb into the car, buckle your seat belt, they put the protective gear over your head. And you wait. You hear the engine roaring to life and you are moving, slowly at first, dipping down moderately, and then, the tracks go berserk! And you are screaming your lungs out, "AAAAAAAAH" for enjoyment or "NOOOOOOOOOO!" for terror. "Don't stop the ride!" or "What the hell was I thinking?" And, when you think that you can almost die, you don't because the tracks suddenly turn itself the normal horizontal way. Until it swerves again and you are upside down out of your mind. <br />
<br />
Do you get it now? Do you feel the sheer amazement and terror of that one adventure ride you chose to take? Well, I do. Every single day. And my boys do too. Every magnified second of everyday. I've been on the high end of the spectrum of hope for my boys and on the deepest end of the line of desperation. From wanting them to be "normal" at one point to accepting them for what the Universe created them to be at another more poignant stance. From looking on at other families who seem to have their boys recover from autism to caring less about my boys being able to speak and appreciating more what they have brought to my life-- a million life changing lessons that just about altered my entire universe. <br />
<br />
<br />
Last night, I sang to my little prince-- "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands..." He sitting on my belly as I lie down tired from the days' activities, smiles profusely his prince charming smile. I clap my hands and I say to him, "You do." I was attempting to do the new techniques our Speech and Language therapist trained me to do. Attempting and not really getting all assertive as I had no physical strength left to do a serious application from the lessons I've learned in the workshop. He looks at me and claps. Something he has never been able to do many years ago! And then we get to the point where I sing, "If you're happy and you know it shout, hooray!" I stop just before I sing the last "Hooray" giving him a chance to respond. And you know what, he just did. My little prince sang, eyes crinkling, grinning from ear to ear, "Oooo-ray!" And it seemed like my chest was pounded by some paramedic by a defibrillator, giving me what seemed like a thousand joule bolts and the life line on the monitor just went from one horizontal line to a jagged sign of life! And we repeated the song 10 times and each time, he shouted, " OOOO-RAY!" <br />
<br />
With my renewed strength, I move on to Morgan. He jumping on the bed, I holding both his hands letting him now, I am with him, letting him take the lead. I say, "Yes, jump." "Morgan jump". I then kept quiet and waited. And he looks at me continues jumping and says, "UMP!." And I smile saying, "Good saying Jump, Morgan!" He looks at me some more, cheeks all pink and sweat beads forming on his upper lip, smiling his widest grin and verbalizing, "eh-yah". Bea?, I ask myself silently. My heart was beating loudly, assuring my brain, yes, he said your name. Again, it was as if I was jolted back to life. I joined my feisty king, I jumped on the mattress with him!<br />
<br />
<br />
A slew of therapies, therapists, schooling. 5 years. 5 wonderful, adventure-filled years. 1825 days of beauty and terror. Amazement and desperation. Routine and crazy unpredictability. Hope and impossibilities. Compassion and cruelty from all around. Questioning my purpose, the reason for autism in my boys and sometimes definitive answers and affirmations and sometimes even more depressing answers. And this weekend just brought my roller coaster car to a momentary stop in the swerving tracks and onto a horizontal view of what lies beyond. Telling me, reminding me, "Look at the sky. Just look at everywhere around you. Everything is where it's supposed to be. The clouds floating up there, the sea glistening blue down there, the trees rooted firmly to the ground with their branches raised up in heaven as if saying, Yes! I am where I am meant to be." Like our speech and language therapist telling me, "Bea, just tell your boys what you want them to do once and wait for their response. Relax and wait." With this realization sinking in, I breathe deep. Feel every beat of my raging heart slowing down to a calm steady pace, assuring me with its every pulse, my purpose in this life-- my boys. Then the coaster dips again, round and round...And I guess, this time, every fiber of my soul is singing, no shouting in amazement and maybe with a little terror but always with a longing for more adventure---<br />
<br />
"OOOO-RAY!" and yes of course, my heart is on its feet, no less than jumping! :) <br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-56705794244878497602013-05-08T17:38:00.003-07:002013-06-01T17:16:04.622-07:002013-06-01T17:16:04.622-07:00Mama Said There'd be Days like This...<br />
What does it mean to say "you have a lot of heart"? <br />
<br />
I remember many years back, a reality show on boxing aired on a particular channel and what kept repeating from the mouths of the fighters were "I respect him. He has a lot of heart.", in reference to their opponent after the fight. For the life of me, I couldn't grasp what the hell it meant. Because all I saw was a bunch of men trying to beat themselves up and for what? Fame? Glory? A million bucks? Or all of the above? How can one have "a lot of heart" for that? I couldn't wrap my head around it and I just had to ask my other half. And all he said was, "courage, honey." And all I could reply was, "Oh."<br />
<br />
<br />
I hate to say this but sometimes I feel that I'm in living in a live reality show. You know that feeling that you pretend that you really don't care about what other people say about you and your boys, you and your family and all your principles and all your values, but in reality, you do. Not because you thrive on other people's approval but because it's there. Like the elephant in the room, you can't shake the rest of the prying eyes of the world off. No matter what you do, good or bad, right or wrong, someone somewhere has something to say about you. And it drives me nuts every once in a while. It seems as if the reality show I am in is an everyday battle between my personal demons, the warring voices in my head, doubt and faith, wondering and believing, questioning and having vague answers at the very least, trusting in the process and trying to control it. Not unlike that boxing reality show. Several days of prepping oneself, doing the work, and then getting beat up in the end. Let me say it out loud. What the hell am I doing with my boys that is actually helping them? Why can't they still speak? Why do I feel that my boys are left behind? Even with all the intervention and effort we're doing, there's that nagging pull from my insides. Like I'm eternally stuck in one phase and the rest of the world is moving on. And finally, this one question, "What's the purpose of this all?" <br />
<br />
I'm not afraid to admit it. This is one self-pity post. I'm not ashamed to admit it. "Because mama said there'd be days like this." It is easy to fall into the trap of this shadow. And wallow in it for a little while. Because there is no getting over some things, only through. And I feel in my heart, right now. What I need is this. To feel self-pity. To question why. To debate on the unfairness of it all. Why are some kids talking volumes of conversations with their dads coherently, smartly, smart-alecky, even profoundly? Why can't I have that? Why can't the father of my boys have that? Why must it be that I be the one to interpret their actions and turn them into words? Why can't they say what's truly in their hearts and minds? Why can't they get it off their chest so they wouldn't feel as confused and wouldn't need to only cry out their desperation? Why? <br />
<br />
<br />
I just finished reading Coelho's Manuscript in Accra and this line is like a drill boring into my skull-- "When our legs are tired, the strength of our heart allows us to keep walking. When our hearts are tired, the strength of our faith will carry us through." <br />
<br />
Right now. At this very moment that I am writing this, I am losing a lot of heart. My legs are tired. My mind is weary. My heart is fatigued. And I sure do not know where I put my faith. Where I lost it. Somewhere. Out there. At the back of my mind, I know it's there. It's like this impending fact that confronts me as if saying "You're going to fight tonight. And you're gonna get beat up, pretty bad, fall down several times, and the hand that the referee's going to raise, is not gonna be yours." <br />
<br />
Living with autism. Surviving a day in the life of autism. Going through days like this. And many more days like this. And where am I amidst all this? Who am I amidst all this? Takes the life out of you sometimes, questions that bear no comprehensible answers. <br />
<br />
Like my friend Kary just recently said, "love gets me through, writing gets me through, until then..." Last night I originally decided to write a post about courage and heart and love, all three shown in the very presence of my boys and I planned to write about my bliss which is them and everything happy. But maybe, now it's okay to write about the real shadows behind all that. If only to clear my mind, purify my heart, bring it out in the open, liberate me from whatever demons I have inside. And maybe even if I am writing not all about courage and heart and happiness now, I am making way for these three to come through, eventually. Cleaning out my closet, clearing out the cobwebs of my soul, quieting the beast in my heart. <br />
<br />
"Mama said there'd be days like this." Behind all these turmoil of emotions I am allowing myself to go through right now, I know there'd be days of bliss to come as well. <br />
<br />
Until then, I just have to keep up the brave face, continue doing the work, prepping myself and my boys, doing what needs to be done everyday. Even if I feel I'll only get beat up. Because beneath all the questions I am asking, underneath the river of self-pity I'm wallowing in, there will be answers. And the noise all around? They're there for good reason. What reason, I don't know. Nor do I want to know right now. Until then, while waiting for my bliss to come, I'm going to muster enough heart to get through the day. <br />
<br />
Yes, I think, I'm finally getting the "having a lot of heart" part. Not all of it, but some of it, not for fame, glory or a million bucks. But maybe just to get through the day, one day at a time. And for now, that is enough. Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-73152774632573893312013-04-21T05:40:00.000-07:002013-06-01T17:08:00.089-07:002013-06-01T17:08:00.089-07:00Questions, Courage, TruthOur lives with autism. <br />
When will this be not an uphill battle?<br />
What's the point?<br />
Why does it feel like I'm left behind? <br />
Why does it seem that my boys are left behind while the rest of the world moves on? <br />
Is there no getting out of this? <br />
What is the purpose of all this? <br />
Why my boys? <br />
What does the future hold for us? <br />
But most importantly, for them, when we are gone? <br />
Why other people and not us?<br />
Why other kids and not my boys? <br />
Where and when is our salvation? <br />
<br />
This barrage of questions invading my peace. But somehow I am compelled to ask the most difficult questions because the answers compel courage to come forth. And it's almost easy to fall into the trap of self-pity and to an extent, despair. Almost. Until just moments ago, Garret approached me out of the blue, gazed at me with eyes holding the most indescribable, incomprehensible tenderness and Morgan, cheeks all rosy pink from jumping on the mattress grinning, all teeth and gums showing, grinning at his momma--- there's my answer, this right here, my truth. And it is just so much easier to fall back into a state of grace, gratitude and peace. :) And yes I am truly glad I was not afraid to ask the questions. <br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0Philippines12.879721 121.77401699999996-2.825668500000001 101.11971999999996 28.5851105 142.42831399999994tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-19068494144366667352013-03-28T04:03:00.003-07:002013-06-01T17:23:54.342-07:002013-06-01T17:23:54.342-07:00Miracles, Gratitude and CelebrationWe recently celebrated our 3rd year milestone of our Sped center. As usual I gave the welcome remarks. And it went on like this: <br />
<br />
"If there are three things that I have learned from the three years that our center has grown into, having seen the kids grow and learn significant life skills, having shared the other parents' joys and growing pains over the triumphs and trials of raising kids on the spectrum, it is this: One, there are no small miracles. Two, to be grateful for everything. And three to always celebrate our children and life in general no matter what." <br />
<br />
So many changes have transpired this end of the year. Our two teachers have moved on to another chapter in their lives. And our senior sped teacher will soon be starting a new life too. That leaves me with two new sped teachers and the imminent possibility of me being more hands-on with the training of the teachers and kids, and undergo more trainings in special education. I would have expected myself to be anxious about all these changes transpiring. And yet, all I feel is a sense of calm and peace that everything is happening as it should be. That everything will turn out okay because it is simply time. A season and reason for everything. And coincidentally, I have found an avenue that allowed me to unearth my old buried deep passion for poetry. But then again, having been through everything I've been through, coincidences don't belong in my vocabulary anymore. And for all this, I consider it to be a miracle, I am grateful and I am celebrating it everyday. <br />
<br />
But the bulk of my purpose in this life has always been my boys. And of course this post will be about them and the many milestones they have been reaching. I realize it has been quite a long time since I last wrote about them save for intermittent Facebook status updates. But I've never been one to be contented with one-line phrases or one glance readings so here's a lengthy post if only to celebrate my boys yet again. Over and over again. So yeah, the above paragraphs are a mere introduction. Here's the real thing...;-)<br />
<br />
Imitation. One very important learning skill, prerequisite to teaching functional communication. A challenge to most if not all children on the spectrum. <br />
