I don’t have a lot to say, and I have too much to say, and I’m sick, and I’m sick of myself – and so very tired of this messed up year. There’s no news about Jonah’s move. We don’t even have a transition plan yet, or a caseworker. At least Andy and I were able to tour the house and see Jonah’s bedroom and the space where he’ll be living. A month ago they told us the house would be open in 6 weeks but I’m not sure what that means for Boo. We wanted him to be one of the first to move in and I need to contact OPWDD to ask for an update. Life keeps getting in the way, though, with challenges and unrelenting loss and sadness.
One bright spot was the annual Dutchess County Fair; for the third year in a row, I met Jonah, his friends, and the staff to enjoy the rides and animals and food. This year we were even able to visit the cows without embarrassing incident. Jonah was content to have his picture taken next to them and mooooove on.
Also, it was a blessedly cool day and we stayed with the group, which made it a lot easier and less stressful. I wish I hadn’t persuaded him to get on the rides, though. As soon as we were settled on the Ferris wheel, he grabbed each of my hands in his and told me “it’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” I smiled at him and said “yes, bunny, it IS okay” – but I felt bad. He bravely endured the brief spin, but after that I didn’t encourage him to ride anything else.
The only ride he seemed to truly enjoy was the bumper cars, both of us in one car so I could brake and help him steer. It will probably be the last time we go to the Dutchess County Fair together. Maybe the Saratoga County Fair next year? We won’t have a group of caregivers to help us, so it may not be possible.
I don’t know what, exactly, will be possible for Boo in this new house, in this new life. He’ll be losing so many people, so many things.
I’ve lost so many people this year, too – and am about to lose yet another, my friend Laurie, who has been through so much suffering and is now nearing the end of her life. I want to call Father Noone to talk about it. I want to call my sister. Ironically, the people I most want to talk to about it are the ones who are dead. I even want to call my mother, now two years gone – “mommy,” I want to cry, like a lost little girl. It’s hard not to keep everyone left at arm’s length in an attempt to prevent the pain of more loss, though I know that’s not the solution.
I think of this poem I read in class during my days as an English major at SUNY Oneonta.
One Art By Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
It does look like disaster right now, and yet I understand what she is saying. I understand it so much more from the perspective of middle age than I did at 20. You reach a point where it all becomes a normalcy. I lost the ability to eat what I want without consequence, then to look 10 years younger without even trying…to look around me and see the same loved ones at every holiday gathering, to count on friends and family being there year after year. To enjoy a certain level of wellness, to depend on an easy bounce-back from injury or illness or sleepless night.
There is no longer the comfortable assumption of a generation between myself and death. Relativity is real, and everything speeds up in direct proportion to one’s age. It’s a humbling thing. My father will be 87 this year, and when I talk to him every morning he tells these truths as well. Most of the friends and relatives from his “silent” generation are gone. He seems to have mastered the art of losing, though I know there are days he struggles to accept it.
As for Boo, I will fight the losing. He’s just 23, a young man with a future I can attempt to fill with all the things he loves. I can do my best to make his life a little better at every turn and through every change. In the meantime I can practice, like Elizabeth Bishop says, “losing farther, losing faster: places and names” – for it won’t let up, not for any of us, and we have to carry on.
I can remove my focus from the losing and place it on gratitude for all the things and people I still have. I can join Rock Voices again, and even though I won’t have my friend Laurie with me, I know she’ll somehow be there with me anyway. I’ll hear her singing and laughing next to me. I know I can. I’ve got to. The alternative is sinking into depression, and that, my friends, is something I really do not want to do.
Have a blessed, beautiful beginning of autumn, everyone. I’ll be back soon!
When Jonah was little and wanted to do something, we’d tell him it was either “open” or “closed.” He seemed to understand this better than any explanation about why he couldn’t go to park, see grandma, or eat another cookie; the desired person, place, or thing was simply “closed.”
Today I closed on the home Andy and I bought in December of 2000, where Jonah grew up from the time he was born until we dropped him off at Anderson to learn and live. I know he remembers the house, because he remembers everything, even people’s names he’s only met once, years ago. I’m sad to say it, Boo, but home is closed.
When people ask why I didn’t sell my mother’s house and live in my own home again, I joke that her house is nicer, that I’d never be able to afford it if she hadn’t died. But the truth is I can’t go back. I can’t live there again with all the ghosts of celebrations and holidays, of joys and tragedies, things to remember and revisit and regret. And so I am here, in this too-big house still mostly decorated in my mother’s taste, in carpets and colors nothing like those I would have chosen. I suppose I can leave here too and find my own place and my own space in the world, but I am waiting for Boo – for where he will be when he moves to adult placement. Because I don’t know when or where that will be, here I stay, putting up pictures and putting down throw rugs to make the place more mine, for now.
