Embracing Change

 

          I haven't written about my boys for a while now. It's been a year that I've decided to be a full-time mom to them and I found myself immersing in the full experience from sun up to sun down of being present for them and with them. Several times an insight appears acknowledging the many different milestones they have achieved in the past year and me wanting to write about them but then never really following it through. Writing was my way of immortalizing moments in time that were probably never going to happen again or simply things that needed to be remembered for all time. This is still true. However, as much as the past year has been about a decision to be fully present for them, it was equally a choice to also be fully present for myself. Present for all the turbulence and calm, the grief and joys, the brevity and in-betweens of navigating relationships, realities and dreams in the process of fruition or right in the middle of failings, of my very human experience. One would say perhaps the past year was really more about finding home in myself, in my role as a mother and the other roles I had to play.

          A few days ago, an insight appeared. It was this:  "I almost missed it." “It” referred to how my first-born, Garret has now learned to use the term "change" for different situations already. He started using the word for whenever I arrived home from work before and he wanted me to immediately change my work clothes to house clothes. And it remained with only this reference for quite a few years. Then he was able to apply it to when we were about to go out for their favorite activity of joy riding in the car and they had to change into going-out clothes. As of recent, he has now been using it to request me to change the movie he is watching on Netflix or YouTube. For those of you who aren't familiar with Autism, language impairment is a significant hurdle and so when a milestone as "easy" as accurately applying a concept to a similar situation happens, it is a huge achievement. I give thanks for this gift and once again strive to appreciate it by acknowledging his milestone, telling him what a good job he did communicating with me what he wanted to communicate.

          At times I catch myself from imposing on him that he needs to finish an entire movie before choosing to watch another one in an attempt to teach him perseverance or a simple completion of a task  through sustained attention before moving on to the next. During these times I give my son a break and myself too and just relish the moment and let him be. It's fine, I tell myself. It's okay. We have our whole life to learn this. There is no rush. Change after all in many ways is needed.

          After a hiatus of writing about my boys, I feel compelled to write about this particular experience primarily because the word "change" has been my lighthouse of the past year and especially the two years ago when my mother died. I would like to think I too have learned how to use the word change in my own life more accurately, encompassing all that seems impossible to be included. I am learning to accept that all things no matter how permanent they should be should, in some way, change if I am to evolve into the human being I am meant to be. Certain psychic and emotional ties must be severed, old patterns of behavior discarded, life priorities must be sifted and shifted. And this is fine. This is perfectly okay. Human beings were never meant to be rigid and stuck in one place. If I am to learn about the nature of life, then I need to take my cue from my son. So many times I thought his use of a particular word would remain in one context. And then overtime, it shifts. It expands. His language grows. He communicates better. I tell myself now, this I shouldn't miss. This I should be all the more present for. So this I should write about.

          So here it is. Here I am writing and sharing to you, whoever you are reading this, a tidbit of a milestone about my first-born. A pinpoint of an insight in my recent life. I'm making sure not to miss it by immortalizing it through words. I'm being fully present for it. I'm returning home to myself, this time embracing all that I have been and am-- all the roles I played, being a mother most of all .  And I hope it compels you to be fully present for and with your own milestones and insights through the many different and absolutely necessary changes in your life too. After all, we are all just having a very human experience. Perhaps not all the time a happy experience but certainly a life-changing one. And what is this life if we are not present for it and with it? What is this life if we do not find home within ourselves? 

          Namaste. 

Monday Mood

 I tell my boy, "You're my darling, Garret, you know that?" He replies, " Dah-ling," then proceeds to sing-hum, "Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling clementine..."

Today we explored identifying emotions to help him navigate his own as mood changes have been appearing lately due to many different things. He is already after all 16 years old and starting to assert his own particular boundaries, saying" no" adamantly and asking for what he needs. Milestones I am extremely grateful for.

We traced and colored "happy" , "sad", "angry" , "scared".  Then created our own interpretations of the same emotions. This morning Garret is clearly happy delving into our exercises, enunciating in his laughing, already baritone voice, "A-pee." And even as we proceeded with sad, angry and scared, he was still smiling as he tried to enunciate the words the best way he can, seemingly happy to simply dive into our predictable routine in the morning.

Needless to say, because our life with autism is far from conventional with communication a universe  different from the neurotypicals, our awareness of each other's emotions with all its nuances and various articulations, is heightened and sharpened, compelling me to be present and mindful every single minute of everyday to his and his brother Morgan's needs. I do not want to be so self-righteous as to say that this is what parenting should be across the board. Every family is different. But I do know that this is what it should be in our own universe.

One of the most poignant realizations I gathered from the past few months, from the conscious decision I made to be  finally a  full-time mother is that my boys did not ask me to be born. I willfully asked for them. And so there is no other way but to be fully present for them. To finally fully embody what I have been admonishing parents of our preschoolers in the past.

So today is another chance to practice this wisdom of presence. I do not let his reply of singing "Oh My Darling" to my telling him that he is my darling Garret, pass me by. I fill his handsome face with kisses, embracing him like he is just 3 years old. And my 16-year old handsome teenager eagerly reciprocates smiling even more.

