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joy to the boo

Sing like no one’s listening, love like you’ve never been hurt, dance like nobody’s watching, and live like it’s heaven on earth. – Mark Twain

I feel like I’m always here to complain about or bemoan something. Maybe that’s because I most need to write when I am sad, or angry, or stressed. But today I’m here to share a little bit of good.

I think this link will allow you to view the 8-second video of a very joyful Jonah (though I can’t get the sound to work. He’s tapping his tummy rhythmically and happily). Thank you so much, Briana, for sending it to me.

Jonah’s happiness is unencumbered and pure – the kind the comes with zero self-consciousness and complete abandon. He’s the poster child for the expression “dance like no one is watching.” I watch these 8 seconds of joy over and over, as if to embed it in my brain. Mold it to my memory.

I miss him so much. I didn’t visit on Sunday, even though that’s the day I normally would, because the weather was so crappy. We couldn’t walk in the cold downpour, and without his walk, the visit would be kind of a bust. So I’m taking today off and picking him up at school for lunch and a walk. I’ll bring him his favorite McDonald’s food – he’s been asking for it lately – and we will walk together first one way, then the other, around the campus.

Jonah has always known joy. As a small child, playing with discarded confetti from SUNY Albany’s graduation ceremony…

….and as an adult, triumphantly raising his handmade ornaments to the sky at the Anderson Center’s Christmas tree lighting.

I need to have faith in the joy.

I’m grateful I need not tell him grandma is gone. He will remember her always – of that I am certain. His memory of people is a pristine portion of his brain that operates seemingly perfectly. And it’s untarnished by grief, by the knowledge he’ll never see her, or anyone else he has lost, ever again. So many people have moved through his river of a life. Teachers, grandparents, direct service providers, friends, babysitters. I don’t know how he feels when a particular person is no longer there. I don’t know how he feels a lot of the time. But I know when he feels joy.

Maybe that’s enough.

Joy to the boo…and to all of you.

the familiar fear

Monday night I joined an Anderson Family Partners call and they discussed the transition process for students into adult placement. Participants asked questions about definitions and possibilities, hoping for good news about the future of their loved one…of an agency willing to take them on as an adult. There is an Anderson agency that provides adult placement, but any hope of transitioning to that program was dashed quickly by one of the staff members on the call before anyone could even ask. I forget the language they used to announce this, but I remember the reasons were not very clear. Something about finances and impossibility. I wish they’d been more transparent about the exact problem so we might at least consider tackling it, but I was in no mental state to speak up.

You see, in the middle of this discussion, my phone rang; it was someone from Jonah’s house calling to tell me he was just in two takedowns, one right after the next, and had attacked two different staff members — which of course distracted me from the transition process call. I’m so sorry, I told them. Boo is very sorry. It was out of the blue, I am told. He was fine one minute and having a violent behavior the next. It’s all too familiar.

Every time Jonah starts to look good on paper, he has another aggression. I wonder if I should even be typing this — will it hurt his chances? I reckon not, for it’s all documented and the agencies will find out anyway. It’s the agencies, after all, who need to consider taking these kids. They have files on each student, and it’s my understanding that OPWDD (Office for People with Developmental Disabilities) reviews them regularly, a few times a year at least, and conducts meetings with Anderson to discuss the individual in question. But still no agencies are considering Boo.

I have a list of the agencies located in different counties in NYS, and I have been encouraged to research them…find out which group homes offer tours, talk to other parents, advocate to get Jonah into one I like. But during the discussion they said when a placement opens up, you pretty much have to take it. What if you don’t? I wanted to ask. For that matter, will it do me any good to advocate for this place or that place when none of the agencies are even considering my son – and even if they were, there’s really no choice anyway?

I’m sure it’s all about money – and staff and resources, which means money. I figure it can’t hurt to do research and know as much as possible about the agencies, no matter what happens, for knowledge is power. And power, my peeps, isn’t something I wield all that often. Not when it comes to a lot of things, but especially not when it comes to my son.

On Saturday I drove down to see him for Anderson’s Thanksgiving-themed family lunch. I met Jonah at his house and we walked together to the school building. I figured he’d be able to guide me to the cafeteria, and sure enough he did.

We got in line and he took utensils and a tray, and I wondered how well he would communicate with the servers behind the glass guards that protected each dish. Hi Jonah, one person said. What would you like? Fascinated, I watched as he pointed at this and said no to that, declared “pumpkin” when asked which pie he wanted — I didn’t even know he liked pumpkin pie! — and chose a table for us. He made short work of the mashed potatoes and pie, mostly, then asked “more?” – and rose from our table before I could answer.