When I am feeling lonely, scared, or sad, I look at photos and video of Happy Boo, for there are so many captured smiles and fun and laughter, mostly thanks to Briana and Siara and the folks at his school.
The video in particular is all I need to feel 100% better when I’m feeling down. He’d never been to a water park before; in the past, his aggressive behaviors precluded his going on outings, especially lengthy ones…but this year Briana pushed to have him join the others. He absolutely adored it. I love his raspy euphoric laughter and the obvious happiness brimming over in Briana’s voice as she films and calls to him. Sometimes I watch it over and over. It fills me with happiness too.
There’s no joy like Boo joy!
I hope his joy makes you smile. And I hope this autumn brings you joy as well.
This past Friday I went to Boo’s prom. Anderson worked hard to make it special – and Briana dressed him up so handsomely! I nearly cried when I first saw him. It’s the first time ever he wore such fancy duds.
It’s a coincidence that we matched so well. Isn’t that cool though?
When I first arrived, they were bringing attendees up to the school building, where a white stretch limo waited to drive the kids down to the rec center, where the prom was held. I went down to Jonah’s residence and proudly walked him to the limo, where we took this photo then got inside to ride in style.
The prom theme was Peter Pan’s “Neverland;” everything was decorated with whimsical fairy-dust centerpieces and “ivy” running along the tables and walls. They even gave out yellow boutonnieres. There was a photo booth, a DJ, and a catered dinner buffet with choices the kids loved. Jonah ate chicken tenders and fries, plus two pieces of the special decorated sheet cake they brought out after dinner, all washed down with boxes of apple juice.
He was only mildly interested in the fun, asking instead for Guster on my phone and “go walk?” I suppose I could have asked the DJ if he could play Guster, but I doubted they’d have it and I didn’t see anyone else making requests, so we walked all around the huge tent they’d set up, across the dance floor, and up the hill to the view of the Hudson River, then back down and around some more. I did encourage him to dance, though, which he did – just a little, but enough for me to catch it on video (below).
The prom was scheduled from 4:30-8pm, and Boo lasted until about 6:30, when he told Briana he wanted to go back to the residence. I walked back with them and hugged them both goodbye, then drove home to share pictures and bask in memories of my handsome son at his school’s awesome prom.
Boo (briefly) busting a few moves
Graduation is Friday, so I’ll be back with more photos and hopefully another positive experience to relate.
So many people I know are hurting — facing anger and trauma, fear and sickness and pain. In so many ways it feels like we’re all in freefall. I tell myself to face forward…move slow…forge ahead (actually, Guster tells me that – but I am listening). The springtime is coming. The sunshine and warmth. It’s got to help some. I’d like to build a foundation of peace, honesty, and self-love from which to face suffering and elevate my life — and to influence all the people around me positively. I know it takes real work to feel peace, and lately I haven’t been holding up my end of the bargain. I’ve just been feeling crushed beneath the wheel.
Yet here is Boo, having fun, listening to his tunes and laughing and doing his belly-slaps. It makes me happy to watch him happy.
He will be 20 on March 7th, somehow. Somehow two decades went by.
I’m going to make this next part short, because it’s hard to talk about. The day after Christmas, when Briana was on vacation, a staff person allegedly abused Jonah. I say allegedly because there evidently was no witness, and yet Boo was found with a black eye, marks on his face, and bruising on his sternum. Another staff person noticed this and brought it to the attention of supervisors. The Justice Center for the Protection of People with Special Needs, the state police, and the school launched an investigation. Police officers came to Jonah’s house and interviewed staff, and then they interviewed Jonah (though Jonah could not really help – he is not verbal enough, nor does he have the ability to understand the questions or identify his attacker). Jonah does not self-harm. Someone was identified as a suspect. This person was placed on off-site probation pending results of the investigation, and the investigation recently came back unsubstantiated. When I inquired about the status of the suspect, I was told they are no longer employed by Anderson. That’s all I want to say about it, and all I know.
We are moving forward.
Jonah needs an operation to remove some growths on his face and neck, and it’s been postponed twice, both times because of weather. Now it’s rescheduled for April 1st — not a joke. He’ll have to have general anesthesia. Andy is going to be with him. We’ve both been visiting him, though separately. I’d like to visit together but Andy doesn’t really want that. I wish we could be friends again. I miss him.
All I can do is try to be the best friend and relative to the people I do have in my life. And I have so many. I’m so blessed with people who truly care about me. It’s a wonderful thing to know, and to remember.
