An Unanticipated Threshhold

I know it's been very quiet here this year. It's been a difficult year, especially for one of my sons and in the interest of protecting his future employments I have not posted about it. As someone who worked for almost 15 years in hiring...the internet is forever.

However, I was talking about this person this week, and said out loud for the first time, you know when he turns 10, he'll have lived longer without his brother than with his brother.

I'll let that sink in. He'll just be hitting double digits. I'd have to live to be 84 and a half or so to reach that particular count.

Anyway, I couldn't get that sentence out of my head for hours afterwards. It just rolled around in here, bumping up against all the things I really needed to be thinking about. Finally, I pulled up a browser on my phone and looked up the days between Tucker's birthday and the day Connor died. It told me 1753 days are in that range.  Then I started with the day Connor died and went to Monday.

It told me 1752 days.

Yesterday was the halfway point. After yesterday, the rest of his life will always be longer than his life with Connor. Today is the official start of that.

Why did I phrase that in a way that would cause this to become the main thing I was thinking about? I mean, I know myself pretty well (I think) and I had to have known that a toss-off remark would implant itself into my subconscious until I knew exactly what those numbers were.

In any case, here we are. He'd the first to reach this threshhold.  Drew's will be a few months after he turns 14. That's 2021. I guess I can let this lie fallow until I get closer to that.

The Quality of Luck

I have spent the better part of the year feeling down in the dumps, mopey, Eeyore-esque. I'm fortunate in that I can feel this, and that I can wallow in this and still go about the must-doings.

The last several weeks have had "lucky" come to mind a lot for me. We are all being affected, somehow, by what is happening in our world. Our world, right now, is fractured by a virulent and overwhelming argument about men and women and power and bravery and fear and justice. I am sure there are other factors, but those are the ones that roll off my tongue.

This is how I know I am lucky. I have, as a female in the world, encountered abuse, sometimes from co-workers, sometimes from friends, but I have never been truly assaulted, and for that, I am lucky. LUCKY.

Any person's safety and well-being, both physical and mental, should never, ever come down to that.

When words intended to subdue, or objectify, or humiliate me were casually or deliberately thrown my way, my immediate reaction, each time, was to throw them right back. How dare you say that to me? How dare you ask that? What is wrong with you that treating another person like that is all right?  Where is your humanity? And when it happened, usually in a co-ed and public place, everything quieted down, for a while afterwards. I cannot say that it never happened again. I can only hope that it didn't.

I never feared because I had my voice. And that makes me lucky, because there are so many out there whose voices aren't giving them the courage and the confidence and the righteousness to raise up their humanity and hold it above someone who would subvert it.

I may start coming out of the funk, and I may not. And during this funk, my voice has been a little lost. Today, Dr. Ford used her voice, despite terror and horror of memories no one should ever have. Today, I start to use mine again.

Wonder

I can't believe it's been almost 3 months since I wrote something. I'm very sorry. Life keeps happening and it's exhausting and you all know that drill, right?

This morning, Tucker and I attended the Annual Breakfast for Homestretch, the organization he has been raising money for. We got up extra early and got dressed up (mostly) to attend this event. The executive director had invited us to attend, and so we were seated at table 2.  There were sixty tables in all.  Six hundred people who were either benefactors or beneficiaries were in attendance. 

When the program started, a man came to the empty chair next to Tucker and asked if he could sit there. He introduced himself to Tucker, then me. I recognized him already anyway - he is Rip Sullivan, a member of the Virginia House of Delegates (48th district) and local guy. He engaged Tucker throughout the event, asking questions, complimenting him on his style, and more. At the end of the event, several of our table-mates gave Tucker their business card. He can't wait to call his new friends. 

What's more, he told us that he wants to raise $5000 more this year for Homestretch. He went to the head of my company and asked if we could work together to help him raise that money, and she said of course. So now I need to set up a business meeting with the head of my company and my 9 year old. That'll be interesting! Maybe I'll facebook live that...??

What strikes me about all this is that Tucker is so inspired to raise funds for this group. He pledged to raise that extra money without a second's hesitation. He sat and patiently listened to the presenters at the Breakfast today, many of them beneficiaries of Homestretch, about how being a part of their organization improved their lives and how grateful they are. He can't even watch a 20 minute cartoon sitting still. but there he sat, hands folded nicely, listening.  He is a wonder.

A Letter To My Boys

Today I felt better again. Better inasmuch as not like I'd been run over, and could actually sustain a thought process over more than 2 minutes. Huge improvement. I actually took Jack on a walk this morning, and that's when I had this kernel get planted in my brain. It's germination period, as it happens, was surprisingly fast. Here goes...

Dear Males In My House,

I am so lucky that each of you is here with me. Because of you, I have a happy life of which I am very proud (Mom, I rewrote that to remove a dangling preposition. You are welcome). I've been thinking about how I've been acting in my own home, my favorite place in the whole world, and I'm not very happy with that I'm recalling. So I'm making you a promise now to stop.

I've been complaining. A lot, right? It is exhausting to clean up after you when you don't care to clean up after yourself. It does make me feel like I am failing at parenting when you don't know how to do these things. I don't expect you to WANT to. I didn't want to when I was your age. I don't want to now. I just know that it has to be done. So I do it.

Lee, you take care of so many things even though you don't recognize it. You set up coffee so it's ready in the morning, a necessary part of me being able to function. You work really hard every day so that we can live here, on Pocomoke, where we LOVE, and even when things are hard you get up and go back in. You make time for yourself in the shop or on the bike (or both) because you know that your brain needs that so you can be present with us when you are here. Then when you are present, you find what the boys like, or need, and you make it happen.