I think it is quite safe to say then that today, Monday of all days,  today's mood is happy. Utterly happy.

How's your own Monday going so far?  

Spectrum

Autism Spectrum Disorder. The National Institute of Mental Health defines it as

 : a developmental disorder that involves impairment in communication, social skills and repetitive behaviors and restricted interest
 : is known as a "spectrum" disorder because there is wide variation in the type and severity of symptoms people experience.  

          It is January 21, 2008. I carry Morgan in my arms into our home. Garret rushes to my side, confused. He has not seen me for 5 days.  He is 2 years and 10 months old. He could not understand why his Mama is carrying another baby in her arms and not him. He tries to pry away his baby brother from my arms. I tell him, "It's okay Garret. This is Morgan, your baby brother. We love Morgan the same as we love you." He looks at Morgan and then at me, and then he sits still by my side. I look at both of them. Morgan in my arms. Garret beside me. What beautiful boys I have. What a beautiful life  we have, I say in my heart.

        Three months after, Garret was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Three years after, Morgan was diagnosed to be on the spectrum as well.

        Coming to terms with Autism is never a one-time thing. Even until now, I go back and forth across, well,  the spectrum too. There are days I am on the high end of it being content, grateful and at peace with what my boys are living with. What we are living with. Grateful for the many good things that Autism has brought to our life-- Learning how to pay attention and be grateful at the littlest milestones, learning to be truly present and finding the capacity to love a little more deeply than I would have ever thought possible. 

      And then there are darker days where I find myself at the lower end of the such spectrum where I am angry.  At whom or what? At almost everybody and everything-- At the world, at the possible causes of autism, at the genetic vulnerability I may have passed on to my boys, angry at the possibility of how several theories of how certain medical procedures thought to protect our children from diseases are actually purposeful concoctions to cause what my boys are living with now. Angry at the fact that there is no way to know the truth of it all. Angry at the uncertainty. Angry at the things they will never get to experience.  Angry at the Universe culminating with the question, "What have my boys ever done to deserve this?" Of course, there are no answers.

          So what do I do in these darker days? I try to be with what is, saying, "Yes, this too." This anger at everything and everyone is included in my life.  It's okay. Every part of this coming to terms with Autism is included in my life. Come, Anger, sit with me. I can be with you. You are much a part of me as gratitude. As peace. As contentment. And then when my heart feels like it could explode into a million pieces, I weep.  I come face to face with my anger's real name-- Hurt and Grief. 

         In this time of necessary isolation, I am compelled to go further inward as a mother, to see what has come to pass, to be fully present in the highs and lows of motherhood's spectrum, the bright and dark places of this very human experience. To be grateful, to be at peace, to be content. Also to be angry, to be hurt, to grieve. More importantly, to take to heart how Autism has taught me to love more deeply than I would have ever thought possible. And it is because of this deeper capacity to love that anger, hurt and grief is ever-present as well. I realize now that everything has a place in my life. My heart has room enough for everything that I encounter because of this.  

         It is May 17, 2020. Garret is 15 now. Morgan is 12. Morgan is physically bigger and taller than Garret. Whenever I call Morgan out for disarranging the pillows on the bed, Garret rushes to fix them. Whenever it is time for Morgan to help out in the chores, he is quick to do it for his brother. He purposefully leaves pieces of bread on his plate so Morgan can have more bread. Whenever I raise my voice at Morgan for being naughty, Garret tells me, "Okay, okay." It is his way of pleading me not to get angry at his brother. Garret loves his younger brother more than himself, it would seem.  

     Coming to terms with Autism in our lives isn't a one-time thing. Life isn't at all a one-sided happening. There are joyful moments and desolate ones. Light and darkness. And many more shades and degrees in between.  The heart opens and closes for as long as it is alive. Spectrum, Merriam-Webster defines it as a continuum of color formed when a beam of white light is disperse. My boys have Autism Spectrum Disorder.  I am in it with them for as long as I am alive. Our everyday life with autism is as wide and varied as the band of colors formed by a beam of white light dispersed as seen in a rainbow.  This is how it is. This is how it shall always be. What a beautiful life it is. What a beautiful life it shall always be. 

The Universe's Gift

"There is a belief that the Universe is trying to manifest a certain message in bringing special children into this world."

The sun was high in the afternoon sky. The waves were cerulean and aquamarine with crests, foamy white. Surfers were aplenty in the line-up. Tourists both local and foreign crowded the tower. Their voices with the sound of the waves filled the space. And here I was standing with M, letting her words seep in, bringing me to silence. 

