Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

November 12, 2013

Auto-Pilot.
That's what I'm on these days.

My goal is to stay in the moment.
Not project to the darker days
that are surely ahead.

Wild thoughts tempt my emotions,
the pleading of my heart ringing in my ears:
"I'm not ready. Please. I'm not ready."
Quickly, I dismiss those thoughts--
banish them from my present. 
My presence.

I will live for today.
Work is good.
Staying busy is good for the soul.
I've cleaned out closets.
The fridge in the garage that has needed it
for so so so long.
I fight the urge to toss out everything that requires
more energy to hold onto,
to care for,
than I want to expend.
I fight the urge to want to control my world
in ways that are unhealthy.
Does anyone understand this?

A friend came by last night;
she said she "admires the way" I am handling my life.
Using words like "example" and "inspiration".

I told her I am completely clueless and totally winging this--
I can't see how I'd be an example to anyone.
There are scenes playing out in my head all day long--
from running far far away in any direction
as though I outrun the coming dread,
to curling up in a ball,
or wrapping my arms around my son so tight
that death cannot take him away
because of sheer willpower and mother-love.

Example?
of what?
a hot mess.

This place I'm in demands answers.

I feel them come in those fight-or-flight moments.
A calm warmth settles on my shoulders.
A blissful thought whispers and suddenly
I am me again.
I see things clearly
comforting
peacefully.
The world slows down.
I quiet my Self.
The wild fears that crowd my mind
leave without a fuss.
I mentally plan a funeral--
who will sing "I'll Walk With You"
and who will sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives"...
Dean's favorite songs.
Who will tell Dean's story?
I have to get his Special Olympic medals out...
he has had some remarkable accomplishments in his life.
No college, no marriage or career...but still.
He's lived and been successful with what he came with!
I look over old photo albums and see his face with different eyes.
Does this even make sense?
How pre-mature are these feelings?

How ready do I need to be?

I feel guilty even having these thoughts.

I purposefully slow down.
I will not get out old photos again,
not while he's still here.
Will I regret that?
I will not think about a funeral for the next hour.
If I'm not, will someone else come help me when it's time?

I will think about spending time with Dean.
I will think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and Nana's homecoming.


Do I need to call a grief counsellor for me, for my children?
When do I do that? Is it too soon? I am grieving already, so maybe it's not too soon?
How are we going to get through this?

I pray for clarity.
I pray for peace.

I search my husband's eyes for answers--
he's lost both parents and a dear older brother.
He rarely speaks of how he dealt with those losses.
I need him to tell me how on earth I am going to do this
very hard thing.
But the words don't come.
I don't wanna know. really. I don't want to know. 

I know the "why" this is happening.
I understand that.
But. BUT.

Today, I will be grateful.
I will speak to my boy and listen to his voice and make plans to see him later.
And he will hold my nose and say, "I love you, Mom."
I will touch his nose with my finger, "I love you, Deano. Always."
We'll smile at each other with our knowing smiles and see into each other's eyes
the secret we both know...
that time is running out and the next chapter is a page away.


Saturday, November 9, 2013

Dean, November 9th, 2013

It's November 9th, 2013.
IN Colorado Springs, it was unusually warm--
a light jacket or none at all was good in the afternoon sun.

We woke up this morning, grateful to be home
after a long night in the ER with Dean again.
We'd picked him up at 5:30-ish to go to dinner in town.
At first the plan was just to have him come over for dinner,
but because we live so far north of where he lives--
and that he was supposed to be staying in respite care this weekend
with a gal named Cecelia and her family,
I made a last minute decision to just pick up Joseph and Arianna
on my way home from work,
and head into town,
fetch Dean and eat wherever he chose.

He decided he wanted Del Taco.
I hate Del Taco.  (French fries with tacos?? ugh)
But. It was his night to chose so be it.
We ordered and took a seat.
Kent called just as our food arrived
and at first said he was too tired to meet us in town
so he'd just go home and scavenge up a meal there.
I understood his tiredness--
I've been tired for months now,
so I told him to do whatever he needed and we'd see him later.

Dean's HHP had texted me the day before to say that Dean
has been going to bed earlier and earlier recently.
Keeping that in mind,
I thought that once dinner was over,
we'd run him to C. so he could get into bed on his own time.
Well, I texted C. once we got our food
and she texted back to say that she and her family were at
a sit-down restaurant and it would be at least an hour
before they were ready for Dean.

OK, I thought, well, we'll eat and because it's Friday night,
it will probably take us at least a half hour or more to get to the east side of town.
"Things will work out."

Kent changed his mind shortly after the first phone call,
called back and said he was on his way to meet us.

#1 tender mercy.

Soon after Kent arrived,
Dean was finishing up his hamburger and turned to me,
looking very tired--
and said, "I'm ready to go."
Patting him on the shoulder I said,
"OK, buddy, as soon as we're finished eating, we'll leave."
He barely nodded his head,
then looking straight at me,
his eyes rolled back and he had a seizure,
slumping towards me.
I held onto him, got Kent's attention ( he was sitting on the other side and talking to the kids)
and he stood and helped me hold onto Dean so he wouldn't fall out of the chair.
He started to come around, but had another seizure and another and another....

I don't recall every detail after that--
I ran out of the restaurant to look at the street sign as I called 911--
the workers at the restaurant were of no help at all...
just a bunch of teenagers.

The dispatcher kept me on the phone--
helping me to describe what I was seeing with Dean
until the EMT's came.

I led them to Dean,
who was still passed out
and suddenly,
felt a tap on the shoulder--
I turned around to see a friend I know from church.
That was tender mercy #2--
Brenda wrapped her arms around me and I can't tell you what she said,
but I felt so loved and cared for in that moment.

Dean was loaded up in the ambulance
and headed to Memorial North for the second time in 3 weeks.
Kent took the kids home in his car
and I climbed into the Sub, alone,
following the ambulance.

I don't remember much of the drive.

I got to the waiting room, gave my name and Dean's name--
he was not yet in a room so I had to wait.
IN that time,
I texted Dara, whose in Seattle for the weekend
as part of her journey home from Alaska.
Told her to let the other kids know.
Then I texted my visiting teacher, Lynnel--
told her what was going on and asked for her prayers
and others' too.

It wasn't long before I was back in Treatment Room #6
with Dean--
they'd given him ADDAVAN for the seizures
so he was awake but drowsy and non-verbal.
I held his cold hand.
"I'm so sorry, buddy."

Kent arrived a few minutes after that.
The attending Dr let us know that there were blood tests being done
and such so it would be awhile.
I don't recall a single word between Kent and I.

Then suddenly,
Bishop appeared at the doorway.
Tender mercy #3.
I didn't expect him.
Hugs and tears all around.

He then told us that our beloved home teacher,
Patriarch Christianson and another brother from our ward, Brother Ellsworth
were in the waiting area, (tender mercy #4)
as they'd only allow one person at a time to come back.
I wanted Dean to have a priesthood blessing,
so I volunteered to leave the room so Kent and Bishop could
administer a blessing upon Dean.

Walking out to the waiting room,
I was so happy to see our sweet friend, Brother Christianson.
He is old enough to be my father. We love him.
He too, gave me a great hug and so did Brother Ellsworth.
They asked me about Dean and then asked me how I'm doing--
"I'm a hot mess." I replied.
Then they asked if I needed a blessing.
Yes. Yes I do.
Brother C. asked a nurse and soon we were given a small room to go into.

Now, I had no expectations of this blessing.
I just needed the peace that comes with such a gift.
But, in this instance,
28 years after the birth of my son, Dean,
I feel like the heavens were opened and I was gifted with the most precious knowledge
that could've been given to me.
I do not feel it proper to share this here at this time--
but suffice it to say,
I am Dean's Mom because my Heavenly Father loves me and trusts me to be--
a decision that was made long before this life.

The blessing did reveal that Dean's time here is limited.
I knew that. I've known that.
But to have it confirmed was also a gift.

I will leave the rest of the blessing private.

They finished, we all hugged and I returned to be at Dean's side.
 Bishop left moments after that too.

I'm gonna skip all the rest of the hospital stuff--
the docs basically increased Dean's seizure meds
and then sent us on our way.

We came home,
tucked Dean into bed,
then ourselves.
It was a long restless night for me
as I checked on him throughout the night.

This morning we made a nice breakfast
and spent the whole day with Dean.
He held my nose several times and told me
"I love you Mom."
Then he held Arianna's nose,
"I love you Bee."
And he held Joseph's nose,
" I love you, Joseph."
November 9th, 2013 was a good day.
We had to get some new meds for him,
then we went to lunch as a family, (Dean tipped the waiter $1)
then we walked around the little mall in town.
He picked out some new sneakers and a hoodie--(he paid $2 of his own money)
we went to the Dollar Store where he purchased a Christmas elf felt hat--(another $1)--
and we finally came home.
Dean likes paying for his own things. It makes him feel responsible and grown up.
I love that about him too.