I weave pot holders on kiddie looms. I practice my guitar. I do paint-by-numbers and make collages and write poems. It’s all creation, and it saves me.
So I wrote a poem a day for National Poetry Month (April) – and it was a good re-exploration of creative writing for me. It’s been a while (probably 15 years) since I wrote poetry with any regularity. They say the writing saves the writer, so though people will never be knocking down doors to read my amateur poems, they have value for me – as outlets, if nothing else. Or reminders of who I am, what I enjoy. I love writing.com, where I have a portfolio of stuff (as winklett, of course).
Last week I attended part one of the 3-part National Council on Severe Autism (NCSA)’s free webinar series: Severe Behaviors, medical support. It was a unique experience in one particular aspect; for the first time, I was not the one with the most severe autism scenario. I’m used to people who are shocked and/or outraged that we put our son in a residential school. I’m usually the “horror story” of the bunch.
Not this time.
Most of the webinar was conducted by doctors discussing medical interventions, and they presented different scenarios they’d seen in the autism world. The severity of some of these situations was unimaginable, even to me. There are children who smash their faces into the ground and the walls until they are bloodied and broken. One child gouged his eyes and detached both retinas. The mind boggles. It broke my heart and I’m haunted by their stories. I don’t think I can ever again come here to bitch and complain – at least not the way I used to, ending every post with some stupid sad statement when all the while my son is safe and (relatively) healthy and happy.
Some of the individuals the doctors mentioned have been helped with electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) treatments (what they used to call electric shock therapy). I don’t know a whole lot about it yet, but I just bought the book Each Day I Like it Better, written by Amy Lutz (NCSA’s vice president). Amy’s son had aggressive and self-injurious behaviors which were successfully mitigated using ECT. (Yes, there is another Amy with another Jonah – and her husband, believe it or not, is Andy. You can’t make this stuff up).
I’m looking forward to reading her story, and I’m looking forward to the next two parts of the Severe Behaviors series. NCSA’s got all this information that simply didn’t exist before, and I’m all ears.
This past Saturday I got to visit Boo again. Halfway there, I realized I forgot to bring his assortment of DVDs. He’s never chosen anything but Jungle Book on these visits, but I like to offer him some choices. I decided to avoid a potential problem altogether and try the visit outside, since the day was warm-ish and the forecasted rain never arrived. Of course I brought McDonald’s and a strong companion to help me. We ate on the picnic table just outside his residence while he played music on my phone.
After lunch, I asked Jonah if he wanted to do a campus walk. He jumped up in answer, immediately ready to go. I took the risk and let him keep my phone. He was surprisingly okay with handing it back to me when he needed help, but he also could navigate a lot of it himself. We listened to Twenty-One Pilots and Harry Styles and Sir Sly, and he didn’t walk too fast for me like he sometimes does. At one point, after un-pausing a song for him, I handed the phone back — and he said thank you! For the first time: unprompted, unprovoked, and entirely of his own volition. I know Briana’s been working hard to help teach him but still I was amazed.
Hell, the sun even came out for us.
When we got back to the house, he allowed me a big hug and a kiss before he went inside. I couldn’t have asked for a better visit. The only thing I would have liked was more time with him.
Jonah does well in school these days, too, now that the kids are back in the classroom. Hs teacher says “He willingly does academic work and tasks given to him, with a little reinforcer at the end. Jonah also expresses very well if he does not want to do something but I can usually tell him, you can have x amount of time then we will do work. This seems to work well right now.”
Briana sent me his goals at the residence:
· Jonah will use a broom and dustpan to sweep piles of debris.
· Jonah will put clothes in the dryer, add a dryer sheet, clean the lint trap, and follow directions to push buttons/turn dial for correct settings.
· Jonah will put away cups and dishes
She thinks he’s capable of meeting the goals with some environmental cues and staff support. I think so too!
I’ve been trying to talk to him on the phone a few times a week. When the staff person answers, I always ask them to please find out if Jonah wants to talk on the phone. God knows I hate talking the phone, to anyone but him anyway. Most times Boo comes right over to talk.
Last night he sounded happy. Our conversation is of course limited, but Jonah does say “good” if I ask him how his day went, and he’ll tell me miss you, love you, and bye, if I say it first. He hangs up abruptly, all done.
Since I last wrote I’ve been on 2 or 3 more hikes. But I hurt my Achilles heel on my left foot and gave myself a break for a bit. Then I went out again this past Saturday. I’m so used to winter hiking that 50 degrees felt like summertime. It seems my limit is about 3 1/2 miles. Anything past that and my left knee hurts something awful, especially going downhill. Either that or the whole leg goes kind of dead – not sure how else to explain it. The trekking poles become crutches. I ain’t no spring chicken, but the woods sure do feel like home. I’d love to live in the middle of the forest someday. Maybe when I retire.