Many years ago, as the boys were diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder one after the other, family and friends tried to comfort me, needless to say, all with good intention. The words of comfort came in 3 kinds, if one can call it that. One, they would say, “Sige lang, there is a reason for everything. Two, "God will not give you a load you are not able to carry". And three, "Having a child with special needs is "swerte" ". A source of good luck. I remember at the time thinking how those words were absolutely meaningless. I did not need these ‘explanations’. I knew on a cerebral level that they meant to help me come to terms with everything. But they always fell short of the enormity of how I felt. It did not make sense of the overwhelming future that lay ahead of us.  I needed somebody to take back the words of the doctors at that time. I needed somebody to tell me something that justified the life sentence, as I saw it back then, that was passed on us. I did not need good luck. I needed my boys not to be autistic, to be normal. I needed both of them to be safe in the world. I needed them to go to normal schools, have girlfriends, get a college degree, have careers and families of their own. I needed what was not handed to us. I needed anything except what was already there.

Over the years, I learned to cope with every struggle. I learned to deal with every heartache. I learned to wing “it”, whatever “it” required of me as a mother. I poured my heart into every word that came out of my fingers and onto the keyboard as I wrote my questions into stories of how Garret finally said the word, “Mama” at age 8, of how Morgan, while still nonverbal understood a universe of things. Suffice it to say that as I wrote, I wept. And as I wept, I was able to carry on one day at a time. With every tear, I came closer to holding space for this certain word that would determine how we all would live—acceptance.

A month ago, I immersed in a Yoga and Meditation Retreat in Siargao. I just came from a deeply emotional session with my teacher and I wanted to take a breather by seeing the ocean at The Boardwalk. M, my roommate just arrived from a day of wandering around the island as I was about to leave. Suffice it to say that after a brief exchange of how was your day, we were on her motorcycle on our way to The Boardwalk,  having an hour and a half worth of an exchange of words that quieted my heart.

"There is a belief that the Universe is trying to manifest a certain message in bringing special children into this world." 

This was what M said to me that warm afternoon. I realize now not only on a cerebral level but deep in my heart, that the words of comfort said to me many years ago was all intended to ease my pain and bring me to a place of acceptance. And if I were to be honest with myself, those words had the same meaning as what M said to me. But it was only at that very moment that this beautiful blue-eyed soul said those words that I truly felt comforted. It was only in those seconds that the words were uttered that the enormity of what we have been given finally made sense. It was on those wooden planks where M and I planted our feet on amid the crowd of tourists, in the high sun and the blue of the ocean that all those lessons taught to me by autism, by the Universe, by both my boys, finally manifested itself in the most beautiful form. I do not look at autism now as a life sentence any longer. At least not in a desolate way anymore. I still see it as a life sentence, but now one that can only be described as a gift. The gift of pure and utter light in a world of shadows. I know this now. Motherhood is never about what I need. Motherhood was and always will be what my boys, Garret and Morgan need-- that I fully embrace the light of their nature in every tear wept, in every anger expressed, in every joy emanated from their bodies, in every milestone worked for, in the simplest acts of love and understanding that need no words. They need me to be present for all these, to hold space for the pureness of their hearts, to accept the gift of what is here. And at the end of every single waking hour, to be deeply grateful for the gift of who they are. 

"The Universe is trying to manifest a certain meaning in bringing special children into this world."

It was the first time I heard this wisdom phrased this way. Or perhaps because I was finally ready to hear it and I was ready to learn some more, that it resonated in my heart. I was ready to receive the Universe's gift. And so it brought peace in my soul. 

Thank you, M for that wonderful afternoon. I miss you dearly.

Safe Haven

Dearest Garret and Morgan,

I sat in meditation last night recounting the many things in my life I am grateful for. As always I start with thanking the Universe for both of you. In particular, I chose to bring to mind the moments in the afternoon hours where we lay in bed and there is nothing to do but bask in each other's affection. Where our curtains are drawn dimming the harshness of sunlight and the air-conditioner is steadily humming a hymn of calm.   In these moments, the world slows down, time is eternal, and  nothing else matters as each of you take turns in holding my face planting kisses all over it. Your hands are open, relaxed and free at this time.  It is unlike the times we are out in the world in the noise and chaos of everyday life. The world is too overwhelming for you and you have to cover your  ears with your hands to find your calm. Oh Garret, here in our afternoons together, when you hold my face, I know what real tenderness is. My Morgan, when you intertwine your fingers with mine, I know what certainty means. The three of us squished in our bed is comfort and rest defined. In the one or two hours that we lay like this, I see  contentment and joy in the crinkle of your eyes as you smile. I feel your peace in the stillness of your bodies. There is no other place to be or to go. There is no other thing to do or be. There is only us three, being who we are, in each other's arms. I am grateful for these moments and my heart is full knowing there is a  time and place in this world, in this blessed life of ours where you my boys can feel most safe. In this space we have, I, all the more,  am most free, most content, most safe as well. In these moments I know and truly feel I am manifesting my heart. 

      

As I went deeper in the silence,  I asked myself what my purpose is in life. I waited for the answer to come to me and it did. In the ways I allow myself to be with you my boys-- fully, wholly, freely, I realized I have already found my purpose. I asked myself next, "How shall I further expand and deepen my purpose?"  The answer flowed effortlessly: By creating a safe haven for people where tenderness is a way of life, where being simply present with our bodies, minds and hearts is enough, where stillness and silence liberates us into contentment and peace, and where we are given the freedom to be who we are meant to be. 

