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Archive for the ‘placement’ Category

a questionable improvement on the silence

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, doctor, grandma, hospital, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged , on January 11, 2013| 2 Comments »

“Before you speak, ask yourself – Is it necessary?  Is it true?  Is it kind?  Will it hurt anyone?  Will it improve on the silence?”
~ Sri Sathya Sai Baba

How hurtful we can be without meaning to be.  You’d think I’d be used to being hurt, both physically and emotionally, but I’m just not.  And ’tis a horrifying thought to know I also have spoken quickly, without thinking, without asking myself these questions.  We all do it, I imagine.  This quote is so wise, whoever Sri Sathya Sai Baba is.  I learn lots by researching the person who uttered a quote I love. 

I saw Jonah on Wednesday at Albany Medical Center for his pediatric rheumatologist appointment.  E and J are back as the team who drives Jonah to and fro, but they do so much more than that, as I’ve mentioned.  I love these people and look forward to seeing them almost as much as I look forward to seeing Boo.  He did well at the appointment, mostly, but part of that was due to the caring doc’s speed and efficiency.  No waiting.  None.  We go straight to a room and as soon as she sees him, Dr. B is on her game and handling everything.  It’s refreshing.  I don’t know how she does it, but I’m more grateful for her than she will ever know.

I should have taken pictures but I keep forgetting my camera, or forgetting to charge my camera, so I’ll end the post with some more random pictures.  I like putting pictures in my blog post.  Tomorrow I’ll remember the camera when I go visit Boo, I promise.  I wish I had it at his doc appointment.  He was parroting in classic echolalia form.  “Jonah, sit on the table.”  Over and over.  He’d had enough at the exact moment she finished gently pulling and prodding his joints.

There are so many things I wonder about my boy.  I know the other kids like to cuddle with the caregivers on the couches and watch TV or play Wii, but Jonah doesn’t like it.  I know that much.  He wants to stay in his room a lot.  They coax him out when they can, it seems.   I hate thinking about him alone in his room.  If that’s what makes him happy, should I be more okay with it? 

I wish I knew more about what he likes to play with, and who he wants to be with, and things he says/does/sings.  They don’t tell you a whole lot beyond basic information but I want anecdotal stories.  I want to hear about it when he does good things, or funny things…not just whether or not he had “behaviors” that day, or how many, or what he had for dinner and whether or not he threw his plate.  I want to know more about my son. 

I know he is sick right now and I want to hold him close and let him lie on me and suck his thumb while we watch Barney or the Wiggles.  Of course I just described a fantasy.  Even if he were here in my home that scenario is highly unlikely, unless he were really, really sick.  He’d hit at me, pull my hair, scratch my face.  Is he angry at the world?  Is he angry at us all because we just don’t get it, whatever it is?

Some weeks it’s easier to have gratitude than others.  Sometimes I don’t sit down to add a blog post until I’m motivated by a hurt, worry, depression, shame, anger, or some other emotion that drives me to write.   I guess it means every blog post is skewed by its catalyst emotion.  I can’t do much about that, but today’s emotion, even though it’s Friday, is soul-tired.

I’m praying for a lot of people.  A lot.  They all have serious needs, problems, grief.  I don’t know what good the prayers do but I like to send them up anyway.  I’m a little unconventional with that, but I do pray from my heart and my heart always answers back you are not alone in your hurt.  You are not alone.  And that’s the gift you get back when you pray for others; it’s all mirrored back at you, offering perspective and empathy and, if you dig deep enough, peace.

Blah blah blah.  Some pictures:

Me and an unidentified large bear, outside the Bass Pro Shop in Springfield, Missouri.

Me and an unidentified large bear, outside the Bass Pro Shop in Springfield, Missouri.

his mama's bony body and his daddy's tan

Mama’s lean body, daddy’s tan skin

old days, exploring in the forest near home

old days, exploring in the forest near home

the waterboy

Waterboy

daddy holds Jonah's hand and grandma walks beside them - away from his residence and across the campus to the car.

daddy holds Jonah’s hand and grandma walks beside them – away from his residence and across the campus to the car.

Mama will see you tomorrow, Boo.  Sleep tight.

