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

       

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.)

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. 

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

Teachers

"Where is Garret, Ma'am Bea?" a Grade 1 student asked me out of the blue. It was their recess time.

"He's having a class," I  replied.  Wondering how she knew Garret, I asked, "How do you know Garret?"

She said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Classmate man mi pag Kinder 1." (We were classmates in Kinder1). She was referring to the time when we let Garret attend mainstream class.

"Ma'am Bea, ang imong duha ka anak kay special?" (Are both of them special  children?)

"Yes, they both are special."

And then,

"Mag teacher sad sila ig kadako nila?"

I  paused. "I do not know yet," I finally answered.

She smiled and ran to play with her classmates.

Will they be teachers too? The little girl asked perhaps wondering if Garret and Morgan, like most children, would want to be what their parents are.

I don't know yet, I answered her. But what I really wanted to say was that my two boys have been my teachers for as long as I can remember.

But how to explain this to a 6-year-old?

Perhaps like this: That teachers are people who make you want to be a better person. Teachers are those who teach you love, kindness, compassion. Teachers are those who teach you to be brave. And they do this unknowingly. In the nameless, wordless acts of everyday.

Will they be teachers too? The little girl asked. Maybe tomorrow, when she asks again, I'll answer very simply,

They already are, sweetheart. They already are.

Attraversiamo

This wall
This gap,
This space
A tremendous river
Between us and them
Between our world and
Their secret place

We try to pull them into ours
Make them stay
Within the lines
Color inside the shapes
Circle, heart, square

Trace
The dots from here
To there

And they try, they really do
Feet together
Sit up straight
Quiet hands
Then hold the pen like this
Tripod grip
So write they do
Color they do
On paper as they should
Even though they prefer
Tables, walls or floors

This space

Between us and them
Between our world and
Their exquisitely secret place

Where silence lives
Too much of it
For our world at least

What will it take for us to know
This void
is part of who they are?
Who we are, who are we?
We are too full of noise
We are too full of markings
And
We are too afraid of nothing
Of

Blanks, of spaces, of gaps

The very same
that make our words richer, fuller

The very same
that make our world richer, fuller, more diverse
Beautiful

If we just look over
There is a bridge between
Their world and ours
Let's cross over
And fill in the blanks
Write love, tremendous love
On paper, tables, walls or floors
Occupy the space, embrace
Who they are, who we are

Autism,

This wall
Let's climb it. Or knock it down.
They are us
We are them
Let's close the gap.