Once again, you my boys, have showed me the way. I remember now the moment I decided to learn how to surf. At the time, I had innumerable doubts, fears and reasons why I shouldn't. And then as I was looking down from the Boardwalk, boys your age rode the waves bravely, happily and freely. I could not stop my tears as I watched them.   I cried because right then and there in the glare of the morning sun amidst the flurry of mothers and grandparents taking photos of their  children and grandchildren surfing, a profound truth emerged. It was as if you were both right there with me saying it to me,  "We want you to be brave, Mama. We want you to be happy. We want you to be free." 

Oh my boys, now as I tread on the path of expanding and deepening my purpose, doubts hover. Fears arise and questions arrive. But the answer is as clear as ever,  as clear as that sunlit morning in the island I now call my safe haven, as sure as the waves of the Pacific come and go. I hear you telling me again in a language that only we understand-- you, my Garret holding my face in the most tender way, you, my Morgan intertwining my fingers with yours that grounds me to this truth--  "Mama, we want you to be brave and happy. Mama we want you to be free." 

I know now why the Universe gave both of you to me. Both of you. Kamo'ng duha gyud. For no other reason than to manifest my heart.  I love you my boys. Every single day without fail, I am grateful not only for you but to you. 

With all my love,

Mama Bea

       

Silang Duha Gyud

"Ang duha jud Ma'am noh?" is the usual comment when people know that my two boys have autism.

Many years ago this statement would have added to my depression. Now, I answer with a light heart, "Oo, silang duha." Both of them. Garret and Morgan have Autism. Which only means that I get double the lightness of their being, the pureness of their heart. This is not to say that our life is all rainbows and sunshine. Far from it. It is dark clouds and thunderstorms. It is humidity at its worst. It is darkness as well.

Garret and Morgan have different personalities which makes our life more interesting. Morgan is the Yin. Garret is the Yang. Sometimes they switch. When I think about it I marvel at how beautiful it is that the Universe decided to give us these-Two sides of the coin. Two parts of a whole. Darkness and Light. Both of them teach me that everyday is a chance to be brave, to show up, to savor and be grateful for every little moment that is and always will be a miracle.

"How do you do it?" is another question that I often hear as well. Many years ago I would have broken down and wept and be overcome with fear and uncertainty . Now I break my heart open easily for all to see and say, "It is simple. I do love. For both of them. All the time."

Silang duha gyud. Both of them no less. I say this now with a light heart because I know now how to do it. How I have been doing this everyday living and thriving with autism in our blessed life--Love and always love.

"When you find out that there was never anything in the dark side to be afraid of....nothing is left but to love." - Alan Watts

Every Piece of My Heart

Dear Garret,

       Papa and I named you after the meaning, "Bold Spear". On this day 14 years ago, you were pulled out from my womb and have been manifesting the boldness of your spirit ever since. Boldness in your willfulness, boldness in your kindness, boldness of your entire being. A spear in every way that every thing you do pierce through the heart of everything living and breathing. That you have autism is no coincidence nor plight. It is what the Universe has gifted us with so you may feel the world more deeply, that you may laugh as if there was no end, weep intensely, work harder than any other human being for skills so nonchalantly appreciated by others, be angry and frustrated immensely, embrace stillness and silence beautifully, but most of all love tremendously.

       When I wrote our poem, Pieces, we were in this precariously dark place. You and I both. I still remember very clearly that day it occurred. I remember the beginning like an impending overture of a musical, the middle with our grappling for reason, for sense in its simplest form in this world of ours that seem complicated and at its core, hard,  But I remember most of all the end where we ended up in each other's arms, my arms that were already weakened, yours holding on to my body with the strength more than a human being your years and our tears, an immense overflow of liquid on both our cheeks. I had no answers back then to the question, "Why?"  as in "Why everything?" I have one now. And it has been here all along, I realized--

"I have no
answers
But this--
Every piece
of my heart."

       So you can have my entire being, my sweetest dearest little prince. Always and until the end of time. And this is the beautiful song of our life. Of your coming to be in this great big Universe.

       Now on your 14th year of life, Garret, may you be this bold spear that Papa and I named you after.  That you may pierce through every life you come across with in the pureness of your being, in the strength of your willfulness, in the magnanimity of your heart.     

     
       Every piece, Garret, every single one,

       Mama Bea

A Day before Valentine's

 It is the day before Valentine's. Rain is pouring hard. Morgan sits on the sofa. Cold air wafts through our terrace. He holds his 5 colored markers. I sit in front of him. It is time for our massage. I massage the back of his big toes and thumbs. My big boy looks at me and smiles, leaning his head this way and that as he does when he is happy. "Mmmmm....wowowow," he murmurs. Ten Green Bottles fill our house as Garret sits in his corner .  He smiles and occasionally stands up to march to the beat. "Haaaaa-peeee," he tells nobody in particular, in a voice that is no longer a child's.