We came home and decided we could all use a nap!

An hour later, we got up, had left over pizza
and soon after that, Dean said he was tired and going to bed.
It was just barely 6pm.

I tucked him in, turned off the light and shut the door.

If I have another November 9th with Dean,
I will be so dang happy! so blessed! so grateful!

I love him so much.
He is my boy.







Friday, October 25, 2013

Fifteen Years

Time is so weird.

It's both scientific and EmOtIoNaL.
I comprehend the passing of time by "events" in my life,
don't you?
Memories thread together the passing of time...

My earliest memory is the sting of red ants crawling up my legs,
and my mother scooping me up and running a waterhose over my legs
to wash off the ants and their terrible stings.
I asked my mom long ago if that really happened
and she said it did when I was three years old.

I don't remember being three,
but I remember those ant stings.

See what I mean?

When I was twenty, I married.
Years that are recalled by memories:
Those were the school years,
the years enveloped in diapers,
and broken-down-cars years,
miles-away-from-family years.

I happened to marry the wrong person.
We were married fifteen hard, long years
before the kids and I cut him and made him the
"free agent" he still is today.

I remarried Mr. Wonderful the next year
and soon we will be celebrating our 15th Anniversary.
Same amount of time,
totally different experience.

These have been the teenage years
which are punctuated by
driving lessons, graduations, dental braces,
proms and dating years;
the career-move years--
moving to Boise, Idaho and back to Colorado years;
The hey-our-bodies-are-falling-apart-years--
doctor appointments, knee replacement surgeries and
other bodily things that noone talks about in polite company.

Mr. W came along when my oldest yahoos were in their early teens--
he could've run down the street like his hair was on fire
to get away from the eye-rolling-death-stares,
the flippant sarcasm and/or apathetic posture that teens work so hard to perfect
when they're being rotten teenagers.
He didn't bow-out when cars were wrecked,
curfews were broken,
and grocery bills were as breathtaking as
the mountains of weekly laundry;
and he didn't let me run-for-the-hills either.

In fifteen years,
we have raised five children to adulthood.
Sent off kids on adventures and missions,
planned weddings and baby blessings.
And we brought two more yahoos to the marriage--
so on top of teens we had pregnancies (and a miscarriage),
AND diapers n' spit-up n' teething fevers n' all that goes with
toddlers and babies and teenagers.

What else?
We've had unemployment and disappointments.
Just a good mix of life-moments.
In other words, it ain't been easy!

But that's not where my memories are tied to this passing of time--
we have had opportunities to rejoice in the midst of trials;
times to laugh our guts out at and with our children;
tender moments of tears and love and gratitude
for the sweet blessings that have come along too.

It's kinda interesting how "time" is reflected in our minds, isn't it?

It's the difference of waiting in the DMV line for forty-five grueling minutes
and waiting at your favorite restaurant for the same amount of time...

Scientifically, forty-five minutes is forty-five minutes.
There's no shortcut around it.
And yet, depending on whom you're spending that time with,
makes all the difference, doesn't it?

When the best part of my day is the moment
Mr. W walks in the door,
I know.
I am one lucky woman.
And fifteen years is just a blink of time
in the speck of eternity.













Monday, October 21, 2013

My Beloved Boy

It's Monday night a million days ago since I last wrote about faith and God's ever-reaching arm.

My faith is being tested.
Not that I can abandon it,
but I'm swimming in deep water here
and these past 72 hours have found me at times gasping for air,
looking
begging
for God's arm to reach down
from His heavenly spheres
into my small life and remove this
desperate pain from my heart.
Once again, I am in my own Gethsemane Garden.

Last Friday,
instead of going to Time Out for Women in Denver
I chose to take Dean to our ward's
Trunk R Treat.
You will never meet a boy who loves
Halloween more than my boy.
He longs to be more than he is,
more than his disabilities allow him to be--
Halloween provides those moments for him.
In years past,
he has been an alligator, a doctor, a Phantom of the Opera,
and on and on...
he loves dressing up.

So I gave my tickets up to someone else
for Dean's sake.

We arrived at the Church just before the event started--
meeting his respite care provider, Tom for the first time.
After I parked the car,
I was searching in my purse for a notepad and pen
so that I could get Tom's number
to call him when it was time to leave.
We'd already said we'd drive Dean to his house afterwards.
I finally found a pen
and as I walked around the back of the Suburban over to Tom's car,
I passed Dean as he made his way to the sidewalk,
I patted Dean on the back and said,
"Hey, Buddy." and kept walking towards Tom.

I heard a thump behind me
and looked to see Dean sprawled out on the pavement,
face first.
I ran to his side,
he was unconscious.
I kneeled down next to his face
and saw a fast stream of blood
pouring out of his nose and mouth
and gutteral sounds from his throat.

I lost it.
I yelled for someone to call 911.
And yelled again for a someone to get a doctor--
we have alot of doctors in our ward
and I wanted one right. now.

We rolled Dean over,
still unconscious, blood covering his face,
his brand-new Clown costume shirt,
and I cradled his head in my lap.
Cars were pulling into the church parking lot,
but were diverted around us,
by I don't know who,
and finally a dentist and a doctor came over to check out Dean.

He started to come around,
only to have a seizure and pass out again.
I was beside myself.
Apologizing over and over to Dean--
I hate seeing him hurt more than I can even say.

The EMT's got there pretty quick--
I was trying to explain to them that Dean has cerebral palsy,
that his cognitive age is between 3 and 8 years old--
that he doesn't register pain like we do.
One EMT asked Dean if his face hurt,
to which Dean uttered "un-unh" (no)...
as they loaded him on a backboard,
he said outloud,
"I love Halloween." and then had another seizure and passed out.

The EMT's loaded him into the ambulance,
and as I got into the Sub with Kent,
I finally asked about Bee--
was she OK? Who was with her?
Someone said they'd taken her into the Church because she was cold
and upset.
Bishop said his family would take care of her for the night and not to worry.

I felt guilty not being able to comfort her after she had most certainly witnessed at least
the beginning of this mess.

Still, we had to get going and follow the ambulance to the hospital.

We got there before it did...I don't know which way they had to take? but we sat in the waiting room
for a few moments before the clerk called us to go to the ER room where Dean was waiting.
I walked in to see Dean still strapped to the backboard and a neck compression brace on...
he was trembling, so I asked the nurse to bring us some warming blankets.
He didn't know why he was there, or what had happened.

Pulling a rolling chair over, I sat next to him and talked to him,
trying so hard to control the tears.
I HATE that this happened to him.
WHY?  Why would this happen to him on the one day he has been looking forward to all year??

It didn't make sense 72 hours ago and it still doesn't make sense today.

His nose is bloodied and bruised.
His front teeth are loose, one is jaggedly broken.
His lips torn up, bloodied and swollen.

Why??  Such a little joy in his life, this holiday, and this.

For the next five hours,
through the stupid waiting games of the ER,
and staff shift changes,
Dean went in and out of consciousness.
Never complaining.
Never demanding a thing.
Completely helpless.
And I cried and prayed for the outreached arms I longed for...
long for.
I texted the older kids right away;
Danielle called Dara in Alaska and told her.
They both called while we were in the ER.
Dara told me she'd sent flowers to me that morning--
she didn't know why, but felt "impressed" to do something nice for me.
(I rec'd them on Saturday afternoon...a tender mercy? yes.)
Danielle put our names on the Houston temple prayer roll.

Our Bishop and his wife and the Relief Society President all came to the hospital
 for a little while out of concern of course and to comfort us.
They don't know my amazing Dean.
I shared how much we love him
and how very brave he is...
while he laid there bloodied and bruised.
I told them what a privilege it is to be his mother.
Trying really hard not to cry.

The ER doc came in and said the test results showed
--he was severely dehydrated (thus the passing out at church),
--he has another cyst/tumor on his brain
--no broken or fractured bones in his face or mouth.

Our visitors left and we were getting ready to go,
as the nurse removed Dean's IV,
he had another seizure so then they had to give him a shot
of addavan,
and watch him again for an hour.
Finally ready to go,
two of the nurses shared personal feelings with me,
of how meeting Dean had blessed them and they sent us away
with hugs and prayers for a quick recovery.

We brought him home with us.
There was no way I was going to let anyone else take care of him
in this condition. No way.
We got home close to midnight,
and tucked him into bed with pain meds.
Just as I got into bed,
we heard a loud thump--
ran to his room
and found he'd fallen out of bed...
he was sweaty from head to toe--
I think he'd had another seizure,
as that is one of the things that happens.