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the amazing things

Posted in autism, placement, swimming, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2013| Leave a Comment »

I’ve been kind of sick for too long a while.  I’d rather be sicker and have it over more quickly.  There is simultaneously optimism and fear inside me – and a disheartened kind of grief.  A good, gracious man I know died on New Year’s Eve; he was only 61.  I’m not sure what’s going on inside my head but I need to watch videos like this and seek out information like you get here in order to continue to have faith in humanity. 

I have to remind myself there are so many amazing things. 

I forgot to bring my camera on my trip to see Jonah yesterday, so I’ll have to share older pics.  Jonah was a good boy.  He didn’t want me to sing, though, even though he was in a parroting mood.  Andy had on the radio and Jonah was humming snippets of the top 40 music and saying things to himself… then suddenly he’s quiet, moving his thumb easily and naturally into his mouth as he turns to look out the window.  It was a warm day – maybe even 40.  My mother and I were quiet on the ride home as she tolerated my music:  things like Kula Shaker, Paul Simon, Radiohead, and Death Cab for Cutie, this day.  I won’t subject her to Greenday or the Grateful Dead; I know where to draw the line.   It was a good visit tinged with the usual feeling that comes inside when you are driving farther and farther away from your innocent ten year old son. 

Today I made chicken cacciatore and M and I are watching Dick Proenneke’s Alone in the Wilderness.   It’s such an amazing documentary that tears come to my eyes as I watch it.  This man built a cabin in the middle of Twin Lakes, Alaska (where he was the only human) and lived there for thirty years, 1968-1998, until he was 81 years old.  He carved spoons and bowls out of wood in a matter of hours.  He could chop down 40 trees and shape them into useable logs to build the cabin, all before noon.  Amazing things.  He built carriers for food and moss.  Caught fish and avoided bear.  Somehow didn’t go insane even while so literally alone.

The things he accomplishes – the way he thinks, the way he moves through the world — it’s so mind-blowing sometimes I have no reaction but to laugh out loud in astonishment.

He builds tools, tables, chairs;  intricate, near-perfect hinges; neat, even boards for shelves and working surfaces.  He narrates most of the movie, sets the camera on a tripod and films himself measuring, building, climbing, chopping, carving, cooking, gardening.  Everything handmade.  A plane would come only, I think, twice a year to bring him very basic supplies.  Are there still people like him, people who know civilization but choose to leave it, with talent and skill and that true harmony with nature?  I am in such awe of it.  No wonder I love Laura Ingalls Wilder.

For me these people speak of possibility, and resilience, and determination.  

It’s good for me today.  So here are some random things while I make my exit to watch some more about Mr. Proenneke:

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

O

Silly Me

Silly Me

O

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

ScareMeNots recycle!

The Hudson River in March 2002Rhinebeck NY

Baby Jonah...Looking right at me.

Baby Jonah…
Looking right at me.

Gustav Klimt'sThe Kiss

Gustav Klimt’s
The Kiss

O

my child of the water

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dear boo

Posted in autism, behavior, doctor, hospital, iritis, language, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, uveitis, tagged , on November 8, 2012| 3 Comments »

Dear Boo,

Mama is so sorry, sweet angel, but it looks like you are going to need another eye surgery, and soon.  See, the one they would normally do requires the patient to avoid touching the eye for two weeks, and we know you can’t do that, and we can’t explain it to you, so we have to try something else, and these laser eye surgeries are the something else.

This might not even be the last surgery.  The surgeries aren’t helping so far, and what we’re trying to do is make sure you can continue to see.

People with autism are usually visual learners, and you seem to be one as well.  Thinking in Pictures by Temple Grandin explains this somewhat, and if you could read it I would give it to you and see if you agree.  I don’t really even know if you can read.  They talk about the sight words you know, but even illiterate people know what the STOP sign says.  I don’t know if it matters that you can read, even.  Sometimes I wish you understood more and sometimes I am grateful for your ignorance and innocence.

Have the eye appointments and surgeries become part of your normal?  I guess they must be, by now.  You tip your head back for the eye drops like an expert and read the eye chart like a brave little man.  You are as patient and tolerant of the neurotypical people around you as you can be.  I have no idea how difficult it is, to be surrounded by people who do not understand you.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart.  Mama and daddy are doing their best to make sure you are not in pain, that you have eyes that are healthy, a strong little body, and a calm, peaceful, happy mind.  I’m sorry you don’t have many of those things and I’m sorry there isn’t anything I can do but trust and pray and hope.  I can research, and listen to my instincts.  Hold you close for as long as you’ll let me.  Breathe you in.