Of course it all depends on where Boo ends up, and we won’t know that for another year or so, I think. I want to be closer to him eventually. In my hoped-for future he is aggression free and I can visit often.
We were enjoying our off-campus visits with Jonah.
Until we weren’t.
One weekday visit, Jonah attacked Andy in his apartment. Andy called for help, and luckily his landlord was outside and came running. It was a violent attack, and it scared the hell out of Andy. He may not have been able to subdue Jonah on his own. Then Jonah attacked Briana at the residence, and the other staff member at the house couldn’t get him off her. She called on the walkie-talkie for additional staff. She was bitten several times, and I don’t know what else – but she was out of work for several days. The last straw came in the car, on another weekday visit. Jonah wears a safety harness, but his legs and arms are so long that he was able to kick and grab at Andy. Andy almost got in an accident pulling over, then nearly got hit getting out of the car.
It’s just not safe to take Jonah off the campus anymore. We had a behavioral team meeting and we urged them to place Jonah back on a 4-person takedown protocol. We gave permission for Anderson staff to record Jonah’s aggressions (though how they’re going to do this is beyond me). And we made our case for the necessity of this move, though in my eyes it’s clearly evident.
And so we’re repeating the “slow on the driveway” visits we had earlier in the summer. For the past two weeks, I’ve met Andy on campus to get Jonah. We bring him a breakfast sandwich and he eats it on the picnic table outside the residence. Then we drive him around and around and around the campus while he chooses the music. This past Saturday he tried to grab me from the backseat of the car. If I had my long hair, he would’ve gotten me…but I pulled away quickly and escaped injury. Andy pulled over, I got out, and we gave Jonah a “time out” from music and car ride.
Andy says, “Jonah, I want you to have safe –“
Jonah: Hands.
Andy: And?
Jonah: Feet.
Minutes later, my son and I are singing along to “Watermelon Sugar” and smiling. Andy guides the car along the campus roads, pulling over and getting out every so often to take on a hygiene task, breaking them up so as not to overwhelm Jonah. One stop is for teeth brushing. Another is for cleaning his ears. Another to clip his nails. Clean his hands and face. Pop a pimple. After an hour or so, we tell Jonah “two more songs and then campus walk.” One more loop. Time for walk.
We knock on the residence door to tell them we’re going on the walk. The first time, Briana came with us, bringing her walkie-talkie. This past Saturday, we walked him around the campus on our own, making sure to bring our cell phones to call her if Jonah flipped out. He didn’t.
Once again, we are navigating new waters. If the weather doesn’t cooperate, there are mock-apartments at the campus center for us to use. We’ll have to do the best we can.
During all of this eating, car-riding, and walking, Jonah wants reassurance we are coming back. “Repeat?” he asks. This means he wants us to tell him when.
Andy: Daddy’s coming in 3 days. Daddy’s coming on Wednesday.
Jonah: Repeat?
Andy: Daddy’s coming in 3 days. Daddy’s coming on Wednesday.
Jonah: Repeat?
Andy: Daddy’s coming in 3 days. Daddy’s coming on Wednesday.
Jonah: Repeat?
Andy: Daddy’s coming in 3 days. Wednesday.
Jonah: Repeat?
Andy: Jonah, listen to me. Daddy’s coming in three days. Daddy is coming on Wednesday. Now be quiet and listen to the music.
This might buy us a while. Half a song or so. Sometimes I provide the answers Jonah seeks. Daddy’s coming in 3 days, Boo! Daddy’s coming on Wednesday. Momma’s coming in 6 days. Momma’s coming on Saturday. I vary the pitch and tone of the answer, sometimes singing it.
“Repeat?” he asks again and again. The repetition of repeat is too perfect.
Andy and I adapt and settle into whatever new reality comes along with Jonah, to the best of our ability, changing it up as many times as is necessary, which in 2020 has been a lot.
Our son is tall and handsome in the autumn sun.
Whatever we have to do to keep him (and everyone else) safe and happy, we will do, of course.
I stopped pondering why he was able to go 18 months without aggressions and now they’re back – with a vengeance, as they say. I guess because of Covid. Plenty of breaks in routine and strange people. Months without seeing mama or daddy. Changing visits – first we can’t go off campus, then we can, now we can’t again. I suppose we were due for this.
Since the rise of Covid, I’ve gone from walking 2 miles a day on the treadmill to painting 2 rocks a day to meditating 2 times a day. I guess I’m still walking and painting, just not as much.