<br />
“In general, imitation is important because of the developing ability to construct internal representations of the behavior of others and to duplicate them. To imitate physically, the child must be able to perform at least three tasks: turn-taking, attending to the action, and replicating the action’s salient features” (Owens, 1996, 145). <br />
http://www.speechpathologyguru.com/teaching-pre-communication-skills-to-children-with-autism-a119/<br />
<br />
<br />
My boys face this challenge as well though it has improved over time. One clear although unconventional and perhaps incidental example? Just recently, Morgan has discovered that he can move my desk quite easily near the bed where he'll be able to cross from the desk to the bed in semi-jump. Until the semi-jump became one full-blown, hands in the air, unmistakeable grin-on-his-face jump. Garret then followed suit and in just a few seconds had his own improvisations-- climbing up to the window sill, hanging on to the window frames for balance, turning around and jumping full body on to the mattress not unlike the one you see on the old Nestea commercials. The mattress seemed to be a better choice than the good old trampoline. After which of course, Morgan imitated his big brother. The two of them taking turns unprompted, patiently waiting for one to finish jumping before taking his turn. This has been their nightly ritual, their form of play, their happy place-- still no clear verbal language to each other and yet the understanding that they have with each other is crystal clear and perfect. This morning at the center as the caregiver and during the break, as usual, Garret climbed up the railing of the stairs, both feet on the lower railing, arms outstretched balancing. Yep, this is normal for us. I have long stopped having a mini heart attack when I see this sight. You just get used to it, you know. And what do you know, the Morgan calmly took his place up there too once Garret came down, once again imitating his big brother. I smile now amused at the thought that if my boys would have been neurotypical, it is but natural to scold the older sibling for modeling such "bad behavior" that the younger siblings would ultimately and always follow. But thank God, they're not neurotypical. You ask, "Why thank God? Shouldn't you be wistful and wishing they were?" Well, no, because otherwise I wouldn't have noticed the little itty bitty milestone that some if not most normal parents take for granted-- my boys overcoming the challenge of the simple task of imitation. Oh how they do imitate now!!! Of course, I do realize, this is just one part of the even greater challenge in improving their communication. But this is no less important. <br />
<br />
Another thing that strikes me as I watch my boys everyday is how their interaction with each other have grown considerably. Take this for instance, Garret does not like to play in our koi pond turned ordinary mini-swimming pool, alone. He patiently, oh ever so patiently waits for his little brother to wake up from his afternoon nap and when he does, practically pulls Morgan out from the room and out to the pond. And when they do play and frolic in the water, I can see clearly how it's not just parallel play. They have moments where they communicate in their own way. Morgan spontaneously hugs his kuya. And Garret looks at the pink chubby cheeks of Morgan and pinches it smiling. Garret plunging into the water, Morgan observing his big bro and imitates him. Taking turns. Doing it together. Having fun together. It is one of the many things I live for everyday--seeing my boys playing with each other and actually having a language of their own. Their own little world. Their happy place. But most of all, when I see them, all I see love emanating from their souls. The kind you see that's simply untarnished, pure, raw for whatever they comprehend about it and however they show it. Long before they were both born, I had an idea how my life would be fulfilling having both of them. What an understatement that was. Little did I know what I was in for. I was in for one tremendous love that just fills your heart and soul with the kind of raw, overwhelming emotion that breaks and bursts your heart with a force that you think you will literally explode. And as I always say, I'm gonna need a new heart. Despite all my misgivings, heaven help me, the universe have still been merciful to have blessed me with this kind of joy every single day. Every single day, I think to myself I must have done something right in my life. <br />
<br />
<br />
This morning with Morgan in my arms mouth slightly open, softly snoring. Yes, the kind of cuteness that just breaks your heart again and again. I hold his right hand stroking his palm and fingers, breathing in the smell of my king. And as I breathed, my chest just warmed involuntarily with the sudden thought, this right here, my boys, this is my joy. And I could not and should not ask for anything more. Garret snores softly as well in the other bed with his papa. Everything was quiet save for the mayas announcing the break of day outside. In the early hours of the day, my mind is quiet as well, save for my prayer, my declaration, an admission of humility--<br />
<br />
<br />
Every day is a miracle day. And for this I am grateful. And for this I celebrate my boys. I celebrate my purpose in this life. I celebrate my life. <br />
<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-80023986773924521292013-02-13T23:22:00.000-08:002013-06-01T17:04:53.317-07:002013-06-01T17:04:53.317-07:00DayoDisplaced<br />
Lost <br />
in translation<br />
If you will<br />
The language here<br />
is indecipherable<br />
There is only fear<br />
And the eternal<br />
question<br />
What would you <br />
do if you knew<br />
You would not fail?<br />
Sometimes I just<br />
Want to pack<br />
My bags and <br />
Take my boys<br />
And run away<br />
Some place safe<br />
Where they are free<br />
Where their roads <br />
Will be paved<br />
without pride<br />
or prejudice<br />
But where is that<br />
world?<br />
Where on earth?<br />
And these times<br />
If only<br />
I could take them<br />
back to my womb<br />
Turn back time<br />
But there is only <br />
The here and now<br />
What must be faced<br />
Must be faced, confronted<br />
Even those who refuse<br />
confrontation<br />
Refusal or fear<br />
Same difference really<br />
So how do I make <br />
Sense of all of this?<br />
I don't.<br />
I let it be.<br />
Because I am not<br />
In control<br />
Nobody ever is<br />
And I dig hard<br />
Dig deep<br />
Where there is joy<br />
Find that joy<br />
The air that I breathe<br />
The life that remains,<br />
pulsates<br />
Through my veins<br />
And perhaps I'll find<br />
even peace<br />
And this joy and <br />
this peace will<br />
Burn out all <br />
the pain. Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-32122252857237656832013-01-28T00:39:00.000-08:002013-06-01T17:00:20.760-07:002013-06-01T17:00:20.760-07:00The Best TeacherIt was several months ago that I accepted the project handed over to me by my sis-in-law. My mindset back then was, "Sure, why not. It's still in January, anyway and I'll still have more time to prepare. I think I can do it." And then the month of the project came. And I was up to my neck with activities for the entire month, activities for the Autism Society, the daily grind for my two boys, etc. And now I was thinking, "What the hell was I thinking?" But at the back of my mind I was excited at the prospect of doing what I actually enjoy and love doing, again after almost a decade of a hiatus. And by some amazing miracle despite a myriad of challenges two weeks prior the scheduled "project", it just all came through. <br />
<br />
Shortly after graduating from college, I worked at my alma mater as a guidance counselor and taught part time basic Psychology subjects while "trying" to squeeze in units for a master's degree, of which I really had no intention of finishing. And then my aunt who was then the dean of a certain college in Samar admonished me to pursue further studies citing how my students were only a page behind me in terms of knowledge base and current learning. It was based on fact, of course. Sensible. Made simple common sense. So I didn't argue at that time. I was 21. What did I know about the world except that at that time, it was my oyster, mine for the taking, mine for the choosing, mine to control. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to now. 12 years later. I'm married to a wonderful man and have two wonderful boys. Garret and Morgan have special needs. They have autism. As of now they are non-verbal. They are under a special program that qualifies for their education. I am no longer a guidance counselor since 3 years ago, my last experience of training students was in 2006 and my work load has been whittled down to coordinating activities at our sped center, coordinating with the teachers and parents. The term "further studies" seem to remain just that--further. My top priority are my two boys. My Garret and Morgan. No text books required. No written or oral exams to undergo. Not even constant parent training available by a certified professional. Just the hard, raw, challenging, hands-on, dirt-in-your-face, poo-in-your-hands, decoding their needs that may include emotional or physical bruises every single day parenting stuff. Every day I learn new things. Everyday I expand my understanding, my emotions, my ability to look at life in a certain manner, my perspective, my beliefs, my hopes, my dreams, my faith. I know more about the world more now than 12 years ago. And the world, as I look at it now in different-colored lenses, and as I have realized is not my oyster anymore. Rather, I have discovered that the world is an endless ocean of unfathomable possibilities, where personal decision and determination is just but a fragment of a billion of outside forces that shape one's experiences. <br />
<br />
The "project" that I am referring to finally took place three days ago. An 8-hour Team building workshop to young professionals about to embark on a 30-day journey to a foreign country for the sole purpose of learning. Training. This was my main job a decade ago. Oh how I loved it! Facilitating the structured learning activities, prodding the participants' insights and learning and formulating it into one amazing reflection of themselves and the goals they have mapped out for their near or far future. And I discovered at the end of the day with my feet dead tired, propped up on the backseat of the car going home to my boys--- oh how I still loved training and how I missed it terribly. <br />
<br />
As I watched the houses of Barangay Bantigue roll by, I reflected how in the days prior to the training, I was very anxious, thoughts replaying in my mind how I was so out of the game for quite some time already, whether I would still have the spark that would ignite the participant's interest for starters and in the end, not just elicit learning, but long-lasting, practical insights. My body was already screaming to lie in bed as I did not get more than two hours of sleep the night before. This emotional roller coaster I had to go through, I now realize, and still trying to fulfill my mama and wife duties, was certainly a perspective-awakening experience. As I said, the project pulled through. I did it. And I think based on informal feedback, I did it with high marks, flying colors, whatever metaphor you want to call it. The bottom line was I. Did. It. Can you see my wide grin on my face?<br />
<br />
On my way home from the venue, not only did I realize how much I still loved training and how I missed it terribly, but I realized how I have somehow become miraculously a better trainer than I ever was before. Why? I didn't have to guess for a long time, because my answer or answers rather, greeted me when I entered our gate when I reached home-- my boys, Andro, Garret and Morgan. <br />
<br />
My life with my three boys. Yes, I call my husband, my "kamagwangan" with a touch of endearment and a little "pasakalye" of course. My life with them, my beautiful, amazing, exciting, not-a-dull moment life with them, raising Garret and Morgan, living with autism, thriving despite and in spite of it, has shaped me into a better person, a better wife, mother and woman all rolled into one. Being a better trainer is even just an added bonus, in fact. And hands down, no amount of further studies, masters or doctoral studies could ever compete with the experience, learning, grace and wisdom that my family life has endowed and blessed me with. And I am sure even my dean-aunt would not even try to argue with me on this. <br />
<br />
Experience come in all forms, shapes and sizes. Maturity in mind and body, likewise. Wisdom certainly comes with experience. What's that eternal question that every now and then we ask ourselves? Oh yes, here it is, "If I were given a chance to go back and change the past, would I?" Here's my answer:<br />
<br />
A simple and resolute "No." <br />
<br />
The night before the training, a friend asked me what I was studying about and I just couldn't reveal what it was because I was too afraid that the training might be a flop and I wouldn't measure up to their standards or worse, my own. And with the response that came next, it revealed what I couldn't even articulate myself because of the anxiety and fear I felt. It came along the lines of, "It must be so important and special to you for you not to tell me or anyone." And all I could say was, "Thank you for getting it." The project was indeed important and special to me because if I accomplished it well, then that would prove that somehow in the deep recesses of my cognition, perception and ability, I am still worth it, of value, and significant. That I am still a positive and significant contribution. It would prove that I still have it. By "it", I mean growth, learning, improvement, evolving, changing, bettering, maturing with grace, sublime with age and experience. And if I didn't even pass according to whatever standards, well, I'll have to deal with it some way or another. <br />
<br />
At the beginning of the training I practically begged my participants not to call me a speaker. I did not fit into that mold. I jokingly told them, a speaker is somebody mature, older in years and with a lot more experience than I have. Besides, I'm still young. I stopped counting my years when I reached 25. To which, thankfully they got my humor, my first clue that the training was starting on the right foot. <br />
<br />