Gave him a drink of water,
tucked him in again--
and watched him go back to sleep.

I didn't sleep that night.
I rested.
I cried.
I prayed and begged for understanding.
But I didn't want to go to sleep.

Dean spent the rest of the weekend with us.
He slept almost all of Saturday.
Waking up just for some food and drink and potty.
Never complaining.

Sunday he came around a little in the morning,
and asked to go to church.
We sent Bee but didn't go ourselves.
Kent had to work (ugh!) and Joseph stayed home to help me.

Dean took several naps off and on again,
waking up for soft foods and lots of water and juice.

He sat next to me on the sofa,
holding my hand
and my nose (his sign of affection since a baby)
and saying to me over and over,
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."

This morning, he was feeling a little better;
Asking if he could go to his day program (he couldn't),
and he had a dental appt which his HHP was going to meet up with us
and take him to, since I am an emotional trigger.
Dean sensed something was up,
and got anxious, even taking a swing at me in the kitchen.
While it was disturbing, I knew it wasn't about me.
He's scared. Heck, I'd be scared too.
I went upstairs and took a shower while Kent (who stayed home from work to help)
watched over Dean until it was time to go.
We met up with the HHP,
gave hugs and promises of meeting up again this week.

Watching Dean climb into the HHP's truck sucked.
As they pulled away.
my emotions got the best of me and I just sobbed..
for Dean. for me.
I sat in the car and just bawled.
Kent hugged me,
said he doesn't understand what the point of this whole ugly mess
is for any of us.

How is it that the child that needs me most,
cannot live with me??
I want nothing more than to be Dean's caregiver.
Why is it that he cannot live with me and be happy?
I don't understand it.

I just don't.
I want that part of his brain to be healed so that we can
be together.
I am my best self when he is home.
I love this special young man with my whole heart.
I hate missing days with him.

I love cooking for him.
Cleaning him up for the day.
Putting conditioner in his hair.
Trimming his nails.
Teaching him how to cook eggs and toast
n' seeing his big smile lights up my life!

I would gladly do this for him every day for the rest of my life.

His days are not long. I know this. And I am mourning already.

I am in Gethsemane again
and my voice is raised to my Heavenly Father
and His Son--
heal my beloved son and me.





Wednesday, July 31, 2013

What I Can't Talk About

a lump in my throat.

a shooting pain in my heart.

I feel the immediate squeeze in my jaw.

and the tears are right there,

just behind my eyes.

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold on

and then,

I have to change the subject

to you, to yours, to the weather,

to anything other than

my son.

Just sitting here in the quiet of morning,

alone with my thoughts,

I wonder if I can

if I dare

let this out.

I've guarded this with all that I can--

when asked about my son,

I hold back and say,
"I can't talk about it."

Because, if I even start to go "there"I know I will lose it,
and the person on the other end is going to be left standing there
feeling helpless to say whatever they can think of to comfort
a mother's heart that is torn and bereaved to the point
that there are no words that can give comfort.

And that would be a burden I don't want to place on any unsuspecting person.

I hold these feelings as sacred to me.

And while I know there are others who carry similar burdens--
I suspect there are others, anyway--
there isn't anyone in my circle of family or friends
who truly truly know how I feel.

It began last December when Dean had a seizure that took him to the ER.
He was in the hospital for 5 days...
MRI, CATscan, blood tests, spinal tap--
where was found a lesion on his brain.
The neurologist said if we'd noticed aggressive behavior increasing in Dean--
that was a 'yes'--
then he said it's because the lesion on Dean's brain was exactly on the part of the brain
that controlled aggression.

To counteract the seizures,
a drug called "Keppra" was prescribed
and a follow-up appointment was to be made
by the host home provider and agency that oversees Dean's needs.

That was December.
I asked about that appointment over and over and over and over and over and over and over--
given excuse after excuse after excuse after excuse
as to why it hadn't been made.

I was trying to be patient,
but in the meantime,
we couldn't have time with Dean because he'd lost control
while he was around us,
and it was too hard to do that.

He calls me everyday
and asks to come over.
He misses us.
And I was told to keep away from my son
because he is worse after seeing us--
with the promise that once his meds kicked in,
he'd be better.

In May,
while I was at Women's Conference--
the first day I was there in fact,
I got an awful phone call that said Dean had been removed
from his host home because of serious bad behavior--
the police had been called,
Dean had been handcuffed.
handcuffed.
My special needs son, who has the cognitive ability of a 3-8 year old,
handcuffed.

I was sick.
I sucked it up and tucked it inside,
deep inside my heart,
and went through the rest of the trip
half there.

I came home and had an emergency meeting with Dean's team.
He was there too,
but as soon as he saw me,
took a swing at me and had to be removed.
My heart broke for him.

This isn't my son.

I demanded help--
when is the neuro appointment?
You know, the one from December??

Turns out, the agency lost the referral months before
and no appointment had been made.

WHAT??

I went home and made phone calls.
To the State agency--
I needed help for Dean.
It was at the end of the day-- 4:57pm--
with a prayer in my heart that someone
ANYONE would answer the phone,
I was relieved that the actual Director took the call--
when he said later,
that he never answers the phone so close to the end of the day.

I could barely get out my name,
before the flood gates opened
and I sobbed to this stranger on the other end,
telling him what was going on with my son,
and asked for any kind of help.

He gave me names and numbers,
and support that I have been needing for months.
He gave me his personal cell phone and email
and told me to call him anytime at all.

I hung up, relieved, with a plan.
I was going to take control and demand accountability!
I contacted ARC and got an Adult Advocate assigned to Dean
to protect him and his rights.

There were more emails to lots of people--
each seeing that I copied the Director on them
as he told me to do.

Things with Dean got worse before they got better.
He ended up in the ER again,
in the psych unit--
escorted by police--
only to be held there for a few hours and released
with no treatment plan.
I sat in the waiting room--
unable to go to him because someone identified me as a
"trigger".
I cried when I had to leave the hospital
and he had no idea I was even there.

"It's the DRUGS! This is not my son!", I kept saying.

He was moved more than six times between May and July.
Six nights I didn't sleep.
Six nights and more mornings, I went to bed with tears and woke up the same.
Kent gave me a preisthood blessing, wherein I was told
that I have much work to do for Dean and
I will be given the strength to do it.

I fasted for him.
I fasted that he would get in to see the Neurologist.
A new nurse was assigned to Dean at the agency, Shannon.
She came in to get things done.

Finally, though, he got in.
Turns out, the Keppra has known side effects that induce aggression and violence.
Seriously.

Dean had another MRI scheduled.
He would need to be sedated for it.
The morning of, the nurses didn't put it in his chart (or whoever was supposed to, didn't)
so that appointment was cancelled AFTER he got there.

Another appointment was made weeks out from that one.
Shannon was on top of it.

Finally,
the MRI was done and we had to wait two weeks to get the results:
which were
that the lesion on Dean's brain had hemorraged to the point that
there is no brain matter left in that part of the right frontal lobe.
Which means he will continue to deteriorate in his abilities
to remember things, names, people.
Me.
That his language skills, already difficult to understand, will decline.
As well as his ability to understand language.
And his posture is affected.

I can't even talk about this.
I am looking at these words,
and I can't even say them outloud.

I have seen Dean since they took him off Keppra.
In fact, I saw him last Tuesday.
He looks homeless.
I don't know why his respite care provider doesn't make sure
his teeth are brushed,
his beard is trimmed,
he's wearing clothing that fit him...
I've complained.
I said it isn't OK with me that Dean looks unkept.
But his new HHP is committed to changing that,
and I am hopeful that he keeps his word.
Anyway, I got to look into my son's blue eyes.
He was sweet and hugged me and stood close by me
as we talked about him going to a special needs camp
in the mountains last week,
put on by the Lions Club.
His speech is slurred, his posture is weak,
he couldn't remember the kids' names--
Joseph and Bee were with me--
it is evident he is struggling.
But his smile was there.

He went and had a great time.
The Leader of the camp wrote me email and sent pictures
of Dean while he was there and said he did great.

I interviewed a new host home provider, Eric.
I met with the team again,
and requested a new case manager as the other one
clearly didn't care about Dean--he was better at excuses than action.
I was applauded by other team players afterward for that decision.
The new case manager is awesome.
I love her. I need her. Dean needs her and she is on top of everything!
At the meeting where Eric was present,
I told him and the rest of Dean's team that once Dean's meds have been
evaluated and changed and he's doing better,
I want him home.

He belongs to me.
I belong to him.
Just as I belong to my other children,
but even more so.
And if you have a special needs child,
you know what I mean by that.
Having a special needs child,
makes me a special needs mother.
I have needs regarding his care that exceed my abilities
at times.