You amaze me, Jonah Russell.  Daddy and I will do the best we can for you, for as long as we live.

Mama promises.

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haiti & the harvest festival

Posted in Anderson School, autism, doctor, grandma, iritis, language, placement, Uncategorized, tagged , on October 21, 2012| 1 Comment »

Yesterday was Harvest Fest at Jonah’s school.

I did something very similar to my dorm room door, junior in college – only we glued real leaves to the wall…

We visited his classroom and spoke to his teacher, who gave us a folder full of Jonah’s work sheets and art, then told us Jonah has good days and bad days, which is teacher-euphemism-talk for he’s really difficult, randomly, and it’s frustrating. He is one of the most verbal kids in the class, so they don’t use PECS with him anymore.  I guess Jonah has a vocabulary of sight words and he really loves occupational therapy.  His teacher is young, pretty, and interested, with a sharp mind for noticing important things and a kind heart to care about the children.

There are teacher’s aides as well in the class, and occupational/behavioral therapists, and art/music teachers, and they all work together to educate these mysterious children like my Boo.  Amazing.

What a beautiful day, too, sunny and warm and autumn-pretty – after visiting the school, we walked to Jonah’s house and then to the recreation center, where they had bouncy bounces set up, grills cooking up yummy food, and activities for the kids.  We waded through the groups of kids and teachers until we found Boo.

They’d actually managed to get him to wear this headband with two curled black pipe cleaners and red leaves on the end of each one.  He used to hate stuff on his head — hats, hoods, Halloween costume accessories.  When or why or how this changed, I have no idea.  In some ways Jonah is very malleable; he morphs almost magically into a different kid, one little corner of his brain making seemingly arbitrary decisions in matters of head coverings and food preferences, who he requests to be with him in the backseat, what he wants to drink:  appoo ci-der?  milk?  cranbewwy soda?

When we caught sight of him, he was standing next to one of the picnic tables and seemed to be doing okay, but as soon as he saw us, he wanted out.  And so he got a bear hug from Pa (my dad) and then my mom and Andy and I brought him to Andy’s apartment.

Jonah’s newly renovated house – Jonah’s window overlooks the playground behind it, and the pool behind that.

Jonah leads the way to the car.

Jonah being silly as his dad helps him with the car harness

When we’d completed our usual tour of bath, lunch, and car ride, Jonah requested the “grow-shee-store?” At the self-checkout lane Jonah started screaming in what I can only describe as “obnoxious joy.”  I told Andy to go ahead and take him out while I weathered the stares (usually Andy’s privilege) and paid for the food.

And after we’d been back at the apartment for a while, my mom and I left.  My car drove us home okay, but when I tried to run to the grocery store later in the day, the steering wheel was shaking and the car pulled heavily to the right.  I guess tomorrow I’ll have to drive it (gingerly) to the shop by my work and leave them a note with the keys.  Sigh.

I was just thinking:  It has been a long time since I cried over leaving Jonah behind each week.  I don’t know what that means, if it means anything at all.

I will also tell you this little not-about-Jonah story:

With my favorite pastor ever (the recently retired Father Noone) I’m joining a committee to support a school being built in Fontaine, Haiti.  Father went to Haiti and helped cut the ribbon on the opening of the first three grades.  The money needed to build the school (and, before that, a well) was in large part funded by special collections at the church from which Father Noone retired.  And now, that same church has explained to Father that, due to financial challenges, they will be unable to continue to support the Haiti project except for a second collection twice a year (or something equally lame).

Disappointment at this decision aside, I am helping Father Noone raise the money needed to keep the 105 students there for another year.  It’s just $300 per child.  That’s $25 a month for a year.  Or, as the commercials like say, “for just pennies a day” — but it really is true.  Hell, you could spend $300 just buying school clothes and supplies here in the states.

These are children who would otherwise have to walk 4 miles a day round-trip to school in another town – in a country whose villages have no electricity nearly three years after the 2010 earthquake.  Unimaginable.  Try to picture that happening here, how enraged we would all be.  Hell, I remember an ice storm some years ago and being frustrated at its four day interruption of my normalcy.