Drew, you are just beginning to really learn where your wings are, and it's really exciting to see them start to stretch! I love watching you learn to show who you are with confidence to the world as you move from elementary school to middle school, and then beyond. You've really started pitching in around the house. It's noticed, and it's so deeply appreciated. I am enjoying teaching you basic things like how to do laundry (from into the machine, through folding and back into the drawers...except for sheets. No one can fold them.) and your cooking skills and interest make me believe that when you leave home, you will not be ordering in constantly or eating only boxed macaroni and "cheese". I hope.

Tucker, you sometimes seem like a knotty shoelace that does not want to untie, but once you get past that first snarl, your good humor shines through. You love a good joke, and you want to share it with everyone you see. You decided late last year to be a part of your community in such a large way, fundraising for families...kids!!!...less fortunate than you, and it makes me so proud that you see these problems and instead of laying blame at anyone, you simply pushed up your sleeves and said, "I want to help." and you did. You are an inspiration to me.

So, despite the fact that I haven't been active in the Catholic Church in many years, I am making a Lenten sacrifice, and I hope it's one that makes me better, and makes you better. Many years ago, I realized as I drove your brother back and forth to day care on my way to work that I was yelling TERRIBLE things in the car at the other drivers while he listened. For Lent that year, I gave up road rage. It was hard, and I didn't always succeed, but I'm far more controlled in the car than I used to be. I hope that my giving up complaining has a similar effect on how I speak, and maybe, a little can rub off on others around me.

I love you guys, all of you.

Mom

Warts and All

I bet you were all wondering...when is she gonna write? The anniversary just passed by us, and nothing on the blog.

Well, it's been a really rough year so far. And the year is only 37 days old. I write less often now because it feels redundant and I don't think I have new things to say, and I don't want to waste a reader's time. But here's the reality: things have been really hard, and I don't want to write that it's hard because I feel that you come here to read about strength.

So, anyway, there you have it. I'm going to make an effort to be more authentic on this blog this year, which means that you get me warts and all.

So, one of my boys is really having a hard time. It's not easy being the parent of a special needs child who cannot care for him- or herself. It's also not easy being a parent of a fully capable neurotypical child who cannot or will not behave himself. It's staggeringly draining, physically and emotionally (and occasionally financially). It's hard to not lose your temper all the time when he is being difficult just to be goddamn difficult. Just so that we will see him. Why doesn't he realize that we see him all the time. ALL THE TIME. We're actually pretty good about parental technology around them. We try to draw lines, abide by our own rules. Sometimes we can't, but we usually do.

And yet...no credit is given.

On top of that, I've had several friends lose parents recently, and we've come to realize that we are entering that shifty, ugly period of our lives where there are no more weddings to attend, but an increasing number of funerals.

And on top of that, it's a slow start business-wise this year. That's really not a terrible thing other than it's terrifying.

But today marks 4 years since I stood up in front of a standing-room only church and said my public good-bye to Connor. We still speak to him as we feel it needed. Last week, the night of the "anniversary," Jack the dog had a dream that caused him to try to bark in his sleep. This almost never occurs, and never at night. This time, it was at night, before we feel asleep. I thought to myself, 'Is that Connor reaching out to us again?'   And then Lee said out loud, "It's like Connor is saying hello."

Weird, right?

In the meantime, the future keeps falling upon us, taking us further away from the time when Connor was with us. Pushing us towards the time when our parents may not be with us any more. We all have time on this Earth, but sometimes, it feels like time is the greatest thief of them all.

Excavations

So, new year, new approach and all, right?

In the week between Christmas and New Years, we decided to clean out a storage closet that has been terribly abused since we moved in 16 years ago. It took only about 30 minutes to get everything out. It took about an hour to "organize" into categories, and another hour to start disposing of the obvious garbage.  Eventually, we got down to having to go through boxes. My first box was almost 100% Connor stuff, marked Connor 1st Year. Cards from the baby shower. The baby book we kept for 6 weeks until it became apparent he wasn't the same kind of baby all my friends had at home. Cards from his birth. Cards from his baptism. Hospital bracelets.

"Look!" I said, "I found our hospital bracelets from when Connor was born!" His brothers thought it was cool.  I brought them upstairs to go into his memory box in my closet, already stuffed to the absolute limit. Upon closer examination, alone, I discovered that they were actually our bracelets from when he was admitted upon diagnosis of Infantile Spasms. Into the trash they went. We don't need extra reminders of that weekend.

An envelope, tiny, clearly re-purposed from a small card that arrived with a gift from my sister. On the front, I had crossed out the writing and labeled it "Connor's First Haircut 7/20/04" Man, that kid had HAIR. It changed - he was almost a redhead at birth, but then transformed into this light, light brown (or dark, dark blonde, depending on how you look at it). But oh my, I still have part of him here with me. His DNA is in my possession. It makes me so happy, and so sad.

The box held photos (kept) and artwork (tossed - he never really made those items in daycare, despite all the effort his caregivers provided) and PAPER. SO MUCH PAPER.  Almost all of it gone now. One birth certificate, saved of course. THREE birth certificates of his younger brother. Clearly I did not have a good filing system.

Then we decided to take an armchair out of our bedroom for unrelated reasons, and behind that chair were almost all of the things of his that I saved. Now they are on display to us, a day and night visual reminder that no one in the family needs. I probably need to go through those and winnow. Each passing day, month and year gives me the chance to review if I have something because I need it to be with me, or because it has his name somehow ascribed to it. Sometimes, I know it was a knee-jerk reaction to the death when it happened. I'm okay with that. Grieving is unpredictable and a process and a burden and intensely, intensely personal. For us, it will be part of our lives every day, even infinitesimally, until we die.

Drew was asked to make a family tree in one of his classes.  He proudly told me that he included Connor on the tree. I told him it was the right thing to do. No matter what, he is a part of our family.

The anniversary is almost here, again.