On my 51st birthday I started using this app I found called Serenity, which has 10-minute guided meditations. The first 7 are free; after that I was hooked, so I bought a 6-month subscription for 20 bucks. I don’t think I’m alone in saying meditation has always been difficult, the few times I actually tried it. My monkey mind provides a near-constant self-narrative comprised of visiting the past, predicting the future, critiquing myself and others, recalling song lyrics, movie scenes, and conversations, etc. But what I am learning allows for all of this. The goal is not to yank your mind away from the chatter but rather let it flow, gently guiding your mind back to the breath, back to the breath. I am breathing in. I am breathing out. I am breathing in. I am breathing out.
Repeat.
But there is so much more. Serenity teaches different ways to explore your mind – visualizing thoughts as words or pictures on a screen, recognizing types of thinking patterns as they occur to prevent fusing with them, practicing gratitude, fostering compassion, allowing both body and mind to rest. Stretch your arms, wiggle your fingers and toes, she says in her (Australian?) accent at the end of each meditation. I’m on my way to enlightenment, guys, 10 minutes at a time and enjoying the journey. I never thought I’d look forward to meditation but I definitely do, and find myself carving out more and more time for it.
Then I read Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness by Sharon Salzberg, and learned how to send metta to myself and others. Then I read it again, and bought copies for 3 friends. I encouraged my peeps to try the Serenity app – I think there are 5 or 6 of us doing it now. It feels so good. What’s not to like?
I’m learning ways to sit in meditation on my own, unguided, each time creating larger and larger pockets of “silent mind.” It has been transformative. I think the greatest benefit is the cultivation of mindfulness. I practice noticing emotions as they rise and placing distance between them and my action/reaction or speech. I practice doing what I’m doing and being where I am – two things with which I’ve always had difficulty.
For example, when I am doing the dishes, I need to just do the damn dishes – not thinking about what I’m going to do after I do the dishes.
Now I am breaking it down even further… to just pick up a dish, then just pick up the sponge. Then just reach for the dishwashing soap, then just apply the sponge to the dish, and so on. Each task – and each piece of that task – met mindfully. What I used to write off as clumsiness really was me just throwing myself from task to activity without really ever thinking about what the hell I was doing.
In addition, I was rushing through Monday to get to Friday. Rushing through dinner to get to dessert. Rushing through things I thought of as “bad” to arrive at others I have labeled “good” – when all the while there is only the present moment. There is only now.
I crack myself up with these eureka moments when I think I’ve got it all figured out. Go ahead, laugh. I’m laughing too.
When things ring true, though, I can’t deny the truths. I feel as though I am approaching life from a place of greater peace. And I can’t deny the results, even though I only have the faintest comprehension of the process. It feels good the way the walking and the painting feels good –and then some.
I come back to the breath, back to hope, back to love.
Funny how last time I wrote, I was already complaining about not seeing Jonah, about feeling shut in, about the brave new world. It had been 20 long days since Andy and I were with him, celebrating his 18th birthday.
It would be 92 more days before we’d see him again.
Last Sunday, Father’s Day, I finally drove down to Andy’s apartment and together we visited Boo on the Anderson campus for a scheduled hour. We brought masks, hand sanitizer, 2 new pair of swim trunks, bubble & balloon toys, 2 McDonald’s chicken sandwiches (no lettuce extra mayo), and a sugar jelly donut from Dunkin’ Donuts, nutirition be damned. It was Thanksgiving and Christmas and the 4th of July and everyone’s birthday and Mother’s and Father’s Day all rolled into one. We were there with him in person. This called for celebration!
Jonah’s house manager and primary caregiver, Briana, set up a picnic table in the shade – she’d thoughtfully brought me a pretty potted verbena flower and hooked Jonah up with a big tub of gummy worms. She’d waited until just a few minutes prior to tell him we were coming. Confused, he headed for the office where he always sat for video visits. No, she told him. They’re coming here to see you! He didn’t comprehend this, and we were wary, not sure what to expect.
Near the front door of the house, she followed Anderson’s careful Covid screening protocol, taking our temps and asking us questions about symptoms and exposure. Then she went inside to get Boo. When he first came out, he looked at Andy, then me, then Briana, then me again. Mama, he said flatly, eyes narrowing, walking over to us. Briana walked with us to the picnic table to make sure everything was cool. Thankfully, it was. He loved the food and sat happily eating while I showed him one of the balloon toys.