I wasn’t sure what to do at first, but I figured it’s his school and his cafeteria and he probably knows what he’s doing. So I sat and watched him as he returned his tray to the proper place and headed back into the line. It looked like he may have cut in front of a few hapless fellow diners, but aside from that it was smooth going. He took another tray, moved through the line again, and came back to our table with a plate piled high, his independence an amazing thing to behold.

Afterward he asked for walk, which of course I’d expected, so we made our way first one way, then another, around the campus, listening to his playlist. It was a beautiful sunny day, and we both shed our sweatshirts before we were done with the walk.

I left happy and refreshed by our time together, and I’m grateful every time we have a good visit. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit afraid on our walks, especially when we’re out of sight of the residences and the school building. Then again there is fear, nowadays, in everything I do. Fear of change and fear of stagnation. Fear in walking through my mother’s big empty house and fear in not knowing where Jonah will be living. Fear of making the wrong decisions, for there are many to make. Waking fear in early black mornings and daytime fear of being found out, of being exposed, of the big reveal: me as broken, stupid, grieving, useless. Nighttime fear, always in the too-fast pounding of my heart and the elephant sitting on my chest.

This is how it is right now but it will not always be so. Pema Chödrön, one of my favorite non-fiction authors, suggests offering Fear a cup of tea. Saying “this too” to the experience. Noticing where it arises and what it feels like. Getting to know it, however it chooses to arise.

But mostly I want to throw the cup of hot-ass tea in Fear’s fucking face. Let Fear feel afraid for once.

Here’s the part where I return to being thankful, for tomorrow is Thanksgiving – and thankful is a good mental state to embrace, so I embrace it often. I’m grateful for my friendships, my relationships and my relatives, my co-workers and peers, my Guster, and all of you helping me keep it together.

And there’s a big event in 2024 for me to anticipate with full-on geeky joy: the 50th Anniversary Festival of the TV show Little House on the Prairie, taking place in March in Simi Valley, CA. I’m totally going. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get Jonah to the ocean this year.

I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and, if I am not back to post again before then, happy holidays as well.

My mother & Boo’s grandma, who adored him above all else in this world, passed away on Sunday, October 1, 2023, after suffering a massive brain bleed on Tuesday, September 26. There is not much to tell – Tuesday at dinnertime she complained of pain in her right eye, then she quickly deteriorated (suddenly not knowing where I was in the room, ignoring everything on her left side) so I called 911 and rode with her in the ambulance to Memorial hospital, where a CAT scan proved the problem and a kind doctor explained she would not survive the only operation that would give her a chance.

Soon she could only look at me and squeeze my hand. By 3am, when they took us by ambulance to Samaritan Hospital in Troy, she had lost the ability to communicate. I thought she would pass away that night, but her strong heart beat for 5 more days in hospice care with no fluids or monitors, nothing but morphine and the swab sticks I used to moisten her mouth. Her whole family – my cousins and aunts and uncles – came to support her – and me.

The hospice workers and nurses at Samaritan were wonderful, cleaning my mother so gently, talking to her and making sure she was comfortable. I never felt like she was suffering, thank God.

At night I pulled a lounge chair next to her that thankfully folded out flat, and there I lay in the dark and the quiet and I loved my mother. I felt more love and compassion for her during that time than in maybe the whole of my life.

They told me she could hear me, so I made her a playlist of songs with her name in them (Daydream Believer and Little Jeannie) and artists she loved (Englebert Humperdink, Anne Murray, Barbra Streisand, Frank Sinatra), and we listened to music together. I played her favorite movies (Gone with the Wind, My Fair Lady, The Sound of Music).

I held her hand and watched her breathing. When sometimes she would pause for long seconds between breaths, I resisted the urge to shake her. Not yet! I’m not ready. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

It’s hard to explain. All I did was complain about her, I know, so I never imagined it would be this hard when she died. I thought I would feel relief, and a little unsettled. Instead I am pulled and pushed through a threshold of raw emotions. I turn in circles and get angry, then depressed, then confused, then resentful. I do feel relief, some, and an overwhelming sense of the unraveling of everything I grew accustomed to since I came here to live just over 9 months ago. All the daily preparations, cooking, cleaning, laundering, toileting, brushing her teeth and filing her nails and everything she needed, 7 days a week. The absence of it all is a strange vacuum.