I believe,
I have been blessed by God in heaven
to see Dean's last moments on this earth
and I am at his side in those moments.

His days are known.

"Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever."

I can't talk about this.
I say that to my family, to my friends, to anyone who asks.
I can't.
It is too real. Too hard. Too much to put at anyone else's feet.
Too much.
I don't think anyone really wants to hear it all.
And I certainly can't talk about it without my heart leaking through my eyes.


When I close my eyes at night,
my heart opens and reaches toward the heavens,
and my silent prayer is the same,
"Please watch over my Dean. Help me, Lord, to be strong."





Monday, September 12, 2011

The Circle of a Woman's Reach

So I'm thinking about the women in my life.
I have so many to be thankful for that tonight
I decided to say it outloud!
THANK YOU TO:
The women I knew as teachers
when I was younger...
Miss Peck, Mrs. Gaye, Mrs Stafford,
Mrs. Franklin, my fourth grade english teacher, who looked like a princess
always smelled good, and made me want to learn how to spell!

Mrs. Dornan, the neighbor who taught me how to macrame,
and the neighbor I ran to in the middle of the night when
I was just 10 years old and found my own mother
swallowing pills to take her own life.
You were soft and warm & always comforted me.

Mrs. Crosby and Mrs. LaHew, also neighbors
who sewed for me--
Mrs.Crosby made me a light green wrap-around skirt,
and Mrs. LaHew sewed a blue and pink plaid skating dress,
just like the one she made for her daughter,
my best friend, Jackie.

Mrs. Bartlett, who always lent me a pencil and paper in school
when I had none. Which was nearly every day of 5th grade.

My Aunt Joyce who taught me to sew my own clothes in eighth grade
and always had a listening ear...I used to wish she was my mom.
Then we moved away from Florida
and away from family.

Gratefully, there were other women
who, for whatever reason,
chose to bless my life--

Sarah Anderson, thank you for caring for me
when my own family asked me to leave the house
with the clothes on my back that snowy February day.
Thank you for sewing me that special dress for the
Valentine's Dance so I could go.
Shirley Carlson, thank you for opening your closet
and pulling out brand new clothes and shoes for me
when I had none.
Rosalie Kieth, thank you for taking me in,
when you had four other children of your own to care for,
and for teaching me scriptures while we stood in line at the grocery store,
and for sharing your Book of Remembrance with the cute little cut-out windows
of all of your friends in it.
SuzAnne Brothers, thank you for letting me sleep in your grandmother's special
iron bed and use her special hand-made quilt with the tiny pink roses on it.
You made me feel special too.
Thank you for teaching me your recipe for cod fish and marinara sauce
with mozzarella cheese.
And for teaching me to clean the house on Mondays.
And washing the floors on my hands and knees--
I still make that recipe, and I still wash my floors that way.

Laurie Madsen,
Thank you for taking me into your family
when my own asked me to leave again because of my faith.
I still make your recipe for cheesegrits and our family prayers
are sweeter when we kneel like your family knelt.

Shelly Sorenson...thank you for being an awesome Visiting Teacher.
For coming to my house when my first baby was born
and encouraging me along.
I was so sad that you died in childbirth.  But I thought of you every time
I went into labor and was reminded to be grateful for the miracle of life.
I miss you.

Karen Barg, I love you.
Thank you so much for giving me a wonderful hug
and saying,
"Congratulations" when I found out I was
pregnant with number three
alot sooner than I wanted to be.
I needed someone to celebrate it with me.
You were that person.

Candy Rice: Thank you so much for going to aerobics with me
and cheering me on to lose that baby weight!!
Just knowing you were going to be at my door
every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
kept me motivated to move my buns!

Dr. Eileen, at St. Joseph's Hospital in Phoenix,
thank you for meeting me and Dean at 7am
every morning for three years
so he could have physical therapy.
Thanks for all the stickers you gave to my other children,
who were sitting patiently waiting.
We put all those stickers in their journals...
well the ones that didn't get stuck on their clothing,
or inside the car windows.

To our sweet neighbors in South Carolina,
Leslie Rufus and Leanna Butler,
thanks for making our very sparse Christmas
a beautiful memory.

Lisa Parry, thank you for being a loving Visiting Teaching Companion.
I learned so much from your dedication.
Thank you for sharing so much of your self with me,
that when I suffered post-partum depression,
I could talk to you about it and not feel judged.
And thank you for teaching the Primary kids my favorite song,
"I'll Walk With You"...in honor of Dean.
Your love helped me so much.

Sister Mathers,
Thanks for meeting us at the hotel,
and driving me around to find a place to live
when we arrived in South Carolina to go to school there.
I'd never met you before and there you were!
Thanks for showing up in the pouring down rain
with a crockpot full of delicious chili when I had
Number Four...even though you weren't my visiting teacher.

Dorn Fox, thank you for that beautiful sweater you bought
me for the baby shower...
your card said the baby had lots of gifts,
and you wanted to do something just for me--
I loved the sweater and I still have that card, twenty years later.

Mary Gwinn, thanks to you, I was able to use my
calligraphy talents to help support my family
while we were in school!
By your word of mouth and your Aunt's bridal shop,
I was always busy!
I still do wedding invites all these years later,
and I always think of you and your sweet family.

Nan, you are more than my friend,
you have become my sister.
Thank you for laughing at me,
crying with me,
praying for me and just being there.
I so needed you.

My SIL, Stacie--
for letting me and my yahoos drive down to Atlanta
every six weeks (during midterms and finals)
and hanging out with you and Keith and the kids.
We loved the eggrolls and the memories!

Dottie, thank you for letting me work with you as
a Midwife Assistant.
You let me love your clients and do something I've always wanted to do.
You were an answer to my prayers.

Stacey Durrant--thank you for that first plate of cookies
you brought over the day we moved into the house on
Coberd*le, and for welcoming us into the ward so warmly.
For sharing your painting tips! And for organizing a wedding reception
in Salt Lake when we knew noone else there!
You are such a generous sister and I am blessed in knowing you.

Dodee...you are a trip!
Thanks for the late night talks,
the early morning walks,
the laughs and giggles and sharing your testimony of
God's love for all of His children
in a thousand different moments.

Kelly McKamey and Tami Lynard, thank you
for coaching me to be the best doula
I can be!  You both have shared all you know
so graciously, I am confident going into births
because I know I've been trained by exceptional women!

Lorna...thank you for seeing in my heart
the quiet emptiness
of missing my son,
and bringing him to me as a surprise!
Noone has ever equaled that joyous gift!
I love you to infinity!

Robyn Baird and Rhonda Cazier--thank you for helping me
get my homestaging business going in Idaho,

and Kelly W. thanks for being my partner in crime now!
We are sisters in every sense of the word. One day, we will
have to go to Las Vegas to see Donny Osmond!

Vicki, thank you for sharing the secret to your happiness:
the Gospel.
It changed my life
and brought all of these fine women into my realm.

 There are several other women who've taken time
out of their lives and reached over to touch mine.
This list is just a small sampling of the good women
in my life who've served and love me so.
Women are good at that.
We are the nurturing souls on this earth,
the ones who weep with us
and for us
and lift us up when we are low.
How we need one another to get thru this life
in joy and sorrow.
I am who I am
because of a multitude of women.
Because of them,
I am a better Wife and Mother,
a better friend and sister.

What about you?  Who is on your Grace-full Women List??
Today's a good day to be thankful.


*this is a re-post from 8/2010

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Tales of Moving

I have learned so much that I wanted to share from our moving experience,
that I actually wrote "keywords" to remind me of different events and thoughts
down on a white board.
Marvelous things,
Funny things,
Inspirational things.
Then, I placed that whiteboard on the fridge,
and got back to unpacking,
thinking that when I got a chance,
I would go to that whiteboard and start blogging those magnificent ideas.

I should've put a 24 hour security guard on the whiteboard,
because one of the yahoos was inspired by my notes
and then without notice
erased them all.

