Khalil Gibran and the Reality of Autism

A 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.

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable

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.

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.

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.

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.

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

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.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

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.

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.

Thank you Khalil Gibran. Thank you autism. Thank you universe for giving me Garret and Morgan.

The Beautifully Bittersweet

Yesterday, I had to play the antagonist again in my Little Prince's world. I had to disturb Garret's place of calm and peace and routine. After his sped class in the afternoon, we went to the big school together with Morgan. Morgan, with his naughty little butt decided to take a nap by 4:30 p.m. When I say "decided" I mean, whining and crying and wanting to be carried, and just one step before full-volume crying occurs. So I had to say to Garret who was already so at peace in the social hall, sitting on the table, taking in all the hustle and bustle of the students playing, etc., "Kuya, we have to go home na. Morgan is sleepy. We need to go home na in a while ha..." As expected an adamant "ah!" met my requesting of him. I won't go into the details of what happened next but let's just say a lot of heads turned and one of his cousins asked very concerned, "Why tita? what happened?"

Ever had one of those moments when you were single and you saw a parent and a child in a mall or grocery store, and the child acted out and you judged immediately why the parent could not discipline her child? Well, this time, I wasn't the observer. I was the unable-to-handle-her-child parent. But this time, I knew Garret was not acting out. It was just a case of "It had to be done" kind of thing. I had to force him out of his peace bubble because Morgan wanted to sleep already. And lately, his little brother's sleeping pattern has gone berserk that I don't know what else to do to make him sleep well at night. Garret yelled and slapped my arm. Morgan scared of his kuya's yell, cried all the more. All that went through my head was " Okay, don't panic. Just breathe.Don't mind the stares of the people around you. Focus, keep calm. Hold it together." Garret slapped me one more time after which I held his shoulders and emphatically said, "GARRET!". He fell silent and whined. I almost forgot, autism does that to my boys.

Of course Garret couldn't understand why we had to go home so early when in fact he was so used to going home by the time all the students in the big school went home. He couldn't understand why he had to go home when the final bell did not ring yet. He couldn't understand why Morgan had to cry, why Morgan had to sleep in the middle of his "big school time". Morgan, on the other hand could no less understand why his body just wouldn't sleep during his usual 1 pm nap time. He couldn't understand why even at 12 midnight, he still couldn't sleep. And he couldn't understand why no amount of bouncing on the vestibular ball and rocking on the rocking chair with mama could not make him go to sleep.

All the way home, Garret sobbed. I could just see and feel his disappointment and it tore my heart apart. When we arrived home I held him in my arms and we stayed in the rocking chair as I tried to soothe him, telling him, "It's okay Garret...I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It took about half an hour before he finally calmed down and fell asleep. When I transferred him to his bed, he woke up already calm and seemingly comforted. After another half hour I prepared his dinner and I kept telling him, "Sorry Garret ha..." He just sat down on his chair and softly echoed my words in a sing-song voice, "sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." Yes, 5 times. I didn't know what to make of it. I just felt relieved somewhat. Maybe it was his way of saying, "it's alright, mama."? I want to believe that it is. He may not understand all the reasons why we had to go home earlier than his usual routine, but I want to believe he understands me saying sorry I had to do that and he had to be frustrated and disappointed.

And what of Morgan? Of course, sound asleep till 7 p.m at which time I had to force him to wake up, me thinking, so he wouldn't stay up too late later that night. And of course, when we put the lights out at around 11 p.m. and I drifted of to the REM stage of sleep, he began whining again and the whining turned to crying. I flipped the lights on and put on Barney. He then got his wooden shapes puzzle and got all the shapes and put them back again, over and over, which amused me somewhat because I thought, "well, at least something productive can come out of this episode. He'll be able to master his shape sorting skills." On the other hand it was as if he was just doing this to tire his eyes out. Again, I won't go into the other details of what transpired next. Suffice it to say that he finally climbed into bed on his own accord at 2:30 a.m. and me finally succumbing to sleep at 3 a.m. I wanted to berate something, someone, anyone, anybody so badly, autism, specifically, the universe next with my adamant opposition to this whole sleep deprivation that autism does to my little boy. But I held back, thought twice. Nothing good really could be gotten out of it. Just breathe. Don't panic, I told myself. Then I remembered something a friend wrote a year ago in her blog. I remembered her strength and resilience and her resolve to face the sleep monster of autism head on one sleepless night. And I thought to myself, " If she can do it, then I can too." I drifted off to sleep, albeit restless, but sleep nonetheless.