So yes, the best teacher is experience. The best "further studies" is experience. And I am so abundantly blessed with teachers in my life. <br />
<br />
Thank you Ate Anna, for trusting me enough to entrust me with this project. <br />
Thank you Ate Polly, my cousin, who helped me enormously with the training modules. I hope someday we can work together. Then I can learn even more from you. <br />
Thank you Sandra, for your belief and faith in my abilities.<br />
Thank you Lyra, Carmi and Diane, my three beautiful assistants during the training who seemed to anticipate my every need even before I knew what they were. I look forward to working with you again. <br />
Thank you friends and family for getting it. Your affirmation and validation is important to me. <br />
To my wonderful, wonderful, wonderful participants-- Lito, John, Clare, Sandra, Wesley and Team leader Ma'am Cathy, what more can I say? You made it easy for me that fateful day. Training you was the best decision I made in a very long time. Good luck to your journey in that foreign country. <br />
<br />
To my primary teachers in my life-- Andro, Garret and Morgan, thank you my boys, thank you. I truly must have done something right in my life to have been given the miracle that is all three of you...<3
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-19314916340443786782013-01-04T23:00:00.000-08:002013-01-07T02:38:41.924-08:002013-01-07T02:38:41.924-08:00My Boys Know Better, Way Better..."A deep breath to steady herself. A willing of the mind to focus on what's more important. A striving to try to forget what just transpired. The mind, however could only do so much when emotions barrel in like an avalanche. And when this happens, there is only a sagging of the shoulders and heaving wracking sobs. He looks at her, looking at everything that just happened, quiet, observant, silent. When the avalanche rolls in he approaches her, brings his little hands to her face and kisses the tears not one time but twice, all the while murmuring indecipherable words of comfort. All at once the sobbing calms down. And what is only heard is, 'Thank you, little prince.' "<br />
<br />
<br />
As a parent, it is our natural instinct to do things for our children or provide them with everything so that they wouldn't want for anything in this world. So they wouldn't suffer or sacrifice as much as we did. So they can live an easier life than we did. As simple as carrying them so they won't have to tire out walking long distances, carrying their heavy bags for them, and even clearing our own throats whenever they cough--as if this actually works, but we do it nonetheless for no other reason than the belief of the sheer force of positive thinking that we can take away whatever pain or hardships they have to go through. With everything we plan and do to take care of them, we often forget ourselves. And more than that, we forget our children. <br />
<br />
We forget ourselves. <br />
<br />
Mothers are the best examples of what I'm saying. I'm not saying all, though. Take this example: Grocery / Shopping list-- 95% of the budget goes to kids' needs. Sometimes even the 5% still goes to their wants. Another example-- Before going to school or work: Get the kids all ready and prepared, their bags ready to go and snacks all tucked in, their uniforms or whatever clothes they'll be wearing pressed to the last wrinkle. And the mother? Darn if she can remember to put some lipstick on in the car, 3 minutes before arriving for work. Lastly, whenever personal problems arise, mothers do their absolute best not to break down in front of the children, shove their personal issues aside and revert their attention back to the kids. We forget ourselves. We forget to take care of ourselves. And we forget that taking care of our own personal health and sanity is essential so we can fully take care of our children. <br />
<br />
We forget our children. <br />
<br />
In our efforts and preoccupation of doing everything for them, helping them out, we sometimes tend to forget their own strength and resilience. To an extent, we underestimate their abilities. We think that they don't know half of the world yet and what it takes to survive in it. Which is probably true in most cases. But every now and then something happens. Something happens to prove our perception of them of not being able to understand, or to face or simply to be ready yet to be completely untrue. <br />
<br />
I use the word "we" not to say that every parent does this. I mean it to say me personally and those who can relate to the scenarios I've been explaining. God knows, how different and similar at the same time special needs parents and "normal" ones go through. <br />
<br />
<br />
My boys surprise me in ways I wouldn't have imagined. It was Garret this time who stopped and made my heart beat faster all at the same time. With all my beating and skipping heart I knew with an overwhelming realization that what just happened was that he bravely broke down the walls of autism when he cupped my tear-stained face into his little boy hands and kissed my tears away. <br />
<br />
On that particular day, my little prince brought me to my senses once more. As clear as the skies are on a summer day, he reminded me loudly, plainly and clearly of two things. One- "Mama, I am here. Let me take care of you. I will wipe your tears away." And Two, "I can be strong for you too. I am strong. I am resilient. I am capable of anything. This is why I need you to take care of yourself too. Because I cannot be who I am and who I am meant to be without you." <br />
<br />
What better proof do I need in order for me not to forget my child for the most beautiful, the most able work of art and creation that he is? What better reminder do I need in order for me to realize the most important and basic fact of all in parenting, that I need to take care of myself too? <br />
<br />
On that particular day as well, Morgan was not without a role, although comical as his personality dictates him to be. Just remembering it now brings a smile to my face. How he can be so "kengkoy" as we say in our vernacular. While all of our Oscar-worthy performance was going on, a smelly odor wafted in the room. Morgan all crouched beside the bed, face furrowed in concentration. I don't need to spell it out for you, do I? Needless to say I cleaned him up afterwards with tears and laughter all mixed in my bowl that day. I am laughing now as I remember a Cebuano saying to deal with sorrow, "I-utot lang na day, mawagtang lagi nang problema." (You just fart it out and all your problems will dissipate into thin air.)Was that Morgan's way of comforting me? I don't know. Sometimes it may seem like I'm putting words into my boys actions or Morgan's poop for that matter. But when you think about it, that's how insight comes, right? From our own hypothesizing, analyzing and concluding. As I am typing this right now, true to his personality, Morgan relentlessly tries to get my attention by sitting on my lap, facing me and grinning at me with his widest grin that all his gums are on showcase. The "bungisngis" face. I stop occasionally to kiss his chubby cheeks and he moves on. <br />
<br />
My Garret, my little prince with his pure heart of gold. My Morgan, with all the personality you could tuck in a 5 year-old body. My piece of heaven. My purpose. The whole point of this otherwise pointless life. Both of you know better what life is really all about. Way better than I'll ever know. Thank you my little prince and feisty king. Thank you my boys. Mama loves you more than you'll ever know. <br />
<br />
To end this post, Sonnet XVII of Pablo Neruda comes to mind. I first read this 10 years ago. The words were rich in depth and so powerful, that much I knew. I just didn't know that I would finally come to understand the depth and power of it until I became a mother. This is for you my boys:<br />
<br />
<blockquote></blockquote><i>Sonnet XVII<br />
<br />
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,<br />
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.<br />
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,<br />
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.<br />
<br />
I love you as the plant that never blooms<br />
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;<br />
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,<br />
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.<br />
<br />
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.<br />
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;<br />
so I love you because I know no other way<br />
<br />
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,<br />
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,<br />
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.</i><blockquote></blockquote><br />
<br />
:-)<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-90449896622273668202012-12-09T19:42:00.002-08:002013-01-04T23:03:44.112-08:002013-01-04T23:03:44.112-08:00Sacrifice<b>December 1, 2012. 3:15 p.m. Nearing end of the Parenting Workshop. </b><br />
<br />
"How do you see your child 10 years from now?" "What do you think will hinder him from becoming what you have envisioned him to be, from reaching his optimum potential?" <br />
<br />
These were the final two questions our Workshop trainer asked or rather, as I felt, purposefully thrown at us that jolted us to our senses. And I, for the life of me, was stunned. A lot to process. A hell of a lot to think about. <br />
<br />
I didn't get to answer in front of the big group. Which was a good thing because even just listening to the answers of the other moms in the workshop, the tears just wouldn't stop falling. Like a a gasket had blown. And water was coming down in torrents. <br />
<br />
<b> 1980-2001. </b><br />
<br />
I was born and raised a Catholic. Spent twelve years in an all girls run-by-the-nuns Catholic school. My mom and aunts who helped raised me was also very religious, is very religious. Thus, as you can imagine, I was taught all the works at home and in school-- the saying of the holy rosary, attending the blessed mass, if possible everyday. And of course, being born and raised in Cebu , I was taught early on the devotion to the Blessed Señor Sto. Niño. I remember I was still 7 or 8, I would cry my eyes out because I was so tired from walking the what seemed like forever procession the day before the feast day of the Señor as was the tradition. But the most vivid memory I have is when my mom brought me to the Basilica del Sto. Niño. We sat down in one of the pews. And I remember looking around but what caught and held my attention was the number of devotees kneel-walking from the entrance of the basilica to the altar, very slowly, rosary beads in hand, murmuring 50 Hail Mary's, face fervent in prayer and supplication. I remember thinking back then, how painful their knees must be. Of course at that time, I couldn't understand why those people did what they did. It certainly didn't make sense to a 7-year old mind. When I finally couldn't hold the questions in, I asked my mom and she answered me, "They're making a sacrifice, darling.". I fell silent. Not because I understood, but because the word, "sacrifice" brought more confusion. What does sacrifice mean? Does this mean that God will answer their prayers because of their knees hurt? Or rather because they made their knees hurt? My brain simply could not fathom it. <br />
<br />
Anyhow, through the years, I understood more what sacrifice meant as it translated itself into various ways, exemplified itself in different growing up phases of my life, from giving up t.v. time watching to finish a homework, giving up one's feisty personality so my caregiver would not spank me, giving up precious hours of sleep just to complete the requirements that would allow me to march on that elusive high school graduation stage and get that diploma. Then in college it became a giving up of a sense of comfort and security I had in the exclusive high school for a place in college life, a giving up of a certain preference of clothing to please a boyfriend (oh dear God, why?), then again, a giving up of precious hours of sleep to complete that darn college thesis and that double darn Advance Psychometrics requirement which if anybody would ask me now what it was I absolutely be pale and as blank as a fill-in-the blanks test blank. <br />
<br />
So over the years, sacrifice become a clearer concept, a constant act required if I was to dream and realize my dreams in life. It was no longer an absurd idea that wracked my brain when I was entering early childhood. <br />
<br />
<b>2012.Present. </b><br />
<br />
Morgan is on the belt swing on his belly just as he likes it. Swishing to and fro. Me telling him, "10 counts more and we'll do the puzzle, Morgan." He obediently complies after the 8th count and sits down on the chair, ready to do the work. I kneel on the rubber mat as I assist him in placing the wooden animal pegs on the appropriate place. It takes him some time to finish everything. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, then glancing up every now and then looking at the surroundings, then back at his work again. Me, still kneeling, feeling the grains of the rubber mat digging into my skin. He finally completes the puzzle and I gave him a high-five. He looks at me and slaps my hand back. I tell him, "Good job, Morgan!" I pat his cheeks and placed both his hands on my cheeks so he would look at me and see I was happy he had done the work. He smiles a little. So characteristic of my feisty king. Giving nothing away. I reward him with another 10 counts of his belt belly-swinging. He squeals in delight.<br />
<br />
My heart is delighted. <br />
<br />
<br />
Garret follows me into their room to have a change of clothes. He sees his alphabet and numbers writing booklet, gets it and hands me his pencil case where his markers are. He smiles, eager to start writing. I tell him, "You want to write, Kuya? Okay, we will change first then we'll write." We then go out to the family room and he sits down on his chair. He opens to the first page and waits expectantly for me to ready his marker. He writes "A" three times for the upper case. Then for the lower case. Morgan invades the room and goes for the marker to add to his group of toys. We transfer to our room where Morgan cannot disturb us. Garret settles down again and continues writing. "B" this time, upper case and lower case three times each. Me kneeling down, my hand holding his to steady his excited fingers. I feel the wooden floor boards dig into my skin. He moves on to C, D, E. We finish until Z. Then in the last blank pages I let him write his name and trace the letters of my name, BEA. Then I let him copy my name. He writes with my assistance--B-E, then another E, then A. BEEA. I smile. He smiles. I let him trace the name of his papa. Again, happily he complies. I tell him, "Good job, Garret!"I thought we were done but he looked at his Numbers booklet. And we continue. This time we go from 1 to 10. I continue assisting him. His face serious in concentration. We finally finish. Garret's face is content. <br />