Anyway, if you can help (in any amount), please click on the link and donate from there.  If not, I’ll never know.  I wouldn’t judge even if I did.  Every cause wants money.  I just want to help Father and this school he believes in as much as I can.  This quote by a wonderful author (who had to write under a male pen name to get published) describes Father Noone perfectly —

“In spite of his mildness and timidity in reproving, every one about him knew that on the exceptional occasions when he chose, he was absolute. He never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on someone else’s behalf.”
― George Eliot, Middlemarch: A Study of Provincial Life

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first world problems & lottery tricks

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, grandma, placement, swimming on August 13, 2012| 3 Comments »

I haven’t felt like blogging, which is unlike me, but lately it feels like I’m whining.  I feel envy and anger and grief, then I feel guilty for feeling envy and anger and grief.

In the midst of earthquakes and shootings, all I bitch about lately are first world problems:

I forgot to buy coffee creamer.

Jonah has a “management” at school (which is a euphemism for an aggression requiring a “takedown.”)

I have to write two articles for the Capital District Parent Pages this month instead of one, so I’ll have them done before I go to Mansfield, Missouri to see Laura Ingalls Wilder’s home & Pa’s fiddle on my birthday.

I haven’t been practicing/learning my Spanish enough.

That kind of crap.

So I went to my first organized party since I was in Four Winds.  It was my cousin’s son’s son’s 1st birthday.  (Boy, that sure dates me!)  I was afraid to go.  I’m always afraid to go to parties, especially when there are children and those children are regular ol’ kids running, playing, and making everyone smile.  I’m afraid my envy will burst through the fragile veneer of my smile – afraid I’ll cry and make everyone feel weird or uncomfortable.

Then someone says “you should have brought Jonah over,” and I’m afraid my anger will burst through the fragile veneer of my calm – afraid I’ll get snotty and say, “do you think I’d have placed my child in a residential facility if I thought I could bring him to a party?”  He’d attack the little ones and wreak havoc on the party-goers in general.  Of course it’s not as if the person who said that to me was being anything but kind and accepting, but still the anger rises.

None of this is fair.

But I kept the envy down and the anger away and simply enjoyed the people I haven’t seen for so long, all my relatives I love.  I did cry at one point, but it was only because my uncle M was talking to me and made me feel so embraced that my tears were ones of heartfelt emotion, pulled out of me by his loving-kindness.

Small steps.

On Saturday Andy drove Jonah up to my mother’s house.  It looked so threatening in the sky – about to rain, about to rain.  I begged God:  please hold off the rain until he gets a chance to swim (in my mother’s neighbor’s pool).  And then the rain did hold off so he could swim, and Jonah asked for train and we did see a train, and we ate sandwiches and chips and drank black soda.

On another note, I’ll buy a few Powerball tickets because it’s up to $305M.  Because that’s what people do…a dollar and a dream.  I never realized it before but there are all these websites where you can increase your chances of winning through statistical analysis.  I’m sure now I’ll definitely win Wednesday night, and turn my son’s school into a freaking paradise for kids with autism.

A few pictures from Saturday:

pimpin’ his Guster shirt

Jonah, in his element

My boo is still up and down, still attacking with no motivation.  Today when he aggressed, they were taking him to the pool, for God’s sake.

Nice goin’, Jonah.

I’m off to send pictures from the party to my aunt, and then squeeze in some Rosetta Stone.  Then sleep — beautiful, wonderful, awesome, comfortable sleep.

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jawbone

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, tagged , on April 22, 2012| 2 Comments »

When the principal himself at the residential school for autism
where you bathe live learn eat play please God are loved
calls my cell, I happen to be away from it. He speaks in an even tone.
I am upstairs pouring coffee comfort ritual routine into a blue mug.

A pretty co-worker comes into the kitchen, skirts me silently,
retrieves something from the fridge, and walks away. Invisibility.

My mother has just dropped me off in beginning-of-the-rain grey
after together we’d ushered my suffering sweet Sugar into Sleep.