So this morning, as you can imagine, light-headed and disoriented, I woke up at 8 a.m. already planning to spend the day in my pj's. At 9:30, king Morgan woke up went out of the room and he approached me wanting to be cuddled. I told him, "Kiss mama first." I puckered my lips and he followed suit giving me the sweetest kiss ever and only after looking at me in the eyes and smiling his toothy grin. Of course the lightheaded sensation wore off almost immediately. And the disorientation was replaced by something clear and apparent as the morning sun---true love, my friend, Kary told me.

This is what will get me through times like this. This will make me defeat this sleep monster and frustration monster of autism. My love for my boys. I will carry everything with fortitude. I will be strong for my boys. I will not complain. I will think positive thoughts. I will not care about what other people will think of my parenting skills. I will parent my boys as I see fit. I will give them all the love and support they need. I will keep calm. I will not panic. I will breathe deeply and I will carry on. And if my little king needs me to stay awake with him till 3 a.m. , then I will and tell autism to its face, "Show me what you got 'coz I'm ready for you."

These are just a few of the bitter sweet moments in our day-to-day life, living with autism. Thriving with it, actually. I say thriving because every dark moment has been an opportunity for discovery and learning, about myself as a mother, as a partner, as a woman,and simply as a human being. Every monster we face, we have overturned it to become a source of strength and understanding and knowledge and empathy for other parents who are going through similar difficulties. Every experience that drive us to the brink of our patience and ability to keep it together make me solidify the belief to be more accepting and nonjudgmental of other parents, other people for that matter because we each are facing our own battles.

Frustration, sleep deprivation, bitter moments they are, but beautiful, what with the lessons they bring and the strength and character they draw from the very core of my being.

For all autism parents out there, I hope you too shall allow yourselves to be strengthened and not defeated by whatever monsters will come out to face you. I hope you shall choose to be positive. I pray you will have the grace to keep it together, not panic and be calm. I pray that you will in turn have more empathy not just for other people but for yourselves as well. You are doing your best. And your best is enough for your children, for your family.You are strong and even if you feel as if you have lost your balance and center, you are still okay. And you will carry on.

This Knot in My Heart

A friend just recently bid farewell. And when she said it, almost immediately a knot twisted inside. I knew her goodbye had all the right reasons. Still, I knew whatever reasons she had would fail to untie the knot I felt in my heart. But it was not just she particularly. Her goodbye, it seemed, was the last straw that brought forth all the bottled up emotions I had inside for all the goodbyes I had in my life for the past 8 years. People came and went. I came and went. Friends choosing a better life, better career opportunities. Colleagues who became friends who eventually had to leave for various reasons, for inevitable choices they had to make. Like I said, for whatever reasons they had, somehow the pain is all coming back to me just as if they left yesterday.

On a lighter note, though, let me relate to you how my partner and I “strategize” when our 7 year-old of a son, Garret is becoming smarter each day not letting us out of his sight so much so that we have to “escape” his clutches so we can have some alone time by ourselves or just simply a break. We were getting tired of having to drive around the city so that by the time we come back to the house, Garret will have stopped whining and gone back to his room and “forgetting” he wants our attention. So, last week, this was how it went:

