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. 

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. 

Enough

This is a photo of Garret doing a Farmer's Carry with a 10-pound kettlebell in each hand, for our functional movement exercises this afternoon. He started with a 7-pound kettlebell just barely a month ago. Now he can carry 3 pounds more in each hand. But what is more astonishing is how he responded to what I requested of him. I asked him to pick up the kettle bell one last time so I can take a good photo of him. Without hesitation, he picked up the kettlebell looked at the camera, stood still and after I clicked, he put down the kettlebell and went back to our room. 

"Come, Morgan. It's time to climb. And we'll hold on for five seconds, okay?" Morgan quietly and willingly approaches the wall, positions his hands and feet on the holds and held on for a solid five seconds. With no help from Mama. Morgan's understanding of the world has expanded clearly shown in the quickness and relevance of his responses. 

Since May this year, we've decided to take the personal reins of our two boys' education as our sped center has reached its final journey. And now more than ever, never have I been more fulfilled as a mother. This is not to say that it is easy. It never is. If any, the challenges become harder. But one thing is certain-- our joys AND ponderous moments are richer in meaning, realer, deeper in purpose. 

I remember the day Garret was first diagnosed. I broke down. Wept in the doctor's clinic. The barrage of questions came. How will we endure? How will we overcome?  There were no answers, only a certainty that the future arrives one day at a time. Today, I remember  this is how we decided to live our lives from then on, to do the best we can one day at a time. 

I reflect now too that in order for us to have arrived to this day, doing the best we can meant we gave value to the present moment, to value presence. To be with our boys in the real sense of the word. To eliminate what is not important, what does not add value to our lives. To focus on what does.

So when my vision of the road ahead blurs as it surely will now and then, I only have to remember how we have come to this place, this very moment-- Presence. When I am present, I am able to see with so much clarity how much Garret and Morgan have come so far. When I am present, I am able to know what they truly need. When I am present, I am reminded that what they need, what we need is what we have right now. When I am present, I know in my heart that what we have right now and what is in store for us in the days to come is and will always be enough.