<br />
My heart is content. <br />
<br />
<b>December 1, 2012. 3:15 p.m. Nearing end of the Parenting Workshop. </b><br />
<br />
"How do you see your child 10 years from now?", our trainer asked a mom. <br />
<br />
"My child then would be in grade 9. And I think he will become and engineer later on. " <br />
<br />
"What do you think will hinder your child from becoming how you see him to be 10 years from now? <br />
<br />
"If I accept the job promotion waiting for me. I know the past two years work on my son will be all for nothing. Because it will require me to be away from my family, away from my child."<br />
<br />
One word rang loud and clear in the room. Sacrifice.<br />
<br />
This mom, right there and then had stamped and declared her decision to give up something for her child. <br />
<br />
As everybody in the room digested what just transpired, I couldn't look up. My heart was in knots. My palms catching the droplets from my eyes. <br />
<br />
Growing up it became ingrained in me that maybe if I knelt longer during prayer, God would take me more seriously. Apparently that image in the Basilica stayed in my young mind and made quite an impression. I thought, if I prayed long enough, meaning I knelt through all the five mysteries of the rosary then God would grant me with what I prayed for. I thought this was how it worked. Until I was given Garret and Morgan. It was only then that I knew right away what little I knew about sacrifice. It wasn't about just the act of prayer alone at all. It wasn't about the kneeling, the enduring 3 hour-novenas or several hours of procession. It wasn't about the inflicting of pain on oneself at all. <br />
<br />
Sacrifice. Miriam Webster defines it as a giving up of something especially for the sake of someone else. <br />
<br />
Something for someone. A thing for a person. Or a situation for a person. A job promotion for the sake of the kids. Resigning from a job in exchange for the challenging yet beautiful opportunity to raise the kids. <br />
<br />
Sacrifice-- giving up my pride , my notion of normalcy and what should be for, unconditional acceptance of my boys. Giving up my own dreams for my boys' own dreams. Giving up my own plans for a much greater, unseen and seemingly impossible plan. Giving up my own fears of the future, the need to control the future so that my boys can be whoever they want to be, whoever the universe wants them to be. Giving up who I am, the limits I thought myself to have to defy the limits society has put on myself as a mother, on my boys on their potential. Giving up even conventional notions of dignity at the height of betrayal for the sake of my boys.<br />
<br />
And it goes without saying all the intervention, special ed classes and various kinds of therapy is one sacrifice that we, special needs parents, gladly do. Glad is is the best I can do to describe it. The cost of intervention is impossible. And we give up conventional forms of leisure, vacation and entertainment so our kids will learn even the very basic functions of living and independence. <br />
<br />
Sacrifice, giving all the time, patience, endurance, acceptance, understanding, empathy and unconditional love for my little Prince and feisty king that even I wouldn't know where this all came from, giving everything, so much so that my boys wouldn't even know what to do with all of it. <br />
<br />
Now I know better. Now I know sacrifice is not just about praying long hours and kneeling for hours on end. No matter how many basilicas I would think of conquering with my supplications and prayers, it will all be for naught if I don't DO what my boys need me to do-- kneel on the rubber mats as I teach my Morgan, kneel on the wooden floorboards as I assist my Garret with his writing exercises, every day, making sure each happening in a day is a learning experience for my boys, giving attention to detail telling them it's alright to wait in line in the grocery cashier no matter how much they want to go home right away, telling them it's alright to wait in the car while Papa is still buying something from the DVD store, telling them it's alright to sit still while eating their lunch, teaching them patience as I show them how patient I am with them. To love them with a love that knows no bounds. This is the true meaning of sacrifice. <br />
<br />
Sacrifice is giving up something for someone. It may sometimes mean giving up one's happiness for our children's joy. The most beautiful thing is that as we bask in our children's joy, we realize that this right here, is true happiness. <br />
<br />
Sacrifice is giving a huge part of myself to my boys so they will be complete, whole, be who they are meant to be. <br />
<br />
The real reason I was relieved I wasn't asked to answer the two questions in front of the big group is that I didn't have any. I only had fear in my heart. An uncontrollable fear of the future for my boys. Now I realize, this is so selfish of me. This is just like limiting and cordoning my boys' abilities, blocking their own light. And I can't allow that to happen. My own fear cannot and should not cripple my boys.<br />
<br />
Now I throw back the question to myself, "How do I see Garret and Morgan 10 or 20 years from now?"<br />
<br />
With a much stronger conviction and belief in my heart, I answer this:<br />
<br />
Garret will be a writer, a poet. Or a musician. An artist.<br />
Morgan will be a philosopher. A leader. A lawyer. A change-maker in the community. <br />
<br />
Or whoever they want to be. <br />
<br />
"What will hinder them from becoming who you envisioned them to be?"<br />
<br />
My own personal fear of the future. <br />
<br />
From this day forward, I promise to my two boys, <br />
<br />
"Garret, my little prince, Morgan, my feisty king, NOTHING will ever get in the way of your dreams. You will be who you want to be. You will be what you are meant to be. Mama and Papa will make sure of it." <br />
<br />
<br />
To the one who have allowed us to dig deep into our souls that fateful Saturday in December of 2012, you have said that tears have watered our souls. Nay, I disagree it is YOU have watered our souls well. And for that, thank you Teacher Mark Saballa...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wMK9yd61nRg/UMVZGRxvh7I/AAAAAAAAAck/lUTZfk-Bd0c/s1600/Garret%2Band%2BMorgan2%2Bbw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wMK9yd61nRg/UMVZGRxvh7I/AAAAAAAAAck/lUTZfk-Bd0c/s320/Garret%2Band%2BMorgan2%2Bbw.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-85745862677676802172012-12-08T01:26:00.000-08:002013-01-07T02:34:18.295-08:002013-01-07T02:34:18.295-08:00Right HereLazy Saturday morning,<br />
Watching my boys still asleep,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gZYfjKdlY2Q/UMMHdUhtxVI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/ZVizkZ8le4g/s1600/asleep1-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="305" width="203" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gZYfjKdlY2Q/UMMHdUhtxVI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/ZVizkZ8le4g/s320/asleep1-1.jpg" /></a></div>Garret breathing softly,<br />
left hand under his right cheek,<br />
tucking his feet<br />
underneath.<br />
Morgan's face as round as siopao,<br />
lips as pouty as can be, <br />
sleeps contentedly<br />
beside his papa so close<br />
they are nose to nose...<br />
No other place I need to be<br />
All I need is here<br />
This, right here,<br />
is where I'm supposed to be. ♥<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-44898279248981983782012-11-28T20:51:00.000-08:002012-11-28T20:51:15.138-08:002012-11-28T20:51:15.138-08:00The ElementsLast night. Garret all curled up in my arms, knees to his chest my right arm draped over his back, my left arm under his neck. Whenever I shift my right arm, he pulls it right back to his body, wanting to be wrapped in this cocoon of embrace. Perhaps he wants to be enveloped not unlike when he was still in my womb? Safe, warm, comfortable, protected from everything. Nine months inside my body, preparing him to be ready to face the world, all the elements out there, nurturing him with survival instincts, willing him to thrive in this crazy, unpredictable and sometimes cruel world of ours. As with all parents, I know I can't protect my boys from everything. I know that too well. Special Needs parents KNOW THIS TOO WELL. I promised myself not to write any depressing or somber posts any more. But this is different. I just couldn't shake this sinking feeling in my gut how people can truly be cruel without even a second thought. Insensitive, another parent surmised. No, I disagreed. Insensitive is an understatement. Cruel is more like it. The worst part? These people do not even know they are being cruel. A malicious, offhand statement, a disapproving look and comment at the grocery store, a muttering of "What an undisciplined child." , all sorts of cruelty come in all forms and sizes. Times like these I wish I could place my two boys back in my womb to protect them from these elements. Yes, I call these cruel people elements. That's the best I can do to get back at them, to whittle them down to elements. Because people who do not give a second thought to the things they say to hurt my boys or all the special kids out there do not deserve to be called humans. They have forgotten their humanity, to say the least. I have to admit, even if I had blown off steam last night through my status update, I feel it is not enough. Forgive me but I most definitely CANNOT turn the other cheek on this one. Forgive me if I may have to contradict my previous posts affirming that Kindness should be a way of life, even to the most cruel of us. This post may seem that I am succumbing to the level of these 'elements'. But this is not so. Because, with an overpowering fervor and conviction, when it comes to my boys and all the special kids out there, I , quite simply, WILL NOT TAKE THIS SITTING DOWN. And this is definitely not stooping to the level of these elements. This is standing up for my boys.<br />
<br />
This is for Garret and for Morgan. This is for Ethan and E.G. This is for Zaijan. This is for Gabby. This is for Marc. This is for Ken. This is for Kannon. This is for all the kids at the center. This is for all the special kids out there. This is for all the Autism Moms and Dads out there. This is for all the Special Needs Parents out there. Let us not take this sitting down. I plead you. I empower you. Let us fight back this attitude of ignorance and cruelty. Because this will simply not do. This is our children we are talking about. Because if only it is possible, we autism moms would without a second thought put back our children back in our wombs where no one can hurt them. No elements can hurt them. But it's not. So this is what we can and will do. Fight back. Spread Autism Awareness. Educate people. Especially when they are most cruel. Especially when they have forgotten their humanity. Let us jolt them back to their humanity.<br />
<br />
Right now as I am furiously punching the keys my Garret is smiling, calm, peaceful, content happy, waiting to go to school. Morgan is still fast asleep. They do not know the fire boiling inside me. How angry I am at these elements. But they know how much I love them. This should be the only thing they know. Love. Kindness. And God knows, with every bit of bone, muscle and vein in my body, I will protect them. And I will fight for them.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3DL1FWZ1Ob8/ULbpiaqZP0I/AAAAAAAAAbc/KffMUz397Dg/s1600/Picture1%2B%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="284" width="282" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3DL1FWZ1Ob8/ULbpiaqZP0I/AAAAAAAAAbc/KffMUz397Dg/s320/Picture1%2B%25283%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-14647360045070251162012-11-01T01:18:00.001-07:002012-11-01T01:18:32.774-07:002012-11-01T01:18:32.774-07:00My Prayer for Today"Garret, please bring these to the kitchen.", I requested of my little prince this morning, referring to the biscuits and water bottle in our room from the night before. He willingly took it from me and brought it to the kitchen as I went back inside to our room to finish making the bed. As I was tugging the corners of the bed sheet, a thought tugged at the corners of my heart as well --My little prince can already do what is requested of him. Translation- do simple chores, or help around the house, or simply help me as I am cleaning up our room. What a wonderful thought, I realized. But then again, this milestone of his is just one of many wonderful things that we have been blessed with. <br />
<br />
Everyday miracles and life lessons have come tumbling out and so overwhelmed I have been that the only way I have written about it was to declare it on FB as my status. Short, brief sentences that aptly describe the moments as I remember it clearly. Posting it right away for fear that it will dissipate into some faded memory. <br />
<br />
I remember sometime around March last year how I had just begun writing this blog, when it seemed as if words just came rolling out, my mom , in one of our many conversations asked me and later admonished me, "How is your prayer life? Don't forget to pray, Bea. Remember that it is in prayer that you draw your strength and wisdom as a mom and as a wife." I responded to her, "Mom, when I write, I am speaking to God. This is my prayer." <br />
<br />
Of course, all the FB statuses I posted was all filled with the intention of consolidating it later on into one lengthy prose, or blog post as we call it nowadays. Or, remembering how I answered my mom-- one lengthy conversation with my God, one long prayer of gratitude. <br />
<br />
How do I begin? <br />
<br />
Do I begin by narrating again such wonderful moments to relive the magic and beauty in all of it? Nah, too redundant. Then again, I believe gratitude can never be redundant. Being grateful for every blessing I have been given can never be enough. And who is to say that prayers need to be filled with only one request and one thanksgiving, and should be said only once? <br />
<br />
So here goes.<br />
<br />