I return to my cubicle, place the coffee down I am holding my breath
and on the cell phone a red light blinking blinking his area code

I dial into the voice mail it takes me two times, I hear Jonah is okay,
I hear significant incident hear how they tried to redirect him, keep him walking.
He was violently aggressive he needed a two-person takedown;
he likely hurt someone. More than one someone. Surfacing to bite.

Born of me who hated hitting, shrank from violence, submitted every time,
weak and yet I grew a wild white whale inside my womb, Ahab be warned.

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kiss quiet

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, grandma, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged on April 15, 2012| 3 Comments »

Yesterday’s visit with Jonah was awesome!

We all expected him to be thrown off by his temporary move, just the night before, to a different house for 4 or 5 months while Birch House is renovated.  But the caregivers know how to prepare the kids.  Staff took the children to the new house lots and explained over and over again about the move.

But you never know what’ll set Jonah off, and this kind of change seemed likely to have made him angry.

To be honest I really didn’t want to drive down at all.  After losing Sugar and spending a couple days in an “off” place myself, I hesitated to risk another bad Saturday, another violent visit.   My mom would have gone anyway; nothing keeps her from seeing Jonah, but she’s more selfless than I.  In the end I went with her;  I missed Boo awful too.  Plus, it was such beautiful weather so I decided to spin the wheel and hope it landed on GOOD DAY.

It did.  Jonah was happy and excited.  He and I sat in the back of the car on the way to Andy’s apartment, and he sang with me, played with his hands, and looked up front at daddy and grandma.

But he didn’t ask for “daddy in backseat” like usual.  He was content with mama.

We played where is thumbkin and I taught him how to be The Fonz.

Aaaayyyy!

Jonah wanted to kiss me lots.

He’s got this little game he plays where he asks “kiss?  kiss?”  and we move our faces in slowly toward one another until, at the very last moment, he smiles and I end up kissing his teeth.

“Yuck!”  I say with an exaggerated icky-face, which sends Jonah into hysterical giggles.

“Kiss?  Kiss?”  he asks again.  “Oh—kay”, I say slowly, “but only if it’s a real kiss.”  So he arranges his face into mock-seriousness  as we prepare to move in for our kiss but he just can’t help it — the sides of his mouth twitch in suppressed laughter and he and I both start giggling.

Of course everybody gets his or her share of “huck?  huck?” and real kisses too.  Hugs and kisses, bath, park, turkey sandwiches, black soda, Hudson-River-by-the-train-station:

Then holding daddy’s hand and walking back down to see Grandma again…

In the car he wanted “more kisses?” and it made my heart fill up with something usually not present anymore.

“Kiss hand?” he asked, holding his arm out –so I took his little hand and kissed it.

“Kiss cheek?”  he wanted next, so I leaned over and soundly kissed his soft-child cheek.

“Kiss quiet?” he then said, holding out his pointer finger.  I took his finger to my lips and kissed it, tilting my head at him inquiringly. 

Kiss quiet?

He held the finger up to his lips:  “sshhhh.”

Oh!  “Yes, Boo,” I whispered, smiling, admiring the clever way his mind constructs language, the way he is a new kind of lexicographer.  “Kiss quiet.”

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light it up blue: boo says please & thank you

Posted in autism, doctor, placement, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged , , , on April 2, 2012| 4 Comments »

There is something almost routine, now, about kissing my son goodbye after a visit or a doctor appointment.  But sometimes I step back unwittingly from that routine and kissing my son goodbye comes with a horror that feels like the day we said goodbye for that first awful time at the school. 

My mind is pretty good at erasing or dumping some memories and then it refuses to get rid of others;  I will never be able to escape the memory of kissing my son goodbye that day.  I don’t think I’ve ever held my breath for longer than when they led him away, out the door, down the hall.  Gone. 

When Andy and Jonah left today it felt like that.  I had a difficult time listening to what the doctor was saying and absorbing it all.  I gave her the direct number of Jonah’s nurse at school and I wrote down a lot of information before I left, though.  The conversation helped to snap me out of longing to run after Jonah and snatch him up into my arms.

For a while I have needed to go out in an empty field somewhere and scream my head off.  Really scream. 

It sits inside me, that scream.

World Autism Day.  Light it up Blue.  Good.  Make them aware.  Research, figure this out.  Please and thank you.