So I may not be able to relive and relish every moment
that our move inspired,
but the important stuff is still rollin' around my noggin
and that's what I'm gonna try to get on this page
before it too is lost to the X-files of my mind.
~~~~~

Monday, a week before the closing,
our mortgage guy calls and says
it doesn't look like we're going to get the loan
we wanted--
it had a lower interest rate that we not only wanted
but needed to make this deal work.
He called Mr. W at work 
then Mr. W called me at home.
Mr. W was feelin' blue.
He's said since, that he didn't think we'd really be able to get into a home
this year....that he thought we'd have to have alot more money to put down
to get into the kind of home we're accustomed to.
But he didn't tell me that back then.
He kept that little gem to himself.
So when he got the call from Kevin, our mortgage guy,
he said he wasn't surprised,
but felt badly for me.

Well, see the thing about this is,
I didn't know what to do except call the kids to my room,
gather them at the foot of my bed,
and pray for those that were working on this loan for us.
We prayed for the mortgage people on our end,
and the bank people,
and the home owners who were anxious to get this debt off their shoulders
as it's a Short Sale home,
and we prayed that if this wasn't going to be a blessing for our family,
then we'd gratefully pass on the opportunity
and look with hope and clarity on the horizon
for the blessings our Heavenly Father has instore for us.

Yes, we cried.
We'd already set our hopes on this little house.
We're tired of the feelings of being homeless as we've been renting for 5 years
as the Lord had directed us to do.
We wanted our own place.
So we were sad.

At first, Kevin said that if we came up with 8k more,
we could get that loan--
well, we didn't have it,
and we know of noone that we could even ask to borrow it from...
but here's the deal:
Heavenly Father already knew that.
I knew that He knew that.
So if this was going to work,
then He was going to have to make it so.

I turned to the scriptures,
I just said a little prayer that I would read something
that would comfort me 
and then I opened to
Mark 4--
where we read about Jesus and His Disciples
entering a ship and once they're out in the sea
a great tempest storm starts tossing them about--
so much so that waves are crashing on the ship
and the Disciples are so afraid 
that they wake a sleeping Jesus.
"Carest thou not that we perish?"
And he arose, and rebuked the wind,
and said to the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased,
and there was great calm.
And he said unto them,
Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?
I read that sacred story again and again.
I called the children to the dining room 
and read it to them.
I read it to Mr. W that night after dinner.
And I kept my scriptures open to that page
for the rest of the week.
I called my oldest children and my best friend 
and asked them to remember us in their prayers.
We kept packing the house up.

I had an appointment with our mortgage guy on Wednesday,
where he and I spent an hour talking about faith
and trust in God's love and plan for His children.
When I left his office,
he and I both felt uplifted by the experience.
I told him we were praying for him and the underwriters,
and the homeowners and the loan officers.
That brought tears to his eyes.
He may have known alot about Mormons' lifestyles--
but after our meeting, 
I hope he knows alot more about faith.

By Friday,
Kevin called me,
his voice was filled with electricity:
"We got it! We got the loan!"

The next Monday, as Mr. W and I were driving to the 
Title company's office for the closing,
Mr. W shared that he was surprised that we were actually 
doing this on that day in this year.
And that he felt "foolish" for not having more faith.
I said we all had our faith tested and rewarded in this experience
and that's what this life is all about.
After the closing,
Kevin smiled and said to Mr W:
"You've got a diamond right there". (pointing to me)

His compliment filled my heart--
he had done his best for us,
and our experience together blessed us all.
I can't say I've ever had that experience with a 
mortgage broker,
but there you have it.

Look, I know home ownership isn't the be-all-end-all
of life in this world--
but for my heart,
it means more than I can say.
I have always felt like a bit alone--
my parents are not in my life,
Mr. W's parents are deceased,
we do not have extended family that is involved
in our lives beyond occasional
"hey, what's up?" and Christmas cards.
So a home to me,
means security.
The Lord knows this about me.
And He knows that I am completely dependent upon Him
for every thing in my life.

If there's a moral to this story,
it might be well-said from a quote by
Neil A. Maxwell:
"Faith in God includes faith in God's timing."

The night after we started moving in,
our family gathered together in the new diningroom,
surrounded by moving boxes, 
and we knelt in a little circle and dedicated our new home
to our Heavenly Father.
We asked that our home be filled with His Spirit,
that we will make it a sacred place for all of us,
a refuge from the world,
and always a blessing in our lives.
We acknowledged our Heavenly Father's hand in our lives
and expressed our love to Him.

And then we stood, hugged, and started unpacking.
This is our home, 
through the blessed efforts of many,
this is our home.

(pics have been taken, but I can't find the usb cord thingy to transfer the pics off my camera!)






Wednesday, June 29, 2011

A Teacher's Grace

Over this past crazy weekend of moving,
we also had a visit from my special needs son, Dean.

We had planned on having him here months ago,
long before we knew it was going to be a crazy weekend.
We didn't dare cancel,
because, seriously, I sleep better when he's
within arm's reach.
I just do.
All is right in my world,
when Dean is visiting.

And he loves to be needed,
loves to help,
loves to be where the action is--
so this was a perfect weekend to have him visit us
when you know this about Dean.

We worked hard all day long on Saturday.
All. Day.
Packing and moving
packing and moving.
And he never once complained.
I wish I could say the same for the rest of us.
We're so much a bunch o' whiners.
I get so cranky that I consider calling
ARC to come n' get whatever they can fit into their truck
n' call it a day
cuz we own more stuff than is legal in some countries.
And the little yahoos whine so much
that to get them to help is akin
to bowling with broken fingers.

Anywho, we worked hard all day Saturday,
and come Sunday morning,
well, we didn't go to church.
Two reasons really:
Dean didn't bring his Sunday clothes,
and I couldn't find the box with my underwear in it.
I'm not kidding. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

ANYWAY,
Sunday morning, I was looking at our family picture
where all of us are smiling and looking all radiant
after being sealed as an eternal family
in the Salt Lake temple right at 7 years ago,
I got all choked up n' stuff
like I do.
Dean came over to me and gave me a big hug.
I mean, a really big hug
where he didn't let go immediately,
because normally he's a hard one to get a good hug from
as it just stimulates him too much to bear.
But not this time,
he hugged me good and tight.
When we both let go a little,
I held his hands and said,
"I want you to know that I know you have been sent here
to teach me.  Thank you for being so patient with me.  I love you so much."
And then I wrapped my arms around him again.

Then, I pulled away to wipe the tears from my eyes,
and he started to walk away towards to back door,
when he did something unusual--
he turned back to me,
smiled
and slowly
took a bow.
The whole arms stretched open,
head down,
bending at the waist
like a
"it's-my-honor-to-teach-you"
bow.
It will ever remain the most gracious bow
I have ever seen.

And made my crazy weekend
awhole lot sweeter.

I love him.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Step-Parenting: A Blessing in our Family

When I got married at age 20,
I thought it would be like a Randy Travis song
"Forever and Ever, Amen."
I wasn't a fickle girl.
I made my choice and was "in it to win it".
I wanted to be his wife,
his friend,
his companion.

The problem was pretty simple
now that I see it some 29 years later:
he didn't want any of that.
And I'm not going to psycho-analyze him
all these years later-
sucha a waste of time and energy,
suffice to say,
I matured and decided to divorce the bumholio,
er, that guy.

I was going to be a single mom til the day I died,
the ex assured me of that
about two bazillion times.
Afterall, what kinda man would marry a woman
with five children--
one of which is special needs?
The list,
if there was a list,
was definitely short--
the odds were not in my favor.
But, whatever, ya know?
The truth is,
it's better to be alone
than to be abused.

In a truly tender mercy kinda way,
Heavenly Father brought Mr. Wonderful
in my life.
He was a grown-up.
Responsible in every way.
If he said he was going to do some-thing
any-thing,
he did it.
I could trust him in the little things
as well as in the big things.

And when he asked me to marry him,
I told him that I would,
but that he had to understand that in my life
he was going to be the "Caboose"--
my first responsibility was to my children
and if he would help me raise them
to be
responsible,
loving,
faithful
adults
I would love him forever and ever.

He agreed and we began the journey
into Step-parenting/Co-Parenting
my five children
and then added two more of our own
in the mix.

It's going on twelve years now,
and I can tell you,
it's better than I thought it could be,
but not as easy as I hoped.
In fact,
it's as much a work in progress
as any other relationship.

As I have watched my non-divorced friends
with their families,
I haveta say we came out pretty good,
comparably.
Mainly because relationships are built on
trust,
respect,
and the big -C: communication.
And guess what?
That's something EVERYONE has to work on.

Step-parents get a bad wrap because the expectations
coming into a broken home
are sometimes unrealistic.
We're looking for and need alot of healing
from the past broken relationship,