Thank you God, Heavens, Universe for moments like these:<br />
<br />
Garret learning to eat on his own, returning his plate to the kitchen.<br />
Garret learning to share his toys with Morgan, learning to be a big brother.<br />
Garret exploring different textures of food, eating the french toast I made, eating breakfast with us.<br />
Garret learning to be compliant, obedient, behaved in different places as when his papa took him to a Rotary event at a public high school. Garret just sitting down, observing the people and his surroundings. <br />
Garret recognizing the letters of his own name, and writing it with so much enthusiasm and fervor that the walls of our home boast of the artistry of his handwriting, the beauty of his name. <br />
Garret singing not unlike the cherubim with such effortless grace, with such pure harmony.<br />
Garret dancing to a hip hop soundtrack to the movie we watched last night. <br />
Garret responding (echolalic or not, I don't really care) to my I love you with a clear "YOU." <br />
<br />
Morgan learning to sit through the entire sped class without whining or crying.<br />
Morgan learning to carry his own backpack, removing his own shoes and putting it on the shoe rack at school.<br />
Morgan happily imitating the actions of his teachers during circle time. "Sit down, sit down, we're rocking the boat..." <br />
Morgan mastering the shapes of his mickey mouse form board. <br />
Morgan learning to play with water in his mouth, gargle and spit (motor planning skills) <br />
Morgan saying, "Go" for when he wants to go home or go out to play in the garden.<br />
Morgan, while waiting for his papa to pick us up from school saying, "An-doo" (for his papa Andro)<br />
Morgan calling my name "Bea (Bee-ya)" when I wasn't around as if looking for me, asking where I was.<br />
Morgan pouting his lips for a kiss or puffing his cheek when I ask him for a kiss. <br />
Morgan calling me "momma" in beautifully rare moments.<br />
<br />
The list does not stop here. Miracles happen everyday. As my two boys have taught me this one poignant truth among many, I in turn am grateful for all the little things, everyday miracles that make up my world, that create my life, that beautifully design our life.<br />
<br />
While autism is a clear and everyday reality for our family, we've finally learned that one important thing that will allow us to live out the greatest gratitude of all to the heavens, more than poetry, prose or blog post, it is this lesson, this decision that we've come to make, this life perspective-- we cannot let our fear of the future for our boys,the challenges that we face everyday overshadow the amazing miracles that happen day by single day. Rhonda Byrne said and I quote, "Life does not happen to you, it responds to you." The quality of our life is not a result of fate or circumstance. It is a result of our attitude towards life, it is the consequence of our everyday decision to accept whatever there is to accept about autism, do what we can about it, help our boys the best way we can for them to survive in this world and carry on with life with awe and wonder and a joyful and grateful heart. <br />
<br />
So as I have challenged Autism many times before with a bullheaded, angry pride, I say this now with a more calm and discerning tone and disposition, "Is that all you've got, Autism? Because THIS is what we got. So why don't you bring it on? :-)" (Yes, complete with a smiley face.)<br />
<br />
Some of my readers commented how they were always in tears reading my posts, probably because they were feeling the pain I wanted to express while experiencing one of the dark days of autism, especially those days where nothing really made sense. Well, now, I think I can say, every once in a while even through the thickest and gloomiest of clouds, the sun breaks through. I can't say I've come or my family and I have come full circle because there is still more to life. We are still young. And we still have numerous lessons to learn. But I think I can say we've taken the first step, breaking the shell of our pride and human wisdom and entering into this world of wonder, joy and gratitude-- the beautiful world of our two beautiful boys, our two royalties little Prince Garret and our feisty king Morgan. <br />
<br />
<br />
"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding...And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy." -Kahlil Gibran- <br />
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My prayer for today-- Thank you God for everyday miracles. I am in awe. My heart is filled with joy. I am and will eternally be grateful. <br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-9249428559221137322012-10-29T17:29:00.003-07:002012-10-29T17:33:28.231-07:002012-10-29T17:33:28.231-07:00The Illuminating MoonThe moon's out tonight<br />
Clear as day<br />
and that light!<br />
Illuminating the clouds<br />
Clouds that loom<br />
Larger than life<br />
Transforming into shapes<br />
That come alive<br />
Then my Garret<br />
sees it<br />
not unlike<br />
The Little Prince<br />
Yes, Antoine St. Exupery's<br />
Royalty<br />
Gazing in wonder and awe<br />
at the different planets<br />
and kingdoms<br />
My Little Prince<br />
sees the moon as if<br />
for the very first time<br />
Fingers flapping<br />
bunched together as if<br />
trying to capture<br />
that bright, white<br />
circle<br />
Smiling, oh what delight!<br />
Stepping on our garden<br />
stones brightened<br />
by that illuminating<br />
moon<br />
Then I say,<br />
"Look again, Garret"<br />
Gently turning his head<br />
upward<br />
He looks and smiles.<br />
Silent, content<br />
No words needed<br />
I turn silent myself,<br />
content--quiet joy.<br />
No words needed.<br />
Save for the moon-- <br />
speaking its language<br />
illuminating strength<br />
Illuminating my joy<br />
Casting the brightest <br />
light on <br />
my prince, <br />
on my life.<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-5745406419272378442012-10-06T18:46:00.003-07:002012-10-29T17:33:36.035-07:002012-10-29T17:33:36.035-07:00The Ground Beneath Our FeetGingerly I walk out <br />
of my little boy shoes<br />
And onto the cemented<br />
ground, <br />
rough, crooked<br />
And oh how I love it<br />
I look around<br />
with eyes wide, <br />
searching<br />
questioning<br />
What's this world like?<br />
And then something <br />
way up there <br />
hovers in formation<br />
singing, flying<br />
and like me,<br />
flapping!<br />
Mama tells me they're<br />
birds in the sky<br />
Oh and the sky!<br />
bluest of blue<br />
and wispiest whites<br />
And wait till <br />
dusk comes,<br />
where way up there<br />
turns lavender<br />
red<br />
Oh how I love <br />
sunsets instead<br />
And then I tread<br />
on my little bare<br />
feet onto our koi pond<br />
freshly cleaned<br />
Of course it's not <br />
enough for me<br />
to stare at the fish<br />
or to just look at the water<br />
I immerse <br />
my little boy hands<br />
and splish and splash<br />
Still it's not enough<br />
I need to feel it,<br />
My whole body needs<br />
it, the calmness<br />
it brings, soothing<br />
water, I go in<br />
And then I sing!<br />
Oh how I sing,<br />
And don't even ask<br />
when I'm on the <br />
belt swing<br />
I put my belly over it <br />
arms hanging<br />
then I swish<br />
to and fro<br />
As high as I<br />
can go!<br />
Then I get bored, so<br />
I twist round and round<br />
till it's tight<br />
then I let go <br />
with all my might<br />
And it's round and round<br />
again, spinning<br />
spinning<br />
And me laughing, laughing!<br />
This is my world,<br />
come join me,<br />
See how fun<br />
how beautiful it must be <br />
For others may<br />
call it sensory dysfunction<br />
I call it feeling the earth<br />
the wind, the water<br />
for what it is<br />
Some call it weirdness <br />
I call it the natural order of things<br />
Most call it unusual<br />
But I call it <br />
just breathing the air<br />
that I breathe<br />
feeling the ground <br />
beneath our feet<br />
I call it living our<br />
lives as it should be.<br />
fully.... <br />
<br />
<br />
I've long wanted to write about my boys' unique way of experiencing the world. By unique, yes, I do mean their sensory processing difficulties and challenges. Whenever Morgan takes off his crocs to play in our garage, I can see the satisfaction he feels as he treads over the roughness of the cement, walks over the big stones, and Garret too, as he just sits and sometimes even lays down on the ground. If there is one word that could describe my boys' countenance when they are experiencing the world in their own way, it would be this: peace. <br />
<br />
Come to think of it, in our world full of immediate gratification gadgets, technology and everything automatic, we fail to really experience life as it is. The presence of technology more often than not seems to override our natural ability to learn things the experiential way as we used to. This is why every time I see my boys doing what they do, I am fascinated, awed and feel a certain sense of nostalgia. My boys remind me what life is really all about. The remind me never to let go of things that matter. They tell me everyday to always, always live life as it is supposed to be lived-- fully. <br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-67943979781092983682012-10-03T21:36:00.001-07:002012-10-10T03:37:41.441-07:002012-10-10T03:37:41.441-07:00An Angel's SmileI had to write this post if only to capture and carve this beautiful memory of one little girl's smile forever in my heart and for all to see or imagine at the very least. <br />
<br />
It was yesterday afternoon when it happened. The afternoon special ed class at our center ended. And the kids proceeded to go home with their caregivers hand in hand. The last of them was our one of our three girls at the center. Their driver had not arrived yet so they waited in the reception area. I was preoccupied with something, some papers and stuff for the new kids to be evaluated by our visiting neuro-developmental pediatrician, when I heard the little girl's caregiver say, "Ma'am, diri lang sa mi mag huwat ha." (Ma'am, we'll wait for our driver here, is that okay?). I mumbled a quick "Yes, of course" to them without even turning my head. A few minutes later, their driver arrived. I heard the caregiver say, "Ma'am, ari na mi." (Our driver has arrived. We are going home now.) This time I stopped with whatever I was doing and turned to look at them. And boy, was I glad I did. "Bye, Sweetie.", I called out to the little girl. Her caregiver made her turn towards me and said, " Say bye-bye to Ma'am Bea." No response. She just looked at me with questioning eyes. I said again, "Bye Sweetie." Pause. One, two, three seconds later, her questioning face broke into one big smile at me! Oh how my heart leaped! Her caregiver said happily, "Very good, Annie! (not her real name)." Little Annie held my gaze for more than 5 seconds still smiling, then continued to walk towards their vehicle assisted by her caregiver. Even when their van drove away, her smile remained in my vision. The joy I felt still beating loudly upon my chest. <br />
<br />
Annie has Rett Syndrome, a rare form of autism that affects only girls. Its manifestation is the slowing of head growth, loss of muscle tone, loss of the use of hands, a stiffened gait in walking, uncoordinated breathing, loss of language and social skills and seizures(http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/rett-syndrome)<br />
<br />
This information serves not so that readers can have some sympathy for our little Annie or perhaps comment, "How difficult her life must be.", but so you can see beyond the challenges that lay before her, the challenges that she is going through every minute of her everyday, so you can see the unbelievable strength that this little girl has shown despite the odds against her. And not only her strength but also the strength, patience, resilience and unconditional love of her mother and father and other family members and the most wonderful caregivers that take great care of her every single day. <br />
<br />
I know for a fact how her parents strive to work very hard just to keep up with everything that she needs. And I'm not only talking about the financial aspects. The emotional strength that is required for this kind of life circumstance is immeasurable. I know for deeply loved little Annie is by her parents. If I were asked to define what acceptance really is, I would answer you, " Look at them and how they love their little Annie. " They would do anything in their power to protect her, nurture her, give her the best possible quality of life, love her in every conceivable possible way. And I know for a fact how great their faith is in the Universe, that everything has a purpose, and that everything will be taken cared of. <br />
<br />
I take my hat off to Little Annie's parents, family members and caregivers. Their love, strength, resilience and acceptance is so amazing, beyond words. So powerful. I am deeply humbled by who they are and what they do. Everyday without fail. It makes me realize once again, there is a much greater force in this world, much greater purpose in this life than that of fulfilling personal joys. <br />
<br />
Most of all, I am moved beyond words, beyond tears, beyond anything by Little Annie. I am humbled by her very presence in our center, in our lives. It reminds me once more to be grateful for every single blessing that I have in my own life, in my two boys, in my life partner, in my family. Her most cherubic smile has reignited the fire within me to do everything I can in my own way to make this world a better one for her, for my boys and all the other kids with special needs. <br />
<br />
So you see, I had to write this post. Not only so I cannot forget the memory of that angelic smile of little Annie, not only so you can imagine what her life must be, not only so you can see the immense strength in her, but so that I can give Little Annie the salutation and celebration that she and her family so well deserve. <br />
<br />
I'm sure Annie's family do not seek praise or commendations for how they raise their child, or how much strength they bring out everyday. Nor does Annie. They just want to live their lives the best way they can, the best way they know how. Everything else is just icing on the cake. But I have to share this to the world for another more important reason, a deeper cause. Because this is my own way of telling the world, encouraging and empowering other families out there similar to Annie's or ours to keep going, never give up, keep on praying, be steadfast in hope and faith. <br />