Today the doctor was a pediatric rheumatologist who is only in Albany two times a week.

Remember when we had to drive all the way to Boston Children’s Hospital?

There was a rumor that she had a practice in Red Hook, close to Boo, but no one could confirm this.   So E took matters into her own hands and found out this doctor lives in Rhinebeck (which also is near where Jonah lives).  E tracked her down and called her home phone to ask her does she have a practice in Red Hook or not?  

(E is badass.  I told you so.  She gets shit done).  But the doc’s got no practice in Red Hook.  

So today Jonah, in honor of World Autism Day, got his official diagnosis of JRA (Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis).   Now I am becoming acquainted with yet another disorder/disease.  There are several kinds of JRA, and Jonah’s is called Pauciarticular Onset JRA – the most common form of JRA.  Of the three JRA subtypes, (reads the brochure) children with pauciarticular have the highest risk for getting chronic eye inflammation called uveitis.   So it is piecing together, albeit slowly.  Next Tuesday we’re going back to Dr. Simmons again to see what now.  I’m researching Methotrexate, the drug they’re thinking of recommending.

As I typed this CNN e-mailed and asked me if I’d like to write some more, so I said yes of course, in honor of World Autism Month.  My favorite pressure, the pressure to write.  I guess because it doesn’t feel like pressure at all, the writing.  But as before I have no given theme or direction — they’re entrusting that to me — so I’ll kind of be winging it.  I am honored just to be asked.

Here are some pics of Jonah from the doctor’s office today – I love taking pics of Boo!

First he was happy.  “What color are the flowers, Boo?  Let’s count them!  1…2…3…4…”

Then he got antsy and needed to walk the hallways.  Black kitty he said, pointing. (I think it was actually an owl.)

Luckily we were at the end of a hallway with a big window.  He visited here quite a few times.  It makes you wish you had one of those passes you get if you take your kid w/autism to Disney.  They go first.  No waiting.  Seems like implementing this at the doctor’s would be a really good idea.

I have to say though, she was very cool, this doc.  We’ve been fortunate to have caring doctors for Boo.  A doctor even took the time to help me find where to go when I’d gotten lost.  Thank you, Dr. D.

“Grab a hold
Take these melodies with your hands
Write a song to sing
Isn’t such a bad, bad world

And I say these times are strange
I can feel it in the night
I’m standing in the dark
Holding up for the light

And here I’ll remain
‘Til the great sun shines
Standing in the dark
Waiting up for the light…”

~ Guster, Bad Bad World

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sharp that would shock them all

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, placement, Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on March 18, 2012| 3 Comments »

I have been writing back and forth with several mothers, some who found me through the CNN article, others I’ve known a while, through one path or another.

E has a child in a residential educational facility too — her child has been there 3 years now.  We write to one another of how it feels.   We hold one another up.   Recently, I wrote to her:

I am beginning to understand that there are a lot of us.   Who have done this thing.  Who feel this way.   Who struggle with mixed emotions – first one, then the other…feeling the guilt and the freedom together, a strange mix of relief and grief.  This is all just swept under the rug.  No one talks about it, acknowledges it, does anything about it.  I’ve had enough of that.  So many families struggle and are in pain.

I want to try to write a book.

Who wants to read a book when there’s no happy ending?  friend E  e-mailed me when I suggested this.

I thought about all the books I have loved that did not have what most would consider happy endings:  The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.  Of Mice and Men.  The Bridge to Terabithia.  The Awakening.  The Giver  (maybe; that one’s left open to interpretation).  Every Shakespeare tragedy.  Alas Babylon.  And on and on.

So I wrote back to her:  Yes. We can compel them to create one!  And she immediately offered me her support and help. Then I thought of the book, The Help – how Skeeter compiled all the stories of the women into a book.  Should I do it that way?

I think we need to have a voice.  There are a lot of people who need help.    Maybe the local autism society can help me figure out how to go about increasing awareness of the ‘behaviorally dangerous’ end of the spectrum.   The rest of us.

Maybe they could call us the prism of the spectrum of autism.  What should be a clear view through transparent glass,  fractured into bits and pieces of what is really there, all the while shooting beams of incredible color in every direction.  Thrown and shattered, though, the prism’s really fucking sharp.  Sharp like people don’t know.  Sharp that would shock them all.