He did ask for car ride repeatedly, but we kind of expected that. They haven’t approved off-campus visits yet, so we tried to make do by bringing the car near and letting him sit in it, music on. We figured he’d want to stay sitting in the car for the whole rest of the visit, but then Andy suggested a walk and Boo was all about that. He jumped out of the car and started off happily. I jogged to catch up, and the three of us walked through the campus, passing picnic tables where other families visited with their kids.
It was God-awful hot – a choking, shimmering kind of heat that reflects on pavement and feels like a heavy weight. Seemingly impervious to it, Jonah led the way, the 3 of us circling past the pool area and back to our shady spot. Every so often we’d hear a screaming screech or see a kid running, not sure if they were happy or freaking out. I reckon there were some residents who got really upset when their families didn’t take them off campus. We’re grateful Jonah seemed to understand we would be back again soon, though he did require constant assurances. Daddy’s coming in 6 days, Andy told him. Ree-pee (repeat), Jonah said. Daddy’s coming in 6 days, Andy told him. Ree-pee, Jonah said. And so on. Yes, Boo. We’ll be back. Of course we’ll be back!
Before our visit ended, Andy and Jonah took a second walk and I packed up our stuff. I watched them stroll away, happy to see Boo looking up smiling at his dad. He did well, really well. And when we said goodbye, he walked back in his house without fanfare.
Whew.
Andy’s visiting him again today, and tomorrow I’ll drive down and we’ll both visit. We’d love to take him on a home visit but we’ll take what we can get, knowing Anderson is putting safety first at every turn. I can’t say enough about Anderson’s staff, from the president on up to the direct caregivers themselves. But that’s another post, which I’ll make soon. With photos and news of what I’ve been doing to stay sane since Mid-March.
But here are a few pics of Jonah from the months when he couldn’t be with him:
The swimming one was taken just two days ago, when they finally got approval to open up the pool. Briana texted me the photo right away and told me he was very excited to be back in his element! Still a fish, my son. I’d love to get him back to the ocean eventually. But, you know, one step at a time.
We’re surfacing here in New York State, a little. Cautiously and masked.
40 is the old age of youth, and 50 is the youth of old age. ~ Unknown
I’ve always said that raising Jonah through all the violent aggressions broke Andy and me; it was impossible to come out the other end of it whole. This autumn and winter marks 9 years since the worst of it, when first Andy, then I, went to Four Winds Mental Health Hospital. Nearly a decade later I stared down the barrel of 50, feeling like I was breaking all over again.
There’s something definitively downhill about 50. More than likely, I have felt as good as I’m going to feel and I’ve looked as good as I’m going to look. The days and seasons come at me quickly, cycling faster with each passing year. They leave me tired, despondent, and coping with fun new things like joint pain and hearing loss (I was a child of the 70s and 80s, and we liked our music LOUD).
But none of that is what broke me again. Not really. No single event or circumstance brought on the breakdown. The truth is always more complicated. And sometimes the thing that finally breaks you is the one you don’t want to admit…something you suspect wouldn’t have broken a stronger person.
Jonah is a source of joy, as if by magic. It’s been a full year since he hit anyone. There have been days of agitation and distress, but no aggression. None. The teacher in his new “high school” class sent me this beautiful picture of him just yesterday, loving on his caramel apple and beaming.
Every Friday there is good news from his teacher – these go backward in time…
This week Jonah was his happy, fun, lovable self. Today we made caramel apples and Jonah loved it. I have this great picture of him. This week we did coin counting, handwriting, pumpkin decoration for a contest, recipe, grocery shopping, and made Halloween slime.
Jonah was terrific this week. We read an interactive book today called An Old Lady Who Wasn’t Afraid of Anything and Jonah loved it. He was doing all the moves along with the book – I wish I got it on video. This week we did handwriting, recipe, learned about how to conduct a experiments, and read aloud with reading comprehension.
Jonah had another terrific week. This week there was a lot going on for Jonah, including appointments and changes in the schedule. Jonah took them extremely well. He was a real trooper. This week in class we learned about fire safety, Halloween, did addition and counting, handwriting, and grocery shopping with recipe.
Jonah had a tremendous week overall. He was very attentive during the activities and lessons throughout the week, which I love to see. He has also been accepting many of the changes that are happening in the classroom. Words can’t describe how proud I am of him. He also has been listening to new songs at the end of the day like Maroon 5 memories and maps. This week in school we learned about Halloween safety, handwriting, counting and addition, spiders and insects, and made guacamole for recipe.
And so you see our boy is bright and happy, learning things and having fun. It’s all either of us ever really wanted.