Garret was noticing more and more how we would disappear right around dinner time, so what he did was he stayed with us at the dinner table, waiting patiently for us to finish our meal. Waiting patiently for me to finish doing the dishes. Waiting ever so patiently for me clearing up the table. Finally inside our bedroom, as I opened my laptop, he sat beside me or rather sat on my lap and began kissing me on the cheek making goo-goo charming eyes at me. And whenever I stood up to get something, he had a vise grip on my arm. I had to laugh at his strategy as well. So when it was almost 9 p.m. we told him, “Garret you have to take a bath because you smell bad. And it’s not nice to sleep smelling bad.” So I brought him to the bathroom and asked his caregiver to give him a bath. When he went inside, I instructed his caregiver to close the bathroom door, after which I immediately went back to our bedroom. My partner was already in the closet waiting for me. Yes, our plan was to hide in our own closet so that when Garret would come looking for us in the room and he found that the lights were off and no mama or papa were to be found, case closed! Are you amused enough already? We hid in the closet for about 10 minutes just to make sure he was already in his own room with Morgan.

In my son’s world, he has to see order the way he likes it. And part of this order includes his mama and papa being around all the time for him or during certain parts of the day. And Morgan has to be with him in the room too. So he does not like it when either one of us is not within his line of sight. I often wonder will things get better when he gets older? Will he be better able to manage separation anxiety when he’s bigger? Will he understand when someone says goodbye? Will he ever understand the word goodbye? I know he understands it when the “bye-bye” song is sung at the end of sped class. He understands it well because for him it means, end of doing schoolwork and going home with Mama, Papa and Morgan and his koi pond. I would like to think that autism allows his world to be simple, uncomplicated, and devoid of unnecessary emotion that allows “normal” people to be stuck, unable to move forward. Again this may be a blessing in a way for my son. What amazes me though is that Garret exhausts all ways and means to make sure for as long as he can to let me be with him. Even if it just means sitting down with him as he splish splashes in the koi pond for two whole hours, which is just what he wanted this afternoon. Now I am able to write this post because most likely he was already contented with the time I spent with him—the two hours in the koi pond. He was satisfied and now he is able to let me go out of the room and do my own thing while he does his.

Going back to my more somber mood, I wish I could turn back time and spent more time with the friends and loved ones who left. I wish I could have exhausted all ways and means to make sure for as long as I can to be with them. So that when they left, I could have honestly said to myself, “ Okay nako. I’m okay now. You can go wherever you want to go.” This is why the knot has gotten tighter when my friend declared she was leaving. When will I ever learn? So many things I take for granted until the time comes that it is taken away or when friends leave out of their own volition or out of the inevitability of the circumstances of their lives.

A brilliant writer recently said, “When you are brave enough to say goodbye, life rewards you with new hellos.”

To be brave is to be able not only to say the words, “yes, I can let you go,” but most essentially to live in full awareness that your time with the person has ended because you have exhausted everything, given everything—time, love, compassion, kindness and wisdom to that person. And it is okay that it has ended because a new life has to begin, and new relationships have to be built.

I am quick to say goodbye. But I am slow to recover-- A delayed reactor, thus, this post. Rationally I know life goes on. But in my heart of hearts, I ask, “Why? Why does it have to be that way?”.

I wish I were like my son now. Whenever he sees that I left the room or house, of course he cries and screams and whines, but then he eventually wipes his tears and moves on. When I come back he is back to his old self smiling, giggling and making goo-goo eyes at me again. As much as he expresses very clearly how he wants my attention all the time, he is quick to recover. I wish I had half of Garret’s resilience because like all other neuro-typical human beings, I get stuck. I am stuck. Because I take things --people for granted.

One marked characteristic of children in the autism spectrum is their fixation on objects or persons of interest. In Garret’s case, he so loves his 3 rubber balls, colored yellow, orange and black and white. He carries it with him whenever he goes. All three balls must be present. Two won’t do. And just one will definitely get you in trouble. When I think about it, the ruling principle in my son’s world is quite simple—I like my 3 balls. Therefore I have to hold all three of them. No excuses. If one gets lost, I have to look for it.

Sometimes I wish my life were simple like that. You are an important person in my life. Therefore I will hold on to you with everything I can. If you get lost, I will look for you.