I walk around this house and look at things and don’t know what to do with myself. I go through one drawer or closet at a time to keep myself busy, sifting through pieces of her life, then putting them back. It’s hard to decide to do anything at all with them. It feels like I’m erasing her to move her things.

For 9 months I was itching to be free, to get out of this house and join my friends on beach trips and getaway weekends, to go camping or travel somewhere or just have a break – any break. Now she is gone, and I don’t want to go anywhere and I don’t want to do anything. I don’t feel like getting up or making food or talking to anyone.

I don’t know how to not have a mother.

I don’t want to do whatever this is I am doing, but there is only this and there is only the doing of it. On Thursday I will drive down to visit Boo; I will hug him extra tight and tell him grandma loves you so much.

Jonah and grandma

Rest now, momma. I love you more than I knew, and all the bad stuff is forgotten. Farewell.

the graduate

Mr. Braddock: Don’t you think that idea is a little half-baked?

Benjamin: Oh no, Dad, it’s completely baked.

The Graduate

Jonah graduated from the Anderson Center for Autism on June 23. It was a beautiful ceremony with 19 graduates, I think, and the school was very smart to keep things short and simple. The ceremony was held under a large tarp, and each graduate was provided with their own table for family and friends. As each name was announced, the graduates came up one by one in cap and gown to receive a certificate and have their picture taken. There were a few minor behaviors from a few of the graduates, but we all expect and accept it – after all, those graduates are at Anderson for a reason. It’s not like out in the world, where you might be shushed, judged, or barely tolerated.

After that, there was a yummy buffet spread. A lot of the graduates had a whole group of people to celebrate them, and I was afraid Jonah’s table would look empty with just me, but several people from his residence and school came over to sit with us.

Jonah made his usual request – go walk? – so we had a short stroll and Briana took that picture (above) of me and Boo holding hands, all smiles. She also created a celebration board complete with photos of Boo throughout his life, got him that amazing cake you see above, and decked him out in those awesome duds. Have I mentioned she goes above and beyond?

It was an excellent day of celebration, and I’m grateful for everyone who worked hard to make it so special. Now that Jonah has graduated, he’s staying at Anderson, of course, as there are still no adult placement options available. There is a graduate track for Jonah and others who have no placement yet, so he won’t be left without a day program.

In fact, August 16th was the 12th anniversary of Jonah’s first day at Anderson – the day he cried “home?” on the terrible car ride there in his plaintive little voice. The day of disbelief in this surreal thing we were doing. The day when Andy and I dropped off our only child and left our hearts behind with him.

We all survived it, though not unscathed. Actually I would say we were very scathed. Completely baked, just like in The Graduate. I wouldn’t go through those years again for all the money in the world. But I’ve said all this before.

Later this month I’ll get to see Jonah at the Dutchess County Fair – they’re bringing some of the kids on a special day for people with sensory issues, and I’m taking the day off to meet them there. I wonder what he’ll want to do. Surely the food and the animals will both be attractive to him, but I’m not sure about the rides. When he was little he’d go on the merry-go-round, but even then he eschewed the horses in favor of sitting on the boring bench that does nothing. I’ll keep you posted…you never know what Boo will choose. I’m sure a lot of walking will be in order, at any rate.

There’s more going on, as usual, and I’ll talk about that in my new blog – whose link is over to the right under My Favorites – The Other One.

Until next time, my peeps, be well and enjoy the end of summertime!

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.

Happy first day of summer!

I had the pleasure of attending Boo’s senior trip with him a few weeks ago at Camp Pontiac, this amazing summer camp that donated the space & resources (including lunch and staff) to Anderson for the day.

Here we are in the gym, which was full of trampolines, mats, and other fun equipment aplenty. We had just jumped around a little together and were taking a break in this photo.

It was the most time I’d spent with my son in a very long time, and he did so well! He was happy and interested. I took the day off from work and met him there – for safety’s sake, Briana drove him separately in the Anderson van, instead of on the chartered bus the other kids took. Each senior had a special tye-dye t-shirt with their name on the back, and there were scheduled activities (cookie decorating/ painting) as well as the ability to ditch those and walk around the huge campus. Jonah did a little bit of everything.

Here we are in the painting cabin. They had flower pots or canvases, and Boo chose a canvas – then proceeded to mostly watch me do the painting.

After that we walked up one path and down another, past cabin after cabin, by two lovely pools, and a little stream that ran through the whole place. At 12:30 they served delicious lunch – there were burgers and chicken and salads and dessert. We ate together at a picnic table and then my time was up and I drove back to my mom’s, where it has been 5 months and counting since she fell and I moved in. I immediately sent a thank you card to Camp Pontiac and am so grateful for this special day with my son.