<br />
I end this post with a quote from a friend:<br />
<br />
"It is such a relief that the greatness I thought myself to be deserving of is my son." -Pete Owens-<br />
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In the end, after all is said and done, after everything we've endured, in all the joys we are blessed with, there is one life truth that becomes clear: the salutation and celebration that we once thought we were deserving in this life is not ourselves, but our children. They are the reason we are here. They are our salutation. They are our greatness. And we are all the better for this amazing truth. <br />
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Thank you, Little Annie. From now on, every time I start to lose track of my path, every time the questions of why return, I will close my eyes remember how you smiled like an angel at me, how you broke through the walls of autism surrounding you, I will feel your strength and remember the strength of your family and know in my heart how my boys, my family and I will, in turn will break through. <br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-86141852703395510712012-09-30T20:53:00.000-07:002012-09-30T20:53:47.574-07:002012-09-30T20:53:47.574-07:00In the SilenceAll is silent<br />
<br />
Save for the water gurgling<br />
<br />
as koi surface to<br />
<br />
have their fill<br />
<br />
All is silent<br />
<br />
Save for my king's<br />
<br />
occasional squeal<br />
<br />
of delight<br />
<br />
As red and orange<br />
<br />
shimmies through<br />
<br />
the clear pond<br />
<br />
right in front of his<br />
<br />
very eyes<br />
<br />
All is silent<br />
<br />
Save for Mayas<br />
<br />
above singing sweetly<br />
<br />
from the nymph tree<br />
<br />
All is silent<br />
<br />
Save for the afternoon<br />
<br />
sun emanating<br />
<br />
through the clearest<br />
<br />
skies<br />
<br />
All is silent<br />
<br />
Save for my voice<br />
<br />
speaking to my king<br />
<br />
Admonishing him<br />
<br />
"Look, darling, fish are swimming."<br />
<br />
All is silent<br />
<br />
Save for my thoughts<br />
<br />
Hoping, praying<br />
<br />
someday, someday...<br />
<br />
And then<br />
<br />
He looks at me<br />
<br />
Eyes crinkling<br />
<br />
Mouth forming into<br />
<br />
the biggest smile,<br />
<br />
his arms wrapping<br />
<br />
around me,<br />
<br />
My king, embracing me<br />
<br />
with all his might...<br />
<br />
And then I fall silent<br />
<br />
Save for the loud<br />
<br />
beating of my heart<br />
<br />
rendered speechless...<br />
<br />
Clear as the<br />
<br />
emanating sun,<br />
<br />
words are not needed<br />
<br />
For love is here,<br />
<br />
Love abounds...<br />
<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-73336364237757796202012-09-29T16:02:00.001-07:002013-03-29T19:30:10.585-07:002013-03-29T19:30:10.585-07:00The Song of the Skies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nwXzT3WqTc0/UGd-Ff6qbLI/AAAAAAAAAZY/b3RNqPw2wQ0/s1600/Bea%2Band%2BGarret%2Bin%2Blittle%2BBoracay-maasin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="133" width="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nwXzT3WqTc0/UGd-Ff6qbLI/AAAAAAAAAZY/b3RNqPw2wQ0/s320/Bea%2Band%2BGarret%2Bin%2Blittle%2BBoracay-maasin.png" /></a></div><br />
My baby sings with all his might<br />
singing with the sun, the moon, the stars<br />
with all the sounds of the earth<br />
under the majestic, heavenly skies<br />
No matter there are no words<br />
deciphered, only hums and drums<br />
but still he sings<br />
with all the wonder in his eyes<br />
Our child explores<br />
for the first time, <br />
it seems<br />
Our face, our voice, our love<br />
in the most concrete of ways<br />
Our words of " I love you's"<br />
no longer disappear into the<br />
universe's dust,<br />
he hears us,<br />
he bids us,<br />
"Come mama, come papa"<br />
Come into my world,<br />
This is why he sings<br />
This is why we sing<br />
the symphony of the heavens,<br />
the song of the magnificent<br />
magnificent skies...<br />
Thank you great sun, thank you!<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-21422906811544532562012-09-02T23:30:00.000-07:002012-09-02T23:30:03.270-07:002012-09-02T23:30:03.270-07:00Insights from Another Contintent<br />
Some days are good and wonderful and some not so great. And then there are days where you meet people who let you see the world in a different light, allow you to reach deep within your soul and illuminate even the darkest corners of your mind. I am so blessed to have come across a fellow autism parent from another continent, a father who is undoubtedly and utterly devoted to his son. I have him to thank for the insights I gained for the past two weeks. <br />
<b><i><br />
My boys, Garret and Morgan, are sent to save me from myself.<b></b></i><br />
</b><br />
Mark Twain once said, "The two most important days in your life is the day you are born and the day you find out why." In the most wondrous of days where miracles happen, when my two boys reach certain milestones at their own pace, my heart soars. When I see the joy in the faces of the other parents at the center because of their own children's milestones achieved, all the more joy. It is at this point that I reach my own milestone. There is that one clear, true thing that resonates within my soul-- I know now why I was born--So I can parent my two boys. To be a mother to Garret and Morgan is the greatest gift the Universe has given me. My purpose in this life is a gift from the universe. And the other reason is so that I can help other parents, families, children afflicted with autism. My boys are sent to save me from myself so I can serve a purpose greater than myself. So that I can be bigger than who I am. The universe has given me the greatest gift. And this gift is my salvation. <br />
<br />
<b><i>My two boys make our lives doubly blessed, double the strength, double the resilience, double the joy. <br />
<b></b></i></b><br />
Everyone reaches a breaking point. I did three days ago. I went to the safest place I could find and wept. I asked all the unspeakable questions that you're not supposed to ask. And I allowed myself the mistake of self-blame and self-pity. I just had to let it out. Somehow detoxifying myself from all these negative thoughts. Purifying my soul somewhat. And two of the kindest people I know provided me a sense of comfort. They prayed for me right there and then, even cried with me. I cannot thank them enough. When I was relieved from all that ugly pain, I pulled myself together and with a newer, stronger resolve, I said, "Despite everything, I am still blessed." We are not given crosses we cannot carry, so they say. That is why I know with my two boys, I have been given double the strength, double the resilience, double the love, double the grace and double the joy. <br />
<b><i><br />
"Having children of any kind is a privilege that not every adult gets to enjoy. It's our duty to those people to appreciate our children fully and never take the experience for granted." -Pete Owens-<b></b></i></b><br />
<br />
No need for explanation, really, for this third insight. Life is really,really good to me. Thank you, life. Thank you, Pete Owens.<br />
<br />
Lastly, <br />
<i><br />
<b>One of the great purposes of autism is so that we will never forget our shared humanity.<i></i></b></i><br />
<br />
The Talmud says, the highest form of wisdom is kindness. We are but one in experiencing the complexities of life. We each carry our own burdens, we each have to climb our own mountains. Autism may have been brought to our lives so that we may know how to value people more, be less judgmental, be more accepting of each of our individual eccentricities and plain differences. As we rally on the advocacy of spreading autism awareness, we must not forget the basic premise of our earnest admonition-- kindness. We are pleading people to be kind to our children by having an open mind and open heart, be more accepting of them, be educated enough to help them the right way, and if they choose to be, they can be advocates themselves of our children and other children with special needs. We are but one humanity, regardless of race, nationality, country or continent. We draw strength from each other. We draw wisdom from each other. And that wisdom, of the highest form, is kindness. <br />
<br />
This particular day, all I can say is that the Universe certainly knows what it is doing. Autism at the top of the list. <br />
<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-75371686862541985772012-08-29T03:22:00.003-07:002012-08-30T01:06:32.608-07:002012-08-30T01:06:32.608-07:00To Those Who CanIt was the first time I saw frustration clearly etched on my little one's face. He wanted so bad to tell me something, to just blurt out the right words, but he couldn't. And I couldn't understand or guess what he wanted. Picture this, he gripped both my arms so tight, his eyes looking straight into mine, his lips struggling to form words. And all I could do was tell him, "It's okay, darling, what do you want? Show mama." Of course he couldn't tell me what he wanted. And for reasons I learned only later that night, he could not show me. He cried so hard and screamed that I carried him in my arms and tried to soothe him, singing to him, rocking him, bouncing him on the ball. His body weighed heavily on my arms, but at that moment, I felt like I was carrying an 8.8 pound baby that he was four years ago. It took him almost half an hour to calm down. When he finally did, I let him play with his favorite app on the iPad. He then proceeded to carefully place his 3 rubber sharks and 3 straws on top of it. He looked at his arrangement thoughtfully, and started to cry again. A light bulb went on inside my head. Where were his three other sharks? I quickly looked for it, found it and gave it to him. Then I realized, how could he show me what he wanted when he didn't even know where it was? <i>I</i> didn't even know where it was.<br />
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It's at times like this that I would like to throw a huge rock in the form of a very specific question at the universe. "Why does autism take away the most important part of human life? Why the language impairment? Why?..."I don't even want a scientific or a spiritual answer. It's just a question that I would like to pose to the entire world. At the same time, it is an earnest admonition to the rest of the human race who can speak, who can communicate, to the parents who complain how their kids can talk non-stop, to the teenagers who are so engrossed now with the techie world, who can't even look you in the eye when you talk, who can send thousands of text messages a day, but cannot answer a simple question with a straight answer.<br />
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It's quite simple, really. All I want to get off my chest is this: Please do not take for granted your gift of speech, your ability to verbally communicate your needs, wants, hopes, dreams and aspirations. You can speak. Take care of this gift. It is a gift, a privilege I believe, that many do not realize the value of. Give value to your ability to communicate. Choose your words carefully. If what you are about to say is not even a fraction better than silence, then keep quiet. But when what you want to say is of the utmost importance, say it. Because your brain is fully functional. Your motor planning well-oiled, well-greased. Because you can. Simply because you can. Appreciate what you have-- the ability to speak, the ability to express yourself clearly. Appreciate it because you must. Because there is no other way to give back to the Universe what you have been given.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TSyUH3ZqkcA/UD3vbBTckgI/AAAAAAAAANU/icRbJCrf2yQ/s1600/sharks%2Band%2Bstraws.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="206" width="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TSyUH3ZqkcA/UD3vbBTckgI/AAAAAAAAANU/icRbJCrf2yQ/s320/sharks%2Band%2Bstraws.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-57760514344512418912012-08-13T02:48:00.000-07:002012-08-13T02:48:31.994-07:002012-08-13T02:48:31.994-07:00Critical Thinking, Declaration of Independence, And of course Love...A brief but meaningful conversation with a grade 4 student. A thread of conversation with an old high school teacher. And an assertion of independence...a declaration if you like.<br />
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These three scenarios swirled around my head as we headed for home. Morgan and I. He did so well in his speech class today, articulating the words for his biscuit, "Grr-hmmm" (graham), "eyes", and the sound of his favorite farm animal, goose, "wak-wak". Another blessing. Another wonderful, wonderful moment to be thankful for. While we were nearing our house, a question popped inside my head or more like a question asked by most parents especially when their children are newly diagnosed, reappeared. "Until when will my child need therapy?" The real question and worry behind this question is really about the heavy burden of the finances that go with therapy, special education, check-ups, tests and such. This disorder, after all, do not affect only the "financially able" sector of families. And even with those who are supposedly "financially able", it is still a concern not to be taken lightly. Another reality and perhaps a more important one than money is whether our children will ever be able to recover from autism, will they ever be able to be included in society? Will our children ever be considered "ok" according to the norms of society?<br />
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So until when will our children need therapy? Until when will they need help? The answers differ variably depending on the progress of the child. All parents are hopeful that their children will be mainstreamed, enrolled in regular school eventually, included in the normal society, be able to participate productively in the community as relatively "normal" individuals. Some of them do get into mainstream education. Some of them don't. Some of them excel quite well when put in the regular education with ever consistent follow-up at home and from the therapists. And some of them function well even without the mainstream education. And some of them will need therapy varying according to their needs for as long as they live.<br />