Autism in our life has taught me many things, showed me how life should be lived, changing my perspectives every single time, disproving old beliefs and creating new ones. Today, it has forced me to remember what is important in my life, or life in general for that matter—people are what matters the most. And when you love them, you hold on to them no matter what so that when the inevitable happens and it is finally time to let go, it will be okay. The knot will have been untied after that brave declaration of farewell. And I will be ready to move on and welcome new hellos.

Another lesson learned today. I hope I get to follow through. And I hope when my friend comes back, I won’t make the same mistake again.

Separation Anxiety and Letting Go

I know the title is just a bit too lengthy and too obvious and to an extent, a bit cheesy? But just because it’s that time of the year where everybody is achieving a milestone and beginning another, I hate to sound cliché, but there is no better term—starting another chapter of their lives. Yes, I mean graduation ceremonies and all that. But this has nothing and everything to do with graduation. So here you go.

Mom was getting ready for work. I was busy playing. Then she walked to our “sala” and walked through the door leaving. The details are hazy now but what is clear up to this moment in time is how I went to the jalousie window and cried pleading her not to leave. I simply did not want her to leave. Yaya Sophie comforted me saying it was okay that mom had to leave because she had to go to work and she will be back later. I don’t know how old I was. Probably 6 or 7 when this happened. Even until now, I remember vividly the pain I felt when Mom left for work. I couldn’t understand why she had to work. All I wanted was for her to be with me all the time. At all times. Eventually, of course, I learned to cope and I no longer cried when she left for work.

A few days ago, I had to go back to the Center to hold a meeting with the Sped Teachers. And Garret would not let me out of his sight. With every creak of their bedroom door, he would turn and check that it was not his mama who went out. I tried to think of ways to distract him—putting on his favorite DVD, Magic English Disney, Dora and Diego, Ice Age. Nothing seemed to work. Finally, I decided to leave the room, for better or for worse. After all what I had to do was equally important for him and the other kids at the center. So I went out and into our bedroom and locked the door. What happened next was not the “better” outcome. He panicked and went after me, banged on our bedroom door. Realizing he couldn’t open it, he went back to his room and cried and screamed and cried for 15 whole minutes. And that was the longest 15 minutes of my entire life.

You have no idea how hard it was for me to listen and not give in to him. I had no choice but to let him go through that experience. Garret had to learn in his own way to cope with his mama leaving for work. He had to be fully aware of me leaving his sight. He had to somehow process as best as he can that it was just okay. He had to comfort himself that mama would be back later. Thankfully, after 15 minutes the crying stopped. I finally left for the center.

Separation Anxiety. We all experience this at one time or another, a friend leaving for another country, a break-up of a friendship, a growing apart of a relationship, a death of a loved one, everything going through this painful process of separation. At the very least we are anxious. At its worst, the pain of letting go of someone or something is tremendous. And we have our own “adult-like” ways of coping. We sometimes pretend that it’s okay putting up a front. We crumble and break down and cry for a long time. We laugh it off with beer and whatnot. We box the hell out of that punching bag. We pray. We think, sometimes too hard. We question. We provide the answers. And then we cry some more. Then finally, we move on.

What we sometimes do not realize is that we actually learn our coping skills and self-calming techniques as young children—When our parents first dropped us on our first day of school, or earlier, such as suddenly becoming aware of mom leaving for work. So it all depends on how our parents dealt with our endless pleas of “Mama!” of “Daddy don’t leave!” .