I am moving everything non-boo related into a blog called The Other One that I’m going to keep in my portfolio at writing.com. I’ll only say here that my mother and I are (mostly) getting along better than we were, and that last week I left an olive-branch phone message for my father, but he never called me back. I’m kind of a wreck, to be honest, and have resorted to taking klonopin a few times in the past week, lest I harden up into a steel frame of a middle aged woman who can no longer move at all. My shoulders, neck, head, stomach, muscles….all are tightened and taut and hurting. I’m upset that I’m this upset, which is, well, upsetting. I’m reading The Body Keeps the Score and am beginning to understand how different kinds of trauma manifests in our physical bodies. It’s a very interesting read, though I can only listen in small doses, switching over to lighter fare to keep my focus balanced.

I have Friday off for Jonah’s prom and will be back with more photos and hopefully an awesome anecdote or two. The week after that is his graduation, and my bio relatives from Arizona are visiting too.

As Guster says, let’s face forward, move slow, forge ahead. Speaking of Guster, they are coming to Tanglewood on my birthday! Plus they came to Tulipfest here in Albany for free, so you bet I was there. A Guster show is always full of joy – the whole crowd singing along during Terrified: Open up your heart! Everybody’s got it hard; we’re built, then fall apart. We’re all terrified. Indeed we are. Indeed I am.

Onword ho…

“One more itch,
you son of a bitch
been a waste of my time
always
Now you’re half awake
you bend till you break
you make the same mistakes
always…”

Happier, by Guster

One day, I will live in a little log house on 30 acres of woods in Chatham, NY. There will be a stream, and a hill, and trees everywhere you look. I will befriend birds, squirrels, rabbits…all manner of wildlife. I’ll spend my days making trails, stacking rocks, and creating tiny homes for elves and faeries. I’ll have a big pool or pond just for Boo; we’ll dance to Guster and play in the leaves. Hell, I’ll grow gardens of veggies just to feed the deer; they’ll be the happiest critters in Columbia County.

Y’all can keep this damned divided country full of hate. Demonize the Other all you like. I’ll be on my own little parcel of peace, all done trying to be good enough, all done trying to make a difference. All done. Quiet. Calm. Still.

One can fantasize.

The good news is Jonah has been doing well. He’s got 3 upcoming events and I’m looking forward to attending them – a senior class trip, prom, and graduation. Briana is going to be at all 3, and she’s helping me coordinate some cool clothes Jonah will wear for the occasions. I’ll be sure to take lots of pics to share! I just saw Boo this past Sunday…it was a rainy day and I was worried I’d only get to be with him for a short while, so I brought some DVDs to coax him into hanging out a while after we ate lunch at the Visitor’s Center. As if through divine intervention, though, the rain stopped long enough for us to take our campus walk, hand in hand as usual, playlist on full volume. We adore our walks. Jonah truly loves his mama unconditionally, and I love him unconditionally as well. We don’t have to say anything to one another to know it. It’s a singular bond.

I interrupt this post to tell you I’m about to ramble, complain, and bitch, blah blah blah – so if you want to skip the rest, go right ahead. I promise the next post will have stories and photos of Boo.

I’ve moved the rest of this post to my new blog at writing.com – here is the link if you want to read on, and more, about things not necessarily Boo-related.

https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2302924-The-Other-One

First, for full transparency, I have worked in the Independent Living (IL) disability community for nearly 7 years.  I am very familiar with the IL movement and its philosophies, and I wholeheartedly agree that all people with disabilities deserve respect, dignity, and the same rights as those without disabilities.   As an individual, I advocate with and/or financially support many disability organizations and initiatives, including the NYS Disability Rights Hall of FameFair Pay for Home CareNational Alliance on Mental Illness, the Brooklyn Center for Independence of the Disabled, the National Council on Severe Autism, and the Disability EmpowHer network.

Further, I am expressing myself as an individual and not a representative of any organization.

I am a woman with disabilities as well as the parent and legal guardian of my 21-year-old son, Jonah. If you are new to this blog, I’ll tell you Jonah is an engaging young man with a great sense of humor. He loves music, walks, car rides, trains, swimming, hanging out with his caregivers, and visiting with his parents, among other things. Jonah is verbal and usually expresses himself in short phrases. He also has severe/profound autism, severe intellectual and developmental disabilities (I/