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jonah, jealousy, & hearing anne empie sing again

Posted in Anderson School, autism, behavior, placement, singing, singing, The Anderson School for Autism, Uncategorized, tagged , , , on January 29, 2012| 4 Comments »

Well I almost missed my connecting plane in the ridiculously gigantic Atlanta airport but thank god and little baby jason, my next flight was just one gate away, maybe a 60 foot walk.  And it was so wonderful to step off the plane and back to my pretty little city, even though it was about 35 degrees colder than San Antonio.

I didn’t get in until midnight, which is waaaaayyyy past my freakishly early bedtime.

Andy drove Jonah up to see me and “gwandma” at my mom’s house around 11am the next day, thank you Andy, so I didn’t have to get up early and drive down.  But the visit was short, and Jonah wanted daddy or grandma, not me.  I’m jealous, and it hurts, and I know intellectually I should not take this personally, but I long for Jonah to run into my arms and squeeze me tight, the way he does with his daddy.  I want him to ask for me the way he asks gwandma? gwandma?

And then of course I don’t.  Why would I want my child to hurt more by missing yet another person?  I love him with all my heart and that’s what matters.  His daddy is down there with him – takes him to the grocery store despite Jonah’s screeches and screams,  bearing stares and glares and God only knows what, then drives him to the park or the train station…in the cold, on windy days, without complaining, just so Jonah can get fresh air, fun, and exercise.  There is no denying Andy is a fantastic father.  No wonder Jonah goes flying into his arms.

But the last time I drove down with my mom to visit Jonah, I walked in the door first and there he was, my sweet little boo, sitting in the chair nearest the door.  He looked up, saw me, and immediately looked around me for his father.  And it felt like shit.

I need to remind myself this blog is subtitled “autism: sans sugar-coating.” 

I’ve been sugar-coating-by-omission, trying to sound optimistic and cheerful and fine.  This visit wasn’t fine.  They were gone before we knew it because Jonah started flipping out, getting all ramped up and squirrely, rapidly cycling through requests, growing more and more frenetic.  All red flags for meltdown/violent behavior.  Tune Fish Samwich?  Car ride?  Bath?  Bath?  Bentley (the neighbor’s dog)?  Hot dog?  Bath?  Want Cookie?  Then, always, and worst of all:

Home?  Home?  Home?

After their visit I lay down, my head aching, thinking about the Ned Fleischer Life Celebration that night.  Luckily I got to sleep for a few hours, then I picked up an old high school friend (who also has a child on the autism spectrum) and we drove there together.  

It all scared me the death.  In high school I mostly stood in the background and admired people.  And was jealous.   (There we go, cycling back to the jealousy).  Here’s where I could learn a lesson or two from my son; I bet Jonah’s never been jealous a day in his life.

But I was not jealous, not even one little bit, when Anne Empie Ryan stood up to sing.  With that incredible voice, that voice I hadn’t heard in 25 years and would have paid money to hear, she sang two soft, heart-wringingly tender songs.  Clear and strong, she bravely swallowed down everything – her grief, her self-doubt – and sang her heart out.  I put my hand to my face to try to catch the tears rolling freely at all this beauty and pain….a standing-room-only of young and old who loved a man dearly because he was, without doubt, one-of-a-kind – and her perfect tribute to him, from all of us, delivered by the voice of an angel.

Memories landed on memoies, filtering, slowly, and I was unsure at first of names, though I recognized so many people.  I put on the bravest face I could and approached many folks I knew (and a few I didn’t), trying to appear normal and fine.  Luckily, crying didn’t seem out of place here.  When I walked over to Anne after she sang, we hugged tight, sobbing and holding one another like best friends.  

Everyone was so kind to me.   I didn’t have an anxiety attack (which felt more like an accomplishment than it should have)  and I was grateful for the smiles and gracious greetings.  I had fun and met or re-acquainted myself with a dozen or two really awesome people.

That’s something to be said for Mr. Fleischer; after all, every one of them was there to celebrate him.  He attracted good people. 

It was a beautiful tribute – and though, yeah,  he may have been pissed at all the attention given to his “life and times,” I think he also, deep down, would have been proud. 

Is proud.  Smiling.

And still perpetually tanned.

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