Garret will be turning 7 this Friday, March 30th. He has come so far physically, mentally, and emotionally. He’s getting to be so smart, he knows how to push all my buttons, and he know how to strategize to get what he wants, and that includes crying so I will be with him all the time. But more than this, I wonder how he deals with this thing called separation anxiety. Unlike other kids who can verbally articulate their anxiety, he actually "non-verbalizes" it perhaps even more clearly. And then when there is nothing left for him to do about the fact that mom really left for work, he recovers quite quickly and acts as if the episode of crying and screaming and banging the door did not occur at all. I wonder whether the pain he felt has really disappeared. I wonder whether it is just locked deep in his heart. I wonder if he resents me leaving him or disciplining him. I wonder if he understands why I scream at him when he misbehaves badly and when I cannot take it anymore and just break down. I wonder how much of me as his mama does he understand. I wonder what goes on in his mind and his heart. This mysterious world of his is just that—a mystery, a puzzle that I strive to solve every single day. For every tantrum, for every scream, for every whine, for every “good job” waiting, for every smile and bubbling laughter, for every spontaneous hug and kiss, for every milestone reached, I wonder and I try to solve to the best of my ability. And because I don’t have fixed answers to all my wonderings, all the more I want to protect him from every possible hurt and pain that he may encounter in this life. Even if I know can’t, I will still protect him come hell or high water. Because that’s what you do to those you love.

But this is the greatest irony. And only now do I truly understand. To truly love is to learn to let go, to learn to let things be, to set them free, to experience things—the good, the bad, the worst and the most beautiful. To truly love Garret and Morgan, I shall have to allow them to learn coping skills on their own. They will have to experience the disappointment and frustration that mama has to go to work. They will have to go through a whole lot of other things. The crying and the screaming shall have to happen. Because there is no other way for them to learn than to face their anxieties head on. They will learn to pick themselves up after every fall. They will learn to move on. And they will only learn to do all this if I learn to let go, let them be.

I don’t know if Autism does more good than harm when they are confronted with relationship concerns. Their “impaired” socialization skills make them indifferent in some cases and nonchalant to an extent. In Garret’s case, he is quite the opposite, very affectionate, craves every tight hug and welcomes kisses. But like I said, after a screaming episode of frustration, he recovers automatically and shifts to another mode that makes me wonder again, “Is it his way of numbing the pain? Or has Autism allowed him not to dwell too long on things, which is actually, when you think about it, is a hidden blessing?”

Experts say, children learn quickly because their brain is like a sponge. They recover well from a fall right away because their bones are flexible. And yes, they cope with separation sooner or later. And the sooner they are allowed to experience things that teach them strong coping skills, the better they learn and the stronger their resilience will be.

As Garret is growing older, I am learning to treat him just like any other “normal” regular kid in discipline and in teaching coping skills. You know why? Because he is teaching me to be a better parent every single day. I just don’t have all the answers to the puzzles that his world bombards at me every day. But it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. Garret will be okay. He will learn how to cope. He will learn to be resilient. He is coping. And he is doing very well. I think it may be me who is actually suffering from a serious case of separation anxiety (just like all parents do, I think) and I will have to learn to trust the experts on what they say.

The Universe has its way of placing meaning to events. The purpose of a particular event may be obscure at that particular time that it is actually happening, but it will unfold certainly, sooner or later. This is one of those things. When I was 6 or 7, I couldn’t understand why my own mom had to leave for work. Now I’m a mom. Now I understand. But, more important than this, I now understand that just as I coped well, Garret will do too. Even better, I think. And it’s time for me to stop dwelling on things because everything’s going to be okay. Like I said, my boys tell me all the time, “Mama, it’s time to cut the crap and the bullshit.” And maybe they are telling me, “ Look how you turned out to be, mama. You did okay. You turned out just fine. Remember, mama we spent 9 months in your womb. You must have given us at least an ounce of your courage and resilience.” Or maybe it’s just me doing my self-soothing techniques. But I would like to believe it’s Garret and Morgan who is telling me this because right in front of me is proof enough. They are doing fine. My little prince and feisty king are doing just fine.

Life lesson for today: The only way to deal with separation anxiety is to let go because everything is going to be okay. I will have to trust the Universe on that.

So yes, this has nothing and everything to do with graduation ceremonies. I am acknowledging the fact that it is time for Garret to learn things on his own. I am learning to let go. And perhaps Garret is beginning to understand that mama can't be with him all the time, at all times. And he is learning as well to cope and deal and to just let go. So this is our graduation, a different kind of graduation, but a milestone reached, nonetheless. And a beginning of a new chapter. And I am perfectly okay with that. :-)