and lots of emotional "duct-tape" if you will...
so when a new "parent" steps UP
sometimes we forget that they too,
have things they're working on
and they're not perfectly prepared for
the myriad of expectations that lay ahead.

Parenting is alot of trial and error--
even when the kids are your own
"flesh and blood"--
and Step-Parents deserve credit for being willing
to try in the first place!

When Mr. W first joined our family,
the oldest was nearly 15...
teen years are difficult--
I don't care who you are!
Mr. W didn't always know how to handle
an angry or sometimes apathetic young man,
but I can tell you this,
he tried to do right by him.
The best compliment to this was when David Scott
was on his mission,
he sent home a letter to Mr. W and in it,
expressed his love and appreciation for all
Mr. W had done for him personally,
and for our family.

As each of the first five have come into maturity,
they've all handled themselves and US
differently--
just as any non-divorced family would expect.
It takes a while to figure out how to keep the channels
of communication open,
how to love them when they're not especially lovable,
and how to navigate through the rougher days and nights
that adolescents plough through.
It takes alot of patience and perseverance,
and LOVE.

Mr. W has a great capacity to stay calm when I am not.
There've been times when it was easier for the kids to go to him
and not to me;
when he's had to be the strong loving parent
when I was ready to burst in frustration.
And conversely,
he's done his best to support me when I needed his support.
I don't think the kids ever thought Mr. W wasn't in my corner.

They each have their own relationship with my husband.
Some call him "Dad" and some don't.
They all have their own nicknames for Mr. W.
But what matters is at the end of the day,
they know they can call on him at all
and he will answer that call.

He has been at every graduation,
every mission farewell and homecoming,
every Temple wedding,
and baby blessing
and he will continue to be there.
Cuz, as Diana says so sweetly,
"that's what being a parent is--
being there when they're needed."

In this day and age,
perhaps we can the change stigma that comes
from the likes of Cinderella's "wicked step-mother",
to a better understanding of the individuals that
STEP-UP to parenting children who need them?
Mother's Day is coming up,
followed quickly by Father's Day--
two very good opportunities to say
"Thank you."

So thank you, Mr. W. for helping me
raise our children into
responsible
loving
faithful
adults.
I love you
forever and ever amen.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Peeps Season


It's that season in my ol' mother hen's life
when one of my peeps is leavin' the nest.


That's right,
she is headin' over the west side of the mountains
towards that single adult mecca called
BYU.

Otherwise known as "Happy Valley".

Nana's going there to experience a little more of the LDS culture
for the summer before heading off to a mission next fall.

Some of the things I anticipate for her:
Fun Roomates.


Educational Experiences at the Library.


College Sports


Opportunities to stretch her political/social muscles.


Enjoying the Great Outdoors of Utah 



Practicing her Ninja skills to ward off would be suitors.


And realize that the world is bloomin' full of really sweet peeps.


Who love to have fun.


But not that kinda fun...
heaven help me.

No. No. No.  Not that kind!

Yes, it's time to give her the boot
outta the nest.
I miss her already.

Friday, March 4, 2011

5 Spiritual Solutions for Everyday Parenting Challenges--Book Review & Giveaway

"We didn't create our children;
they come as who they are
from a Father who entrusts us
with stewardship for them."  
~ R. & L. Eyre

New York Times #1 Bestselling Authors
Richard and Linda Eyre
have a new book out:
I was invited to read and review this book,
and just received it two days ago.

I've never met the Eyre's in person,
but I've known them for all of my parenting years--
that's 27 years and counting,
as their books have always been a part of my quest
to be a better, happier parent.

So when I was contacted about their latest offerings,
I was very humbled at the opportunity.

I'm not finished with this book yet--
it's hard to read through tear-filled eyes,
did you know that?
Each page is so entirely complete in it's presentation,
that you don't just skim through them,
you inhale them...
slowly and deeply...
soaking the truths into your very core.

It's not just about Parenting your children,
it's about who we are as Eternal families,
and how knowing that truth
and understanding it more fully,
helps us embrace our roles with Clarity,
Purpose and Love.

I didn't even get through the prologue
without tears, seriously.

I sat in my room,
and read the book outloud
because I wanted to hear the words
ring in my own ears.

I brought my almost 16 year old up,
and read some pages to her,
and again
to my 20 year old
and again to my husband, Mr. Wonderful.

The power that is in the Eyre's message
is palpable.
You will find yourself nodding in agreement while you read;
you'll get goosebumps on your arms,
tingling at the crown of your head,
lumps in your throat,
and Joy,
absolute JOY
in your whole body while you read
and swallow up their beautiful, sacred message.

My copy isn't going to be pretty--
it's getting dog-eared,
highlighted,
tear-stained
and shared!
That's when you know it's a GREAT book, right?

Deseret Book has graciously offered a lovely copy of
5 Spiritual Solutions for Everyday Parenting Challenges
by Richard and Linda Eyre
to one of YOU.

So here's the deal to enter the Giveaway:

Leave a Comment relative to this Giveaway.

That's it.
You can tell everyone you know about it too, if you want.
I want every parent in the Universe to own this book!!
You may get your own copy at Deseret Book, too.
You need this book.
Your kids need this book.
Your friends and neighbors and everyone whose ever been a child
needs it.

Now, if you'll excuse I've got to get back to it!

* I was not paid for this review, only given a copy of it for my review and one to share. For which, I am entirely grateful.  Thank you!

Saturday, February 26, 2011

"Hey, Mom"--the best phone calls begin the same

You know what's one of the best rewards of Motherhood for me?

Phone calls.

"Hey Momza."
 It's my son, David Scott's voice on the other end.
He calls me on his way to work nearly once a week.
Hearing his voice gives me joy.
I enjoy hearing about his comings and goings,
what he and his sweetheart bride are up to these days.
We talk about the coming summer and make plans
to go camping and hiking.
The conversation winds down just as he is pulling into
his work parking lot,
we say our "love yous" and "good-byes"
then hang up with a smile.
****

"Good Morning, Mom."--that sweet voice on the other end,
is my daughter-Mommy, Dani.
"How's the Ninja Baby?" I ask.
"He's {fill in the blank--sleeping, poopy, playing}.
We go from there,
talking about the coming days' events,
how school is for Mr. Idaho,
and eventually get around to talking about
the coming baby and names they like for a girl.
They'll be in Houston this summer for another internship,
which is a challenge as we figure out when I'll leave to go there
to help out with the new baby that will be born
while they're in Texas.
We talk about the other kids,
recipes,
callings,
and the weather--
which is always a topic in the Rocky Mountains.
I listen to the Ninja baby yell and squeal in the background,
giggling at his cuteness and tell Dani ten thousand times
how much we love that baby and we plan our next visit.
Then, as his voice rises in decibels,
we say our goodbyes and talk-to-you-laters
and I hang up with a smile on my lips.
************

"Hullo, Mom. This is Dean Johnson."
"Hey, Buddy! How are you?"
"Good. How ah you?"
When Dean calls,
it's as though there's a special button that goes off in my noggin,
as I know I must listen with different ears,
and try to read between the lines of what he's saying
and not saying.
Within the first two minutes,
he will ask me when we're going to see him again.
We talk about it in generalities,
because if I said we're going to see him next Saturday,
and it's just now Monday,
well he'll just stress himself out every day in between.
So I say, "Soon. We'll see you soon.  What do you wanna do while you're here?"
If I were a gambler,
I'd be rich by now, as I know his answers will be one of these, verbatim:
"Let's go out for dinner."
"How 'bout we go to da mall?"
"Can we go to da Park?"
Then, I'll ask if he needs anything,
to which he'll answer, "Yes, I need some more footwear."
Dean loves new shoes.
Before he hangs up,
he'll ask to speak to any- and every-one
in the house.
The phone is passed around until he's had enough
and hangs up,
sometimes with a "good-bye" sometimes without.
**********

"Hey, Mom." --a tired wispy voice on the other end
 greets me early this morning.
It's Nana, whose in Provo,Utah this week,
hanging out with friends.
"I had the BEST time last night...we went blues dancing,
 it was so much fun,
everyone was so nice, and we laughed all night long.
 Didn't go to bed until four thirty this morning,
but I'm already awake and Mom, it was so much fun."
She used the word "fun" a hundred times more,
describing her night,
hour by hour,
all the personalities,
the silly and the thoughtful,
until she is out of things to say.
And all I can think of is how grateful I am
that she wanted to share it with me,
on this side of the Rockies,
and how much I'm going to miss her
when she leaves for a mission this Fall.
**********

"Oh, hey, Mom. I have a question."--most of the conversations
I have with Miss Daisy begin with that opener.
Not always, but most.
We're still working on having good communication at her ripe old age of
almost 16.
Phone calls are not for catching up as much as they staying connected,
ya know?
"Can I go{ fill in  the blank}?"--seems to be on the other end at this age.
Our best conversations aren't on the phone,
but in person,
usually in the car,
or in a bedroom,
at the dinner table after everyone else has gotten up and left--
but those conversations in person are laying,
I hope,
the foundation for the phone conversations to come.
