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.

Bigger

The world is too big for us, Mama.
My boys seem to say

The sounds are too loud. It's not that we don't listen. We do.
To everything. All at once. Oh how they hurt our ears.

The grass is too sharp for the soles of our feet.  Some shoes
are too tight, socks too rough. Shirt tags are like
pinpricks on our backs.

People are too loud, move too fast.

People staring at us-- too painful. Please don't force us
to make eye contact.

The world is too big for us, Mama.
My boys seem to say.

Oh, my boys, I'll make everything small 

for both of you

I'll hand you the world in bits and pieces

slowly, gently, softly.

And know this, my boys, your mama's heart

is bigger, greater than this world 

that beleaguers you. 

Know this my boys,

I. 

love.

you.

Beyond Words

Garret sees the wind in the leaves that dance. He looks at it the way a child gapes in wonder at fireworks. His hands are flapping in excitement. He utters a squeal of delight. His papa asks him, " Are you happy Garret?" "Apee," he replies. 

A moment later a mother and a child approaches coming from around the grounds from their run. The hospital grounds where we usually spend afternoons in overlooks the Ormoc city harbor. Ships are docked. The girl, a little older than Garret,  asks her mother, "I see a big boat, Ma. It usually isn't there. Why is it there?" Her mother answers something I cannot hear anymore but they resume their conversation. 

The scene that unfolded before me made me smile. How wonderful it is for them to spend the afternoon together, this parent and child. How even more wonderful it is that they were conversing. No smart phones or tablets in sight. It didn't even matter what they were talking about, I thought. And then, a kind of wistfulness took over me for a moment. "I wish I could have that." I caught myself. I paused in my thoughts and said to myself. "I am human. And it is okay for me to want this, a normal conversation with my child." 

I take a deep breath and return my gaze to my two boys. Garret continues to bask in the view of Indian trees swaying in the wind. There is only calm and peace embracing him.  He then hums a piece from his classical playlist in perfect pitch. I hum with him. He pauses as I hummed off-key. Then he proceeds to hum again. I smile to my heart's content.

Morgan a few feet away tears leaves. I call him and he immediately looks in my direction. His cheeks puffy and pink. He seems annoyed that I disturbed his tearing. I tell him, "it's time to go home now, Morgan." He immediately complies holding my hand. We walk to our truck. On the drive home he looks at me and grins. 

This is what we have. This is our conversation. Clearly a more different,  quieter one than what other families have. Garret sings. I sing with him.  Garret says, "Apee." I chime in, "Happy boy!"  Garret squeals. I grin back. Morgan looks at me, touches my cheek and smiles. I affirm his gesture and say, "Yes, my love, Morgan is happy too?" In the moments of silence, Andro and I talk, whether it's during one of our joy rides or an afternoon at the grounds such as today.  We fall silent every now and then and remain in our own thoughts. Then we speak if we feel the need to. Our conversation parallel our boys'-- Only the very necessary, only things that matter. 

This is what we have. What we have right now is what we need. And this right here is beautiful beyond words,  beyond "normal conversation." How abundantly blessed we are.