It is the day before Valentine's. My social media news feed is filled with photos and posts on the awaited love day. My nieces tell me there's going to be a marriage booth, handcuff stalls where students pair up possible love birds at school tomorrow. Chocolates and flowers will be sold. Songs will be sung in serenade. Love letters will be cheesily written or sent in various messenger inboxes.

It is the day before Valentine's. Morgan is 10. Garret will soon turn 13. I ask myself why it still creates a pang in my heart that my boys won't get to experience the festivities of love day, marriage booths, handcuff booths, buying chocolates and flowers for somebody they might like, serenade their first love, write the letter that would sweep another girl's heart.

On one hand I comfort myself in the knowledge that perhaps nobody gets to break their heart.  On the other hand, the chance of finding that one true person who sets their souls on fire is something they will not experience.

It is the day before Valentine's.  I want very badly for them to experience the adventure of finding the love of their lives, the rapture and the loss that is necessary to love another being fully. The being able to heal and recover from heartbreak and the coming out of it a better or just a different person.

It is the day before Valentine's. I do not know where I am going with this. The same way I do not know for certain what awaits my boys in the future. What I know is this nagging from the inside every time I look at other tweens or teenagers having the time of their lives.

It is the day before Valentine's. I dare not sugarcoat this thing called acceptance of the higher plan. It is real. It is hard. It is roses overfilled with thorns. It is tumultuous. It is bittersweet. Yes, like dark chocolate. It is beautiful and terrible, fragrant petals on palms with pricked fingers. It becomes beautiful again amidst all these questions.

It is the day before Valentine's. I am human, very much so and I am still very much confounded by how the Universe is manifesting her plan. 

 It is the day before Valentine's. Rain is pouring hard. Morgan sits on the sofa. Cold air wafts through our terrace. He holds his 5 colored markers. He smiles as I massage him and talk to him. "Mmmmmm....wowowowow," he says. His head leans to gaze at me from another angle. He shows me his toothy grin. Garret smiles and occasionally stands up to march to the beat of his music "Haaaaa-peeee," he tells nobody in particular, in a voice that is no longer a child's.

I was hoping as I reach this point in my writing, that I can find some sort of insight to answer my own sporadic meanderings of this troubled mama's heart. I have no clear answers, however. Or at least what I really want to hear. But maybe, this is okay. To just throw the question to the wind or rain, to Typhoon Basyang who also decided to celebrate Love Day. So I'll leave this as it is.

It is the day before Valentine's day. My big boy smiles. My soon to be teenager says he is happy. So there's that.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Photo taken March 2014. Ormoc City Pier.

These Wonderful Things

Garret marches around the room flicking his blocks, red and green. His favorite song is playing. "Horsey-horsey, don't you stop, listen to your hoofs go clickety clop..." His legs and feet raise in time to the music. I sit and watch him go. The song stops and he comes to me. "Bwock," he says showing me his red block. "Block, " I say back. And then, "What color is that, Garret?" He replies, "Gween." He has on his face a mischievous smile that tells me he is messing with me. He waits for my reaction. "Red man gud na!" I say in return, laughing. At this his eyes crinkle and a hearty laugh breaks out. We go on like this a few more times.

Morgan places his legs on my lap signaling me that he is ready for his morning massage. He gets the roller bottle of oil on the table and hands it to me. I rub it on my palms. He directs my hands to his nose and breathes in the scent of his favorite peppermint. As I massage his big toe, he tilts his head and looks at me. He smiles and murmurs what sounds like, "Maaa-maaah." "Yes, my love?" I say to him. He smiles at me and pulls me in for a tight embrace.

Garret will turn 13 years old a couple of months from now. Morgan just turned 10 years old. Everyday I marvel at the place we have arrived at. I remember every step of the journey we have taken to get to where we are. All the wonderful ones and all the not so wonderful ones. But all equally necessary to bring us to now. The road ahead is far from over. We are all works in progress-- My boys growing into who they are meant to be and me burgeoning from my many different elements and infirmities. And while it may seem I already have the answers for the past decade or more, I still ask the hard questions, " How shall we get by? How shall we overcome" Because so long as change is continuous, so the answers are ever evolving. 

Today as I sit and write, I smile as I remember last night when Garret and I laughed over and over at our exchange of "Gween bwock" and "That's red" and as I remember Morgan's way of looking at me more intently as he tilts his head and pulling me in for an embrace just because he wants to. My heart is full and at peace as these things transpire. Perhaps these wonderful things are  how we shall get by, how we shall overcome-- by our shared laughter and our acts of love. That even as the storms come, as they surely will, the laughter afterwards will be richer, and our ways of showing our love,  more meaningful.

Namaste. 

(Photos taken August 2013 at Visayas State University. Garret is 8 years old. Morgan is 5 years old.)

Happy 10th My King

January 16, 2018

Dear Morgan, 

This afternoon a second grader asked me, "Ma'am Bea where are your boys?" I was surprised at this because I realize that  sometimes I forget that there is a world out there where we are not. Where we are is so different. Our world is different.  And you, my dear boy have taught me that different is what our life should be. That it is as it is meant to be-- challenging,  exciting, heartbreaking, joyous,  awakening.  And you have taught me to be always grateful for all this.  10 beautiful years. I wonder what else you will be teaching your Mama for the next 10 and more. .