*******

"Hey, Mom. I did my homework. Can I play now?"--
the Boofus' voice is on the end.
I'm at work when he gets home from school.
I go over the list of chores and things he's supposed to do daily,
and once he's done, he's clear to go.
"Be home by five. I love you."
"Love you too. K."
click.
*****

"Hello, Mommy? This is Ari."
Her sweet 9 year old voice is like honey to my ears.
She doesn't know this, but there's rarely anything she could ask of me,
that I wouldn't give to her.
When she is cuddled on the sofa with me,
or I'm laying in her bed next to her at bedtime,
she asks me who my "favorite" child is--
I tell her that she is,
"but don't tell the other kids."
She giggles and says it's our secret,
then snuggles in closer.
Phone calls, at this age,
are pretty much the same as the Boofus'--
information seeking, permission seeking--
"When you get home, can we go to the store?"
"When I'm finished practicing piano and violin,
can I go play too?"
I try to say "yes" when there's no reason to say "no."
And we end with a "I'll be home soon, Love."
********

I don't know what my kids will tell their kids
about me being their Momza--
I could list the things I've done wrong in parenting--
and it'd be a long list alright.
Yet,
I hope I've done enough good to make up for the flubs and floundering.

A long time ago,
someone said to me,

"You're such a good mother."

To which, I replied, "Thank you. My hope is that my kids will want to come home and visit me,
when they don't have to."

To my yahoos,
I love hearing your voices on the other end of the phone,
                                                              "Hey, Mom."

Monday, February 21, 2011

Acts of Service

Yesterday in Church,
the topic of "Service" was discussed.
Service as in,
"as I have loved you, 
love one another"
kinda service.

The class was typically quiet,
with few sisters chiming in with their thoughts.
But my mind was whizzing, whirling and clamoring about
with all kinds of thoughts and feelings on the topic of
Service.

I coulda yammered for the entire hour
reflecting about the wonderful examples of
charity
I have seen in my life.
Seriously.

I wondered to myself,
if the hour had been handed over to the class
to share what kinds of examples they've experienced
within the realm of
Service,
what kind of stories would have filled the room?

But since I wasn't leading the discussion,
I thought perhaps,
I could get my fill here,
if I asked my fellow travelers
to share here an important act of service
from your own life stories.

So I'm asking.
Will you share a story from your own life?

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Valentine

My Valentine I pray thou wilt be
Not for a day
But for Eternity.






I met Mr. Wonderful right before Christmas 1997.
By Valentine's Day,
we knew we wanted to keep the journey going.
He lived in Nottingham, UK
and I wondered what, if anything he would send me
for Valentine's Day.

That morning,
I went to work at Bank One in Peoria, Arizona
happy to have spoken to him that morning.

Just before the doors opened,
a Delivery guy knocked on the bank doors
and all of my co-working girlfriends were as excited as I was--
"It's for you!!"
Inside the box was a beautiful ruby ring and a love note.
And not 5 minutes later,
another delivery guy came
with flowers.
So we weren't together that first year,
but we're on Year 13
the ring is on my finger,
and he is still my
Valentine.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Why Me? What Have I Done to Deserve This?



I went up to Loveland today.
Well, actually, I went further north to Wellington
because that's where a Prospective Host-Home Provider lives.
I'd gotten a call last week,
from Dean's case worker that there was a PHHP
who has offered to have Dean as a client.

After the two PHHP interviews this last week,
I just wasn't feeling super confident that we'd found
the right home for him,
but still,
because they're both in the Springs,
I fostered the belief that when it came time to make a decision,
I'd feel it in my heart and mind
that we'd know which to choose.

With the third offer,
I have a new choice in the mix.

First, the good things about the PHHP--
Dean knows their family already,
as two members of the family work at his day program.
He's stayed in their home before.
They're experienced--they've been doing this for 6 years.
They live out in the country
with chickens,
and a horse,
a pool and a hot tub,
they're an active family too--
and they're willing to make seeing Dean easier on us--
offering to meet us halfway between
their home and ours
and even driving Dean to see us.

We have never had that.
We've always been the ones to go and get him--
and so that right there,
makes the extra distance bearable.

The Mom is caring and responsible.
Her home was tidy and lovely.
She radiates goodness.
And she wants to provide a stable environment for my son.

Dean wouldn't have to alter any of his day programs--
his life would have little change.
But
he'll be further away from us.
And that makes me sad.

On the other hand,
we're to meet the other PHHP's down here tomorrow.
And the pros and cons of these two are the same:

The good thing:
they're here in the Springs.
Which means we'd get to see Dean more often.
Weekly.
The gamble is this:
they've never been HHPs before.
It's not even a "known" if they're going to like it.
One couple has never had children of their own yet.

The other is a smidge older than me,
have raised a housefull of kids,
are now empty-nesters,
altho the Mom of the household works
at another job,
so Dean's primary caregiver would be the Dad.

And I just don't know if he's realistically up for this.

But they've both prepared to take clients
and have said they'd love to host Dean.

But it's kinda like trying on shoes,
to some people,
as to whether or not they're going to like
being a HHP.

That's a gamble for us.
And I am so so not a gambler with Dean.

But I still feel calm that when a choice is made this week,
we'll make the best one for Dean and with Dean.
This time,
I'm going to give Dean a chance to choose for himself.
If you are inclined to pray,
I would surely appreciate your efforts in our behalf.
Thank you.

And here's a rambled thought I had on the way to Loveland today--
I think only my family would appreciate this,
but here goes:

When Dean was born,
I went to alot of Doctors with him
over the years.
At almost every initial consultation,
the question was asked:
"Was this a normal pregnancy?"
It was a normal pregnancy,
it felt normal, however stressed I was,
with two young children already,
a husband in school full-time and working,
and living far away from any family.
Still, I didn't have any pregnancy-related problems.

The only thing that was different in that pregnancy
was my indulgence for a Snickers bar
almost every day.

Snickers bars.
That was the only thing different
that I could think of.

When Dean was first diagnosed with cerebral palsy,
I begged with all the energy of my soul
for the tests to be wrong,
for a miraculous healing,
for my son to be made whole,
for forgiveness of whatever it was that
I had done
to have deserved such a tragedy.
My heart so heavy, I couldn't breathe,
my eyes welled over with tears,
I asked:
"Why  Lord? What have I done to deserve this journey?"

And for a long long time,
I felt like my son's handicap was a punishment
and in some very weird, immature way,
I blamed my selfish indulgence of Snickers
for his disabilities,
so willing was I to take responsibility.
However ludicrous it was,
I blamed myself.

That was a hard burden to bear
in my heart.
And it was unnecessary.
Eventually, I realized I had done nothing
wrong.

Dean's life is a gift to me.
He has taught me more about my self
and my Heavenly Father
and what is really important in this Life
than anything else could have in Dean's place.

I am honored to be his mother.
I am grateful to have received the blessing of raising
a special needs child.
My awareness and perspective of all phases of life
is deeper and has greater clarity
because of this journey with Dean.
He is my child-like teacher and his patience with me
is profound.
The question is the same these days as in the beginning:
"Lord, why me? What have I done to deserve this journey?"--
but it's from a totally different point in the path--
it's 25 years down the line
and my eyes, though full of tears,
are tears of gratitude.
Why me, Lord? What did I do to deserve so much love?
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Sometimes, when we don't understand our trials as gifts,
we try to make sense of them
in our own limited and very mortal way.
As we come to understand our Heavenly Father's love for us,
we know that the blessing of the Atonement of Christ,
wasn't just for our sins, but for our sorrows and trials too.
That understanding alone is a blessing.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

What Makes a Good Host-Home Provider?


As everyone who knows me knows,
we're trying to place our special-needs son, Dean
into a new host home.

A host home is exactly as it sounds--
providers host a special-needs client
with room and board
and facilitate the client's activities in the community.
I think of it like an exceptional Foster Home.

Dean has been living out of our home since he turned twenty,
in 2005.
He'd lived at the same host home for 5 years until
this past September,
when the host home provider's care became less than ideal.
Simply put, she took in her ailing mother,
her husband lost his job,
a grown daughter committed suicide
and that's just the stuff I know.
Dean did well in their home,
and we appreciated all that they did to enrich his life,
but the quality of his care declined
so it was time to move him.

He's been in 2 homes since then.
And due to circumstances beyond his control,
and ours,
we're moving him again the first week of February.
To say I'm heartsick about this
is an understatement.
It's always on my mind.
I go through the day--
taking care of a house and family,
working,
church stuff
whatever else,
and if I sit for two minutes without a thought,
that one surfaces.

This past week, I interviewed two potential host home providers
here in the Springs.
I had told the agency what Dean's needs are,
and what I thought an ideal host home would be