But this summer I felt depression like a heavy stone I carried every day. I hadn’t used social media in a few years, but remembered how fun the hashtag games were. So I logged back into Twitter and stumbled across a group of people, led by a multi-millionaire, all working together to donate to Go Fund Me campaigns. All trying to spread kindness. I told the leader of the group I had been feeling suicidal before I found them – that they had done nothing less than restore my faith in humanity. He even tweeted about it, though he didn’t identify me. Many, many people came forward to support me on that thread, though no one knew who I was. Concerned strangers tweeted their concern, love, and kind thoughts. What an amazing feeling to be a part of this online family!
Every day, more and more people pleaded for help out of desperate situations. I’m not wealthy, but I have enough – and some of these people clearly didn’t. I gave what I could. Everyone seemed to want to help; soon we called ourselves a team. It was fun and exciting for me to participate. My heart was full of shared selflessness and genuine compassion.
I started to feel a little better. Finally, I’d found a place were everyone pitched in to help others, no matter what anyone’s politics, religion, or any other label. The team filled my days with purpose and a way to move forward, bolstered by a new support system of strangers from all over.
Then the group leader started giving away money randomly to everyone who re-tweeted his messages. I noticed I rarely saw the winners commenting. Wouldn’t they publicly (and loudly) thank him and the team? And when the rare person did say that they won, it always seemed they were someone in dire need. These “random giveaways” started to feel carefully chosen. While searching his name one day, I noticed a post criticizing him. I commented that I had been wondering myself if his “random” giveaways were really random.
When I logged on to twitter the next day, I was blocked from the leader’s page. At first I was confused. I contacted some other “team members” to ask what was going on. One told me to be patient, that he was busy with other requests. No, I responded. I wasn’t there to ask. I’d never asked for anything.
My protests fell on deaf ears. In fact, most people didn’t answer me at all. One told me I sure didn’t “win any points” with my comment asking him if contests were random. I remember angrily responding that I wasn’t there to win points but to be philanthropic. I was completely humiliated. Being blocked felt like a massive betrayal, especially since all I had done was give to his campaigns. The team that had been holding me afloat was suddenly gone. I felt stupid and useless. I began to drown again.
I’m embarrassed and ashamed by how profoundly I felt the indifference and how distraught I became at the abandonment. One day we’re all in the twitter feed professing our love for humanity and each other. The next day, no one will talk to me and in fact I’m banned from participating in the collective philanthropic efforts and “random” giveaways. All these people who cared so much when they first heard someone was suicidal…where were they now?
I found some small consolation in learning I wasn’t the only one. A growing number of others are wondering what the hell is happening. Many are telling their stories. As it turns out, this rich guy seems to have a narcissistic personality, cult-leader mentality, and master plan for moneymaking which involves ingratiating behavior designed to gain followers and funnel people through a specific payment service. And that’s really just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
The part that really bothers me is all the team members struggling, hoping against hope he will help, worried they’ve been forgotten or that nobody cares. Many actually deify him, say they would die for him – and now even contribute to an ambiguous legal defense fund, ostensibly against those who seek to “destroy” him. Some of his followers have vowed to protect him against we “haters” who even, according to a recent post, are trying to attack Christmas itself.
He’s also using several simple, effective psychological techniques to weed out those who question anything. This is going to sound very familiar to anyone involved in the team.
Cults are attractive because they promote an illusion of comfort.
Those with low self-esteem are more likely to be persuaded by a cult environment. New recruits are “love bombed.”
Cults maintain their power by promoting an “us vs. them” mentality.
Cult members often have no idea they’re in a cult.
I could go on and on with this. There are other issues. For example, anyone he blocks is ineligible to enter his giveaways (we don’t even see them happening) – and that’s illegal. I filed a report with my state attorney general about this.
Please make no mistake – I’m not out for revenge. Other than psychologically, I wasn’t really hurt. I don’t need money and can practice philanthropy on my own. I am telling this story in the hopes that others will read it and come to understand what’s really happening. There are charity review sites like Charity Navigator with details about vetted and registered 501c3 charities, where your donations are far better spent.
If you’re on the team and seeking help, understand your chances of getting the help you need are very slim. I invite you to DM me, or contact me here, and I will do the best I can to research genuine resources to help you. Whether you are trying to help or are looking for assistance, I recommend Modest Needs, a 4-star registered non-profit where requests for emergency financial help are carefully vetted and then crowdfunded.
Whatever the reason for his blocking me, some broken thing inside me broke more that day because of it. My 50th birthday came and went with little fanfare. I felt just as hopeless as before, only now I also felt deserted.
More sadness. More disappointment, More feeling worthless and self-pitying. I was crying uncontrollably at random times during the day – crying at my desk at work and in my car while driving. Crying myself to sleep – or, more accurately, laying awake crying at night. I know this is pathetic. And I hate that I know how pathetic it is.