I said to the second grader girl "My boys are at home." But what I really wanted to say was "My boys are where they are meant to be."

 And so am I. So am I. .

Thank you, Morgan. Happy 10th my King. 💟

Love always, 

Mama Bea

Silver Lining

It is Sunday afternoon. Our old Koi pond sans Koi is filled with fresh water. Our boys don their trunks and play in the water. Morgan grabs my hand gesturing me to be with him.  Garret kicks the water happily. Morgan hands me the water bucket. He wants me to fill it with water and then pour it over his head. I do. Many, many times. He does not want me to stop. I do not stop. He laughs loudly in delight. Garret walks in the water splashing it with his legs and arms then slides his body forward, stands up and does it again. The water bucket runs out of water and Morgan asks me to fill it again and pour it over his head.  We go on like this for half an hour or so.

It is the 7th day of the new year and already, it seemed the path has been reiterated for me, as a mother at least. The past few days have been difficult. Garret's transition into adolescence has reared its unpleasant head. Hormones gone awry leave him in a disarray which in turn leave me in as much, if not,  worse disarray. Tears overflow. Questions arise: Why my boys? His eyes somehow ask too or plead with me,  "Why me, Mama?" Or " Help me, Mama please."  We both know how it ends--exhaustion in each other's arms. And then in a few minutes it seems as if there was no storm that passed at all. My son finds his calm and peace envelopes us for the next few hours or days.

I've read the literature on tantrums and meltdowns. Figure out the triggers. Teach them to communicate better. On and on the strategies are laid out. And over the years, the reality of autism never really sinks in until you are facing it yourself. While the immensity is present everyday, the smallest details and happenings come in waves. It is easy to become complacent as much as it is easy to try to control things. The struggle to find balance between going with the flow and setting conditions that eliminate triggers for my son is one that is important needless to say. Because even as autism is a constant, the triggers are ever changing and his reactions to them as well. 

This afternoon as I stand in the pond with my boys, I bask in their laughter, their joy, in the simplicity of their needs and in the complexity of the workings of their minds. I let my heart be quiet. I hear myself breathe. And a thought comes over me: In the dark clouds that hover, there is, as they say,  always a silver lining.  But the gift here is not the silver lining as much as the awareness of that silver lining. The attention that I am able to bring into my consciousness so I may recognize the cracks which let the light in. Because truth be told, the blessing in every adversity, the opportunity in every setback is ever present, like an invisible cloak holding space for us.  The cracks, the blessing, the opportunity, the invisible cloak in the beautiful presence of family, friends and teachers will be of no use if I am not present, if I am not paying attention to each moment, every murmur from my child, every controlled scream, every ragged breath, if I am not bringing my entire being into the smallest details. So even if it hurts, even if my heart breaks every single time, even if I question why, I embrace what I am called to do in this life, to be truly present with and for my boys, to be fully aware and to pay attention to everything that happens around them and to them.

The sun has begun to set. Though clouds hover overhead, there are slats of light bursting through, lining the thick gray tufts. Garret is tired and gets out of the pond. Morgan wants to stay a few minutes more. I tell him, "Five more minutes and playing is done." He complains a little. I soothe him saying we can play again tomorrow. It is only the 7th day of the new year and the path has been reiterated for me-- that of being fully awake, of being truly present, that of love. And only love. I look up and I see it, the beautiful silver lining.

"When you master the art of being fully awake to this moment, you bestow a precious gift on your soul-- the experience of love." - Debbie Ford

Photo taken March 2013. 

Dear Garret

Dear Garret,

Last month two 2nd graders told me you were handsome. Of course you are. I often wonder if things were different what mischief you would be up to in school. How many trips to the guidance office you would take. How many girlfriends you will have. How many hearts you will break. I wonder and wonder. But then I catch myself. I tell myself to stop wondering. Because there are no answers for that. There are, however, answers for this, what we have right now, who you are right now. Perhaps the only mischief you are up to are the ones only your Mama knows. Your Mama who is also your guidance counselor and teacher rolled into one. We know full well how that plays out, don't we? Perhaps the only woman in your life will be me. And the only heart you will break is mine. Until the end of time. And you know what, my dear boy? That is okay. That is perfectly okay. It took me quite some time to come to this. But I think I may have finally come to terms with this part of our journey. I am sorry it has taken so long. And maybe there will be many more days I will still wonder. Forgive me. But know this: I love you. I love you. I love you. In all my wonderings and endless what ifs, I love you.

You are turning out to be a fine, handsome young man. Yes you are indeed. Allow me one last wondering in this letter. I wonder if you remember how I read to you over and over when you were three years old lines from a book. It said, "I love you forever, I like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be." It rings true for you. I hope you do remember.

I love you, my baby.