and we went from there.

Here's what makes a Good Host Home Provider:

1.Personal  Safety.  
The home needs to be a safe place.  Basically child-proofed for personal safety.
The HHP gives meds appropriately and with care.
If the Rx says "with food" or "without food", it is noted and followed.
The HHP provides constant supervision both in and out of the home.
One HHP asked if it were okay to let Dean go to the Mall by himself. Seriously.

2. Well Being.
The HHP provides a stable environment and respects the Client's needs on all levels.
The HHP's home is Clean.
I've been to HHP's that was so filthy
I have no idea how they even got approved to be a HHP.
I wouldn't let them take care of my hamster, let alone a child.

Non-Exploitation. One of Dean's early HHP's took Dean's personal money and lent it out.
He also said he "lost" Dean's birth certificate and Social Security card.

The Client's room should be bigger than Harry Potter's closet.
 I interviewed one Potential HHP,
and the space they'd designated for a client was just big enough to fit a twin bed inside.
No dresser. 
A tiny closet.  
It's as if the P-HHP thought the client was going to be a pet or a ninja with one outfit. 

No "R" or "X" or "Un-cut"- rated movies allowed. 
It affects Special Needs persons perhaps more than it affects anyone else. 
We noticed that Dean's language had gotten really rough this last year, 
and we couldn't figure out why. 
Until we moved him and came across a stack of disgusting slasher movies in his possession.  
I couldn't believe it.  
Why would anyone who has stewardship 
over a special-needs person, 
known to have the mental capacity of a 3-8 year old child,
 think that exposing them to that kind of media would be a good/healthy thing??  
We tossed all of them out, and replaced them with "Spider Man", "Harry Potter", "Superman", "Scooby-Doo" and other Disney-like appropriate movies for a young person.

The HHP Provides proper nutrition.  One of Dean's early HHP's took him to the store and let Dean choose whatever food he wanted.  Imagine my surprise when I found a 10 pound bag of jelly beans in Dean's room on a visit!  Uh, no.  Not appropriate.
At Dean's longest HHP, one of the signs that Dean's care declined 
was the lunch he carried to his day program--
he was arriving with rotten fruits and vegetables.  
Thank goodness that the program's mentors noticed and reported it, 
otherwise we would've never known.

3. Hygiene.
Ever go to the Mall and see special-needs people with their caregivers?  
What tells you that client is well-cared for or not? 
Their outward appearance.
 I'm particularly sensitive to this...
I look to see if the client's hair is clean and trim, 
their nails are also clean and trimmed, 
and if male, they are clean-shaven,
 teeth are brushed,
ears are clean, 
shoes fit and are clean, 
laces are tied;  
pants fit well--not baggy or too short or too long. 
A belt is used if needed, no holes or stains.  
Zipper is zipped.  
I notice if the woman's hair is at all styled, 
whether in a ponytail or short style--
it doesn't matter--
you can tell if their hair has been brushed that day or not, right?
In short, the client blends into the crowd
except for their sometimes obvious handicap--
like a walker, wheelchair, 
slow or peculiar gait 
or the look on their faces.  
They otherwise look like everyone else 
in their dress and appearance.
Except for those on the fringe of fashion--
 that dress like it's Halloween everyday,
and pants down to their knees that cause them to walk like they're a cowboy.
I also notice if the caregiver is engaged with the Client.
Are they talking or smiling at each other?
Is the caregiver several steps ahead of the Client, 
who is tagging along way behind?
I'm looking at all of that.
We buy Dean's clothing, and replace the old and worn with new.  
I shop for Dean as often as I shop for the other children.  
He loves new shoes or "footwear" as he calls it. lol  
He has shown up at our house with clothing that wasn't his, 
even women's jeans that were inches too short for him. 
Shoes that didn't fit, Shirts that were holey, stained, too small, too big, etc.  
And we all wonder:
"Who let him leave like that?"   
I spent all of Dean's childhood making sure 
he presented himself well to the world 
so that he would be treated well.  
And out in public, 
it is evident
that Dean is WITH us.
I expect that HHP's will continue to show the respect.

4. Communication.  
The HHP needs to have excellent communication skills--
with both the Agencies and those who are personally involved with the Client--his family.  
Let us know if there are problems or challenges regarding Dean. 
We know him best and can help.  
And when we call, please answer the phone or return calls ASAP.  
The breakdown in communication was a HUGE factor
 in removing Dean from the longest HHP.
She simply stopped answering the phone or returning calls 
or answering emails.  
That is unacceptable.

5. Facilitate.
HHP's need to provide stimulation and opportunities for the Client to learn and experience life, as their abilities allow.
Dean isn't a piece of furniture or a new pet.  
Don't assume he's going to want to sit in his room alone 
all day long and watch TV or play video games.  
Some Clients want to be alone in their own space 
and some want and need more interaction than that. 
Dean has interests and abilities that
 when explored and nurtured, 
give him great self-esteem and happiness.  
He's participated in Special Olympics since he was little and able, 
also in community events like the Loveland Special Orchestra--
where he played a violin and loved it! 
Sure he sounded like chalk on a blackboard--
but his smile was a mile wide and 
he even gave an Encore to the audience!  
He was also in the Loveland Ballet Company Special Community production of 
"The Nutcracker"
and loved it so much he took extra bows at the end, 
with his white Santa wig half-on, half-off his noggin, 
and again with the mile-wide smile.  
He's also been in the Festival of Corn Parade, 
where he walked along and tossed candy to children and 
even took a moment to personally come over to greet his family!
The boy loves an audience!
A Good HHP gets the client involved in the community. 
Makes those phone calls and connections 
so that the Client has access to whatever his/her abilities allow

5. Patience and Expectations.
A Good HHP has realistic expectations of the Client 
and knows their limits clearly, 
without imposing more limits on them. 
Dean needs Consistency, Structure, and Acceptance
Chances are, he may not value the same things in the same way you do.  
He won't care how expensive your home or your car or your clothes are 
or what they mean to you.  
He won't care what religion you are...
one home he was in briefly, was an Evangelist home--
where the HHP thought that placing her hands over his head every morning 
while he sat in a chair listening to Joyce Meyers 
and drinking a cup of coffee 
(he'd never had coffee in his life! 
and yes, they knew we're LDS, 
so I'm guessing she was trying to pray that outta him.)
would help him not wet the bed and sleep longer--(coffee is a diuretic! sheesh!).  
Nevermind that was the first week of his life 
away from his home in a host home, 
and he missed us severely.  
She would say her chants/prayers over him, 
practicing her own form of faith, 
and it didn't phase him.  He was there 4 weeks.
His longest HHP (the 5yr one), was a Catholic.  
He can do the head-chest-shoulder-to-shoulder thing 
when he prays,
because the HHP did that and hey! that was fine.  
Dean is not a respecter of persons or faith or money.

He was also briefly in a home (the 2nd placement) 
where the HHP spent alot of money on Dean's bedding and linens.  
Somehow, she expected that to mean something to him.  
When it did not--he still left the towels on the floor--
she took that to mean he didn't respect her or her things.  
Yeah, he was there for 2 weeks.
Nice people, unrealistic expectations. 
This is also the HHP that thought taking Dean to their local swimming pool for 15 minutes,
once in two weeks accounted for "exercise".  
Dean was used to exercising nearly everyday
at the YMCA near our house.

The HHP Dean had this past October was upset 
because on Halloween night, 
as Dean passed out candy to the trick or treaters, 
their dog got out and Dean didn't tell anyone.  
A neighbor brought the dog back. 
 "He didn't even tell us."  
He also made note that Dean's self-care had gone down, 
and wrote, "He acts like he's three years old."  
To which, I responded: 
"That is a known. Dean's mental-cognitive ability is around 3 years old." 
and I have to say that while I didn't write "DUH" in there, 
it was implied. 

So, Patience and Realistic Expectations
Read the Client Profile that comes with my child.  
Read it cover to cover.  
I have written pages and pages of information in there just for you, HHP. 
 How Dean grew up, what he was taught, etc., as well as his other caregivers input.  
That's invaluable. 
Like an Owner's Manual, if you will. 
Read it so there aren't surprises....like your dog getting out 
and that Dean doesn't feel the slightest responsibility for it.

The more you give to Dean, you will see it returned in ways you may not recognize right off, but if you pay attention and learn what to look for, you'll be very rewarded for your efforts.  He is happy, funny, loving, helpful, self-less, generous and just plain Good. 

What Makes a Good Great Host Home Provider?  
Heart. Commitment. Active Participation in the Process.

We love our Dean. We want what's best for him to have a fulfilling, exciting life while he's here to enjoy it.
It's a hugely emotional responsibility to choose a proper HHP for him. We need to trust that all of his needs will be met; that he will not be exploited, that he will be safely and respectfully cared for...and sometimes we wonder if that's too much to ask.  But oh how my mother-heart leaps when I see others willing to help me care for my boy until I can provide the best home for him, in time.  I can't thank them enough.

If someone reading this would like more information about HHP's and/or our experiences, you may leave a comment here with your email address or email me directly.