I had a yearly physical on September 5th. When I arrived, I couldn’t even make it through the check-in process without breaking down in tears. In the exam room I sobbed to the doc and explained how awful I was feeling and why. Gently, he suggested I go back to the hospital. A revulsion of feeling washed over me, though I didn’t recognize it as relief until much later. It’s as if I had been searching for permission to go back to the hospital, and he gave me that permission. So I spent from September 5-13 in Four Winds Hospital. Again. And, just like the first time, it was the best thing I could have done.
People think of the mental hospital as somewhere you end up – a collection container for the insane. While it is true that the stigma of mental health treatment is less awful than it was 9 years ago, the idea that hospitalization equals the bottom of the barrel is still alive and well. There’s also still a stigma. If you go to the loony bin, you must be crazy. Crazy Amy.
Truth be told, just about everyone I know could use a week at Four Winds. When you arrive you turn your phone in, bond with others there who are also suffering, and get therapy both one on one and in groups. You just work on you. That’s it. It’s not easy, and God knows I could have better spent the $750 co-pay and precious days I had to take off from work, but I came out the other side with a better sense of how to move forward and a better understanding of myself. I learned things like assertiveness skills, how to deal with intrusive thoughts, and how to recognize the tools co-dependent people use to control you: Guilt. Anger. Gaslighting. I emerged better equipped to live in this crazy-ass world that gets crazier by the day.
Good thing, too, for life was about to throw another couple curve balls. But this post is already long, and I’m tired of bitching. I’ll tell the tale later. Mostly everything is better, I am feeling stronger, and my mind and heart are healthier.
I have more to be grateful for than upset about. And being 50 isn’t so bad. I feel younger looking than people who are 50 used to look, and I’m still healthy enough. No more migraines, no aggressions from Boo, nobody trying to guide my giving. Sometimes the lack of something is as valuable as the presence of something else.
We wish and hope and pray for this or that, but rarely do we glimpse the good in what isn’t happening.
Now I see it. I see it all the time.
The comeback is always stronger than the setback.
“We circle chairs until the music stops Until it ends you got to open up your heart… Everybody’s got it hard We’re built and then fall apart; We’re all terrified.” ~ Guster
My son is being transformed by time from boy to man, all while remaining uniquely innocent. And, these days, happy. He’s swimming a lot this summer and has just been moved to a “high school” class with older kids. This is only his third classroom since starting school at Anderson in September of 2011. I like that they transition the kids slowly, as is appropriate for each individual.
His first two teachers were wonderful, and this new teacher has worked as a teacher’s aide with Jonah in the past. I’m grateful Jonah seems to be coming into his own. He can stay at Anderson until he is 21, at which point he will graduate; as we move forward, we can all figure out what’s the next best step for his housing and happiness.
I feel more optimistic about my son’s future than I have since he went away. His charts show only minor behaviors like noncompliance and swatting his hand, and their frequency is lower than ever.
One day earlier this summer, the kids in his class made tye-dye shirts. Jonah had a blast and was not shy about showing off his creation.
He even has the shadow of a hipster beard and mustache, when his daddy or caregivers don’t shave him. He doesn’t seem to care about facial hair one way or the other, though he had to have some small bumpy skin tags removed from his cheek and chin.
That’s the other thing — Jonah now has the ability to stay still long enough for the
laser procedure. Before this, we’d have to put him under general anesthesia for everything – even a dental cleaning.
And at his glaucoma appointments, now they can do a special scanning eye exam because Jonah can keep his head in the machine for a minute or two at a time.
Last time we were at the glaucoma doc and the technician guy was asking Jonah to keep still, I wanted to say “dude, you have no idea you are witnessing a freaking miracle right here.” This is the kid who has been banned from doc offices because of his out-of-control aggression.
Now he is redirectable. He waits pretty damn patiently for the doctor, and follows instructions with our prompting. The doc sometimes forgets Jonah does not know left and right, so I point or use something in the room as a reference. Boo still tries to cheat when they bother to test his left eye. He rocks and hums and asks for two hamburgers. He cooperates with patience he never had before. He laughs as he waits til he’s set free to walk back to the van.
Life is good for Jonah Russell. Andy is not as optimistic as I am. Yes, we’ve been fooled before into the lull of complacency when Boo is good – but he’s never been this good for this long, and I say he is growing and learning and better at processing his emotions. I say this is a miracle, if only a highly personal one.
People all around me with kids Jonah’s age are dealing with so many parenting problems that I feel a whole new gratitude for what and who my child is – and is becoming.
The Never Normal 