Love always,

Mama

Dear Morgan

Dear Morgan,

When you laugh it is as if the hundred thousand angels in heaven are laughing with you

When you cry,  clouds are your friends,  their tears spilling over in torrential rain, crying with you

When you wrap your arms around my waist, hug me tight and we hold hands swinging round and round, I know what dancing with the stars must feel like

When you gaze at me, cup my face with your hands, and murmur words you and I can only understand, I know for a moment what heaven looks like

There are still many times I ask "Why?" And what if? And what is the meaning of all this. Then I remember a gift is a gift. And you, my dear boy, you and your kuya are the most precious of all.

I love you, I love you, I love you, remember that.

Love,
Mama Bea

This is Your Life

Your two boys


The little one with the handsome nose
who sings beautifully, purely

The bigger one with round cheeks,
who laughs and the whole world disappears

The little one who marches in the living room
skipping almost soaring, fingers covering ears, smiling

The bigger one who does not say anything
yet says a million things in the way he holds your hand

The bigger one who swings in the hammock
holding his piece of bread, iced water on the floor

The little one who says I love you, words held precious
The bigger one who shows I love you, arms wrapped around you


The little one who is turning into a young man who will still sing
soon he will grow tall, not far away, always close by

The bigger one who will grow bigger, rounder,
in the size of his body, in the size of his heart embracing your own

And you,
You, Mother, Mama, Nanay
you will love them all the days of your life

No other life but this. No greater joy than this.

Your two boys, the little one, the bigger one.
Them, they, you. You.

"Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life. " - Omar Khayyam

Full Circle

2006.

Garret is 1 year old.

We decided to start a family early.  When I reach my 40's,  my child will be 16 years old by then. I want him to he to get to know me while I would still be at the prime of health. And we would know each other not only as Mother and child. But deeply as Mother and child. I would tell him millions of stories. I would tell him why I parent him the way I do, why I love him the way I do. So many things I plan to tell him.

I figure when  my child and I would come to an understanding of whatever the Universe  endowed us with through telling our stories and listening and knowing one another, I will have come full circle.

2008.
Morgan is born.
Garret is diagnosed. Autism Spectrum Disorder, the doctor said.

2011
Morgan is diagnosed. Autism Spectrum Disorder, the doctor said.

2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016. 

Therapists and teachers come and go. It is clear how far we have come, clearer how far we needed to go.

2017. 

Garret is 12. Morgan is 9.
It dawns on me. I will not have grandchildren. As of the moment I do not know what that means. Or I refuse to face its definition. At least for now. 

2017.

I turn 37 this October. Obviously,  the Universe had other things in mind. Acceptance is an everyday thing as in embracing our truth one day at a time.

I do not have the conversations I imagined many times I'd have with my boys. Our story-telling, listening and knowing are of a different kind.

I, however, see the conversations that are not happening between "normal" parents and children.

I get frustrated wishing parents would see what they have. I tell myself, "If it were me..." then stop right there because I am not in their shoes. I am in my own. It is not up to me.

2017.

There is wisdom here somewhere.

Maybe it is that while I do not get to have the kind of conversations, the story-telling, listening and the knowing I imagined myself to have with my boys, I get to live every moment, fully present, paying attention to and relishing all the details of our life, celebrating every little miracle.

Perhaps it is that I get to be the parent they need, not the parent I want to be.

Maybe it is that I get to love them simply but fiercely, no questions asked.

Maybe this is what it means to know each other deeply as Mother and child.

Maybe this is the understanding the boys and I will come to arrive at.
 
And then, maybe this is what coming full circle truly means. 

Worthy

Watercolor paper, finger paint, brushes, big crayons and a couple of photos, chocolate cake from a local snack house, a hundred kisses and numerous thoughts fill this Father's Day.

When we decide to have children, what are our motivations? To extend our family's lineage? To ensure the longevity of our family's name? To live out our dreams, the ones we never had a chance to fulfill? To chart a different life from the ones we had? To make right what is not? To prove something to someone? Or to manifest the ultimate definition of love? To birth joy? To be happy? To seek truth? To forge meaning and purpose in our lives?

Garret is now 12 years old. Morgan is 9. I am turning 37 this year. If there is anything I have learned in over a decade of loving our boys and embracing their truth, it is that parenting hits you hard in the gut. You realize it is never about you, never was, never will be.  It is never about you living your unfulfilled dreams. It is never about you rebelling against the dictates of anybody. It is never about you proving anything to anyone. 

Parenting is always, always about them, our children. Parenting is a gift from the Universe to us that we may hold in the palms of our hands joy, not joy. Feel pain, desperation, struggle. Taste triumph. Experience healing. Feel love. Be love. Be blessed by grace, manifest grace. 

Parenting, whether we are fathers, mothers or caregivers, is a gift from the Universe to us so we may know what it truly is to behold the miracle of life.  

Happy Father's Day to the Papa of my boys. As you always say, "To be worthy of them." Yes, indeed to always be worthy of them.  

The Roles We Play

We lay in bed. Garret on my right, Morgan on my left. The room is dark. A curtain is drawn. A ray of light from the slats of bamboo seep through. Morgan laughs, murmurs. Garret hums, sings. I am quiet, lost in my own thoughts. 