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Where am I going with all this? Let me describe the three scenarios wandering about in my head right now.<br />
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The brief but meaningful conversation with the 4th grade student.<br />
<br />
Let's call him Francis (not his real name). Francis used to have socialization classes with us at the center for several months last school year and the school year before that. He was diagnosed to have high functioning autism, commonly known as Asperger's Disorder. As with any "aspie's", he had considerable challenges in socialization particularly on empathy. The ability of a person to put himself in another one's shoes. It would range from as simple as grabbing a pen because he wanted to borrow it instead of requesting permission first to more serious ones such as when he is teased, he reacts to the "bullies" by being physical with them instead of informing the teacher. There was a point in time where we feared we had to advise his parents to transfer him to a smaller school. But thankfully, the parents really did their part in following through at home, being consistent with him with the social skills training. More than anything though, his parents gave him all the love and unending patience and support. And that I think, did it. They willingly persevered. So when I met him again in the main campus, I asked how he was. As bluntly as he could possibly answer, he replied, "I'm okay ma'am Bea. Some classmates still tease me but I tell the teacher right away." "Wow! Good job, Francis!" He smiled. I further said, " We miss you at the sped center. Don't you miss your sped teacher?" To this question, he responded, in a matter-of-fact tone, "No, Ma'am Bea. I don't need her help anymore." At this reply, I smiled with all my might, so proud of him and at the same time so amused at his reasoning and trail of thought in answering my question. Well, yeah sure, clearly, he still has some issues on empathy, bluntly telling me that he needs no help anymore when I asked him whether he missed his teacher. But to actually assert himself, that he's doing alright, that he can already manage, is one big milestone achieved for this 10 year-old kid with Asperger's. Wait, let me rephrase that...This smart 10 year old kid.<br />
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Next scenario. A short thread of conversation with an old high school teacher. Let's call her Miss A. She was my World History Teacher in senior year. And she gave me a D in current events the final level of exams. Yes, a failing grade in that itsy bitsy area of learning in Social Studies. But it's okay because I deserved it anyway. I was an apathetic student back then with no intention of learning about what went on in Philippine Politics. She drove us nearly mad with her constant grilling to think analytically, think critically, understand the motivations, understand why kings conquered nations, so on and so forth. In our oral exams which we called "conferences" , we knew better than to sit there and not be able to provide good answers to the questions she bombarded us with. And when I mean good answers I mean, you better know why your answer is like that because she is sure as hell gonna ask you why you came up with that answer even if it was correct. Our recent thread of conversation went on like this:<br />
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Me: Miss A, you look as youthful as you did 15 years ago when you taught us World History.<br />
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Miss A: Oh no, An, I feel like a hundred years old. Especially with the students here (foreign country, wont' mention where) very "badlongon!" (naughty or undisciplined)<br />
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Me: Lupig pa sa ka badlongon namu Miss? (Even naughtier or undisciplined than we were before, Miss?)<br />
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Miss: Wa pa tawn mu ka one fourth nila! (You were not even more than one fourth naughtier or undisciplined than them)<br />
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I am now nearing 32 years old, I have a family of my own. And my World History teacher is still teaching students, living out her passion, no doubt, drilling into their heads to think analytically, think critically, think well. She is one teacher who never gives up despite the type of students she handles, foreign or non-foreign ones, naughty or well-mannered ones. I will always be grateful to her. I will always remember her gumption and passion. She taught me to find what I love, do what I love and to do it well. And if somebody will ask me if I miss her, my reply would be and emphatic "yes!". Unknowingly, she has become one of my mentors of which I have only realized her true value now that I have my own family,two boys to raise, and autism in our lives to deal with everyday. Because mind you, every single day, I have squeezed my mind like one who squeezes an orange to make orange juice to understand my boys, understand the workings of autism on the brain, understand the motivations of people I deal with almost to the point of being psychic. Now isn't that what you call critical thinking? Thank you Miss A. :-)<br />
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Third scenario. This afternoon. One of our students arriving at the center saying, "No more sped teacher. Only Teacher Ingrid and Teacher Mary (not their real names)." This kid was the first one to be mainstreamed from our center. He has done so well in regular class since. But his neuro-developmental pediatrician has not recommended his parents to stop his special education classes yet since he still has some areas to work on. But adamantly so, he feels, like Francis, the smart 4th grader, that maybe he doesn't need help anymore too. Another assertion, declaration of independence. Again, I smile at the thought with pride and hopefulness. I expressed out loud, " We'll get there soon." His mother added, "In God's perfect time." He then went inside upon his sped teacher's prodding.<br />
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Francis and our kid at the center asserted that they don't need the sped teacher's help anymore. I miss my old high school teacher. Two very different reactions, it may seem to be. But when I look really deep enough, I think these two kids share the same reaction as mine. Even with autism on the front lines, their assertion and declaration of independence is actually a way of showing their therapists and teachers, " Look what you've taught me. Look how well you've taught me. I can do it now. I can do it on my own." And I think that this is by far a greater show of appreciation for all the teachers and therapists who helped them come so far.<br />
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So in the end, while it does matter until when therapy and special education services are need for our kids financially, the bigger question, the bigger reality that matters is how much our kids have achieved right until this very day. How far they have come, how many milestones they have reached, how deeply they have connected with our world with their own hard work and perseverance. Living with autism has taught me one good lesson, and that is to celebrate moments as they happen, wonderful ones even the not so wonderful ones. And it doesn't matter how long therapy and special education is needed for my two boys for as long as they continue to help my little prince and feisty king accomplish everyday milestones.<br />
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There's this slogan that I love: "UNDERSTANDING AUTISM IS NOT THAT DIFFICULT. START WITH LOVE AND THE REST WILL FOLLOW."<br />
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Start with love, continue with never-ending patience, support, perseverance. End with love and all the questions in the world would not matter. The rest will surely follow--our children's progress, growth and improvement will happen. <br />
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I remind myself of this everyday. And I am sure in my heart of hearts, the day will surely come when my two boys will also emphatically and adamantly say, "I don't need help from my teacher anymore." In God's perfect time...Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-38705760177961022852012-08-07T22:46:00.001-07:002012-08-07T22:49:03.937-07:002012-08-07T22:49:03.937-07:00Khalil Gibran and the Reality of AutismA father's toast to her daughter on her wedding day. So wonderfully, eloquently delivered to guests of 300 or so. Maintaining composure all the while fighting back tears with the realization of how powerfully true Khalil Gibran's words were.<br />
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<blockquote>On Children<br />
Kahlil Gibran<br />
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Your children are not your children.<br />
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.<br />
They come through you but not from you,<br />
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.<br />
<br />
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,<br />
For they have their own thoughts.<br />
You may house their bodies but not their souls,<br />
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,<br />
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.<br />
You may strive to be like them,<br />
but seek not to make them like you.<br />
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.<br />
<br />
You are the bows from which your children<br />
as living arrows are sent forth.<br />
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,<br />
and He bends you with His might<br />
that His arrows may go swift and far.<br />
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;<br />
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,<br />
so He loves also the bow that is stable</blockquote><br />
The first time I read Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, I was still 22 years old. With all the youthfulness, idealism, excitement and immaturity of that age. I read it and was moved at the poetry of such words. How truth was elaborately worded out in such language! When I read the above passage at the time, I felt a connection with it almost immediately because of how my papa and mom raised me. Never once did I hear them impose an ambition on me. Never once did I feel that I had to be this and be that. They let me be my own person, make my own decisions and face the consequences of those decisions. For better or for worse. And I will always be grateful for them for being that way.<br />
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Through many discussions, my mom and I talked about how one of the many wonders of bringing a child in to this world is to ironically care for him, feed him, clothe him, love him as he needs to be loved. And yet, and this is where the irony enters, when he grows up and is able to make his own decisions, stand on his own two feet, literally and metaphorically, you need to let him grow his own wings. Let him explore the world on his own, make goals and dreams for himself, let him work for it, let him live out the values instilled in him and let him face his own failures and successes. So what else can a parent do? What else can a father or mother do? Their roles transform from that of being a caregiver into a soul-giver. A parent becomes a safe refuge, a coming home haven, that no matter what happens, whenever the child needs solace and rest, he can always come home to them, whatever the child's or adult son or daughter's soul needs--wisdom, insight, inspiration, renewal of strength, love, hope, faith. At 22 years old, in many of my aspirations, I looked forward to having children of my own and letting them be whoever they want to be in this world. And I had this concrete picture in my mind of how things would play out.<br />
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Of course, things never turn out the way we expect them to turn out. At least not in the way we think. There's a higher power at work.<br />
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The second time I was reminded of Khalil Gibran's words was at a relative's wedding, July of this year. And I was jolted from my senses. How differently it impacted me right now compared to 10 years ago.<br />
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<br />
<blockquote>Your children are not your children.<br />
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.<br />
They come through you but not from you,<br />
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.</blockquote><br />
When I attended an international autism conference two years ago, in one of the plenary sessions on socialization, a parent asked the speaker,"Will our children ever have a chance to marry and have a family of their own?" The speaker responded in a light manner, "Well, the challenges of marriage for normal people are hard enough, how much more for them?" At this, the audience released a series of laughter, of amusement, of nervous realization of reality, of relief? I don't really know which was which. In my case, it was an admission of one of the realities of autism. Looking at it in a positive light, I see it as having that simple comfort that I now have somebody to hold hands with till the end of my days. A life partner in my son. On the starker side of reality, the letting him grow wings, exploring the world on his own, having a family and children of his own, does not seem to be part of the scheme of his life. I have mixed emotions about this. And I am trying to sort it out as I am typing right now.<br />
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Sad. I am sad because I so looked forward to letting my own child aspire great dreams, work hard for it,find his passion, find a job that suits his passion, meet his soul mate, marry, have children of his own. I was eager to raise him the way I was raised by my own parents. I looked forward to letting him be his own person, able to withstand the challenges of the world and face it head on, and channel his strength to his family.<br />