"When we talk, she looks at me and she listens, " the mother said. She was talking about her little girl.  Her child will be in preschool this June.

"That's great!" I said. "Let's try to lengthen those 'talk times' you have with your child." I explained to her how she need not read a story from a book to spend time with her. She needed only to engage her child in conversation about whatever she wants to talk about. Take what happened in her day, for example. Just 30 minutes a day, I told her. Just try it for a week, I  continued to encourage her. 

My day job consists of talking to parents of neuro-typical or "normal" children, telling them to spend time with their child. My task, one of many is  to "remind" them of what needs to be done to further their child's growth in school. But really, when I think about it, I see myself simply as a parent having a dialogue with other parents.

The irony of my life does not elude me, I always say. Then again, the irony of my life becomes the role I play, the calling I have been born to heed to in this life.

And while I acknowledge this, at night when I come home and see my boys,  when we lay in bed, Garret on my right, Morgan on my left, and the room is dark, when a ray of light from the slats of bamboo seep through, when Morgan murmurs and laugh, when Garret sings and hums and I am quiet, lost in my own thoughts, there is a tug in my heart. And I allow myself to feel the tug, the hurt. What hurt? The hurt that I have to tell parents what they have. The hurt that I don't get to decide for them. The hurt that I only get to show them what they do have. The hurt that no matter what gift I know I have been blessed with in the persons of my two boys who have autism, I still long to have what they have, the gift of conversation with my boys.

They said, over time, it gets better. Or that I get better with this living with autism. Maybe, maybe not. One thing is true though, I have been called to bespeak a role. A role just like any other parent in this world-- Love. Love is the calling I have been born to heed to.  And what clearer form of love than to converse, to give attention and to be present. 

"Everything changed the day I figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in m life." -Brian Andreas

Speak

So much of how we speak are
Eyes, ears
Lips, nose
Cheek

Hands, fingers
Arms
Belly, knees
Legs, feet

Toes
Water hoses and hoses of it
Paper strips
Pink things
Sighs, cries, laughter

Lined-up legos
Creased brows
Hums, drums
Falsettoes

Holding
Squeezing
Gentle, tender
Light, quiet
Joyous shrieks
Snores, breaths
Face tilts
Teddy bears
Deep sleep.

So much of how we speak,

So much of how we love,
No words,

Just these.

"But we loved with a love that was more than love." - Edgar Allan Poe

Spaces

I draw a balloon, use watercolor. I dip the brush in  red. I hold my boy's hand. "Let's color, my love." He holds the brush, my hand over his.  And we paint, leaving spaces behind. I'm tempted to say, let's fill in the spaces. I stop myself from doing so. This is his way. Not mine. He leaves the table and plays with water.

I hold up two plastic teddy bears, red and yellow. "Garret, get yellow." He flicks a pencil. After two more proddings, he picks out the yellow plastic teddy. "This time, Garret, follow the pattern, Red, yellow, green, blue, white." It takes a while. He needs guidance to follow through. I stop myself from getting frustrated. This is his way. Not mine. He stands up and continues to flick the pencil. 

Morgan becomes impatient, wants his food right away. I talk to him gently. "It's okay to wait. It's okay to wait." He gets my hand and places it on top of his head, wants me to massage his head. I do. He calms down and waits.

Garret cries. I had to go to work one morning. He does not like changes in routine. He's used to having me in the morning, classes in the afternoon. That's the way it goes. I arrive home just before noon. He cries even harder. I tell him, "Mama's here, my darling." He looks at me, tears in his eyes, "Shaaaynge." Change. He wants me to change  my  clothes already. I do. He wipes his tears and smiles. 

There are days I know for sure why things are the way they are. There are days I am okay with it. And then there are days that I write. These days, words are scarce. Still, write I must.

Spaces. My boys, they have many spaces. Confusing, wonderful, mysterious, beautiful, grand spaces. And I fill those spaces. I hold those spaces for them. The best way I know how, color it with all that is in my heart.

Spaces. The irony. I myself am full of them. Perhaps I am the one that needs to be filled.

C. S. Lewis writes,

 "Courage, dear heart." 

                 

What if?

I've always wondered,
What if you were given words, my dear boy?
Would the world be kinder?
What if you were given words , my love?
Would your smiles mean more?
What if you were given words, my son?
Would your touch feel deeper?
What if you were given words, my king,
Would your laughter sound richer?
What if you were given words, my child,
Would life be more beautiful?
What if you were given words, my Morgan,
Would my heart grow bigger and
therefore break even wider
than how it already is breaking?

I wonder yet I know.
My heart
Oh this Mama's heart
is a fickle thing.
One day I am sure.
Another,  I am full of questions.
I know yet I wonder still.
For now with deep breaths,
I steer myself to what is,
To where we are
Where the ground beneath
Our feet
Moves beyond words
Where the air we breathe
Is love unnamed
Where what we do have is
More than any questions
Or the answers we seek
Where Grace finds us
When we need it the most
As I do now.

"I do not understand the mystery of grace -- only that it meets us where we are and does not leave us where it found us." -Anne Lamott