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I feel enlightened. Is enlightenment an emotion? I think not. Let me try again. I am enlightened. By the fact that my definition of joy, fulfillment and contentment is largely influenced by what society thinks it should be. Whoever said, that the only way to be happy, fulfilled and contented is to follow the "normal" path, is seriously in for a perspective overhaul. I am in for a perspective overhaul. Everyday it seems. A voice deep down inside me is admonishing me that letting my own child grow his wings, exploring the world on his own, being his own person is happening right now as we speak. Everyday I am looking at my little prince doing exactly that. The only difference is that I have the chance to witness it literally everyday. I have to be there. Because Garret needs me to be there for him. To protect him. To care for him. To love him as he is. To let him grow his own wings. Maybe not in the way I mapped out 10 years ago. But in the way the universe wants him to.<br />
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I bore my little prince for nine months but he does not belong to me. He is the very manifestation of the universe, of life longing for itself. He is the angel assigned to me by the heavens. I brought him into this world but not for me to own him. But for him to teach me what life is really all about-- Surrender. Letting go.<br />
<blockquote>You may give them your love but not your thoughts,<br />
For they have their own thoughts.<br />
You may house their bodies but not their souls,<br />
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,<br />
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.<br />
You may strive to be like them,<br />
but seek not to make them like you.<br />
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.</blockquote><br />
I am here on this earth to give them all the love a mother can give. But I cannot teach them to look at life the way I see it. Garret and Morgan teach me everyday to be more patient, to be more brave, to be more kind, to be more resilient. I have to strive to learn the lessons they are teaching me through their own persons. I can only show them the way a parent can. But it is up to them to carve their own path. Whatever the universe has planned out for them, will be. And so be it.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>You are the bows from which your children<br />
as living arrows are sent forth.<br />
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,<br />
and He bends you with His might<br />
that His arrows may go swift and far.<br />
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;<br />
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,<br />
so He loves also the bow that is stable.</blockquote><br />
Even as autism breaks to us this reality that our children will always need us literally, until the very end, in between now and the future is what is important. There are lessons to be learned, values to be lived out, lives to be enriched not just our own but the lives of other families. Even if my boys may never follow the path that normal society dictates it to be, they will reach far. They are their own persons. And what is my role? I am a caregiver and soul giver. Always. Until the very end. I am the bow from which my boys will soar wherever the universe may take them. Whatever angle the heavens may bend my strength so that my boys will reach far and wide. I have to be a rock , hard and unmoving and be like the flowing water all at the same time. I have to be the bow that the heavens will bend so my sons will reach their true potential. And at the end of every day, I have to trust in that higher power that he loves my boys so much to know what he is doing. And I have to have faith that he loves me as well. Especially through the toughest times.<br />
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So back to that wedding toast. At that moment, it seemed as if I was frozen in time as I listened to every word the father intoned of Khalil Gibran's wisdom. I was no longer awed merely by the beauty of the poetry that struck me 10 years ago. I was moved at how powerfully real his wisdom was...My boys are not my boys. They are of the universe. I am a parent, but I do not own them. I am a caregiver and a soul giver until the time they need me to be. I may not be able to make that toast that a mother gives to his son on his wedding day, but it's okay. Garret, my little prince and Morgan, my feisty king will be whoever the universe wants them to be. This is what joy, fulfillment and contentment means, after all.<br />
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Thank you Khalil Gibran. Thank you autism. Thank you universe for giving me Garret and Morgan.Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4635274828143626180.post-44086931309897787202012-07-31T20:39:00.000-07:002012-07-31T20:39:23.557-07:002012-07-31T20:39:23.557-07:00One Blessed Sunday Morning[A beautiful, beautiful Sunday! With the boys' three grandmas, (my mom and two aunts) off to church we went! Morgan sat down the whole time! Garret sang with the choir and moved his hands to the beat like a world class orchestra conductor! Standing up when it was time to stand up and sitting down as we listened to the readings and homily...and when the priest admonished, "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord." I replied with all my heart, caught in my throat, not with a "Thanks be to God" but with a " thank you, thank you, thank you God." And how my heart was truly at peace....I wish I could have captured such wonderful moment on camera...but it's okay, the images of my two boys going to church like that will be forever immortalized in my memory.]<br />
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I was planning to write a blog about this even before I decided to post it as a status message instead. But the joy in my heart was just too full to be contained to wait for the time and mood and the right words to write a blog about it. So, there I go. Sometimes, you just have to let it out as soon as it comes for fear that that "moment" will go away. :-)<br />
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But, here I am, writing about that beautiful Sunday morning mass with my boys and my mom and two aunts.<br />
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I mentally prepared myself that most probably, Garret and Morgan won't be able to stay in the church the entire time and we would have to leave and wait for their grandmas at home. Why? The reasons are too many to mention. But I will mention some of it anyway for all intents and purposes of letting it all out.<br />
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1. It's been a long time since we've been to this particular church. A.k.a. NEW PLACE<br />
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2. In the church are sights, sounds, people who are unfamiliar. A.K.A. NEW STIMULUS, NEW SENSORY INPUT<br />
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3. To remain in one's place for the entire hour in an unfamiliar environment, is quite a feat especially for my little one.<br />
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4. The sound of the microphone, the organ, etc. may be too loud for my boys. A.K.A. Possible Sensory overload<br />
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5. The change in routine. We usually have a different a schedule on Sundays. A.K.A. Challenged flexibility and adaptability.<br />
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Theoretically and proven many times, in order for our kids to be well adjusted to a new event, new place, new routines, to avoid any kind of "strong" reactions, we have to give them time to adjust and adapt.Thus we have our Adaptation Program at school. Visits to the barber shop, dental clinic, and others require that we show them photos first before actually going to the place. And when we do go to the actual place, we have to let them feel the place at their own pace. Little by little, our kiddos will eventually sit down on that feared barber's chair or dental chair, or whatever chair they need to sit on in that particular place to visit.<br />
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So the time frame I had to orient my boys that we we were going to church took about 10 minutes as I hurriedly searched through the internet of photos of our city's cathedral with different angles if possible. Garret nonchalantly glanced at the photos and proceeded to his playing the keyboard. Morgan? I think he just passed by the photo not really interested in looking at it. As we boarded the car on our way to church, I kept repeating the rules to them, "Garret we will go inside the church. It's a new place but it's okay. When we're inside, no running, no shouting, no kicking. And Garret and Morgan will sit down and be quiet. " In the span of 10 minutes equivalent to the amount of time of the drive from the house to the church, I must have repeated those lines at least four times. I do realize though that the preparation I gave them was hardly ideal and clearly contrary to what they are used to in our Sped program. Thus, I called on a higher power. "Please, God let them understand my words. "<br />
<br />
When we finally arrived in church, we walked from the parking lot to the inside,sat on the pews on the back portion of the church and settled in. Morgan was a bit startled by the place so I told his caregiver to carry him. "It's okay Morgan.", I comforted him. He settled in quietly, his eyes inspecting the place all over. Garret scooted over to his seat, already smiling, eyes wide with interest. I admonished one last time, "It's okay Garret. Very good sitting down." I was crossing my fingers, literally and figuratively.<br />
<br />
When the entrance hymn resounded in the halls of the cathedral and everybody stood up, my little prince stood too and searched for the source of the sound, smiling, his hands starting to beat to the rhythm. When it was time to listen to the readings, he sat down as well on his own. No instructions from his mama. I finally couldn't hold back my tears of joy when the pre-gospel hymn was sung. "Hallelujiah, hallelujiah...Wikain mo, poon nakikinig ako, sa iyong mga salita...", the choir rang out. Even before the commentator said, "Please rise.", Garret rose to sing with the choir, his hands in full swing, beating to the tune. You read it right. Garret sang. With the choir. With his own words of course. But he sang. Smiling. I am one hopeless "pusong mamon" mama. I am too choked up right now writing this. At that moment, my throat became so painful from holding back my tears which I failed to do so. Hastily, I wiped them away with my hand and looked at my son with so much joy.<br />
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Garret and Morgan behaved so well until the very end of the mass. At times, when Garret couldn't see the altar because of the people in front of us blocking his view, he would attempt to run, but then when I reminded him gently, "Garret no running." , he went back to his place in the pew. My boys behaved so well even when we had to sit down again to listen to the 8 announcements said in the vernacular (which made it a tad longer to finish) at the end of the mass. The priest finally gave his final blessing and out we went from the church. No tantrums, no whining, no meltdowns, no sensory overload. My boys went to church. And if I may just say it, they behaved so well, even better than the other neurotypical kids there! All the doubts I listed vanished into thin air. Every once in a while, a breakthrough occurs. And this was one beautiful, wonderful, amazing breakthrough for both my prince and king.<br />
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In our autism awareness campaign with our senior high school students two weeks ago, I was asked by one of the students during the open forum, " Ma'am, what has been your greatest achievement in raising your son?". I was made to ponder for a moment at his question. Half shocked at the kind of question asked by a 16-year old, the kind that makes you really think. I could only muster then a "wow..." followed by " well, with the help of the sped teachers and therapists, I think it is that Garret can already understand simple instructions. When I ask him to do things like, Garret, get your water. He can certainly do it." Looking back, I think that as much as I have done my part in making Garret learn to understand things, a huge part of the credit goes to Garret himself. He has tried so hard, learned so well, come so far. So if I am to reflect on what beautifully transpired last Sunday, all I know is that Garret did a great job. Another question followed quickly and asked by another student quite simply, " Ma'am, is it hard? Being a mom of a child with autism?" I remember answering, "Yes it is. With all the challenges, but the rewards are great. Remember, nothing worth having is ever easy. When my boys smile at me as if joy is their last name, when my boys achieve simple milestones, all of it being "hard" goes away." That Sunday morning is certainly one of the many things why I persevere for them. Why I muster all my strength and courage to carry on despite the hard rocks autism throws at us. Two more questions were asked, "Ma'am, do you ever ask God, 'why?'" and "What has been the greatest lesson that you have learned being an autism parent?" To both questions I answered, Yes, every single day, I ask why. Why my boys? Why our family? Why autism? And the answer it seems is this: So that I can learn the greatest love of all, patience, understanding, compassion, and gratitude for every single blessing and burden, and so that I can help other parents and families who are going through the same challenges that we do every single day. And maybe, simply, just so I can be a better person, not just be a better mom, or wife, or coordinator, or counselor. Simply so I can be a better person.<br />
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I recount all the details of that Sunday everyday since that day. Because it tells me we are on the right path. That I have done right with my boys. Yes, it is hard being an autism parent. Then again, I look at both my prince and king, and my life is renewed with meaning. They are my meaning. They themselves are the answers to my "why's", They are worth every single hardship and challenge. They have taught me what life is really all about. And that blessed Sunday morning, it seems, has given me the greatest reward of all so far. It has affirmed and validated me that I am doing things right. And what better way to be thankful than to return all the gratitude, glory and praise to the Universe. When I replied with all my heart to the priest's admonition of "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord." Maybe I wasn't the only one thanking God. My boys, in their own way showed their gratitude to all the Universe as well.Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06166319434202752649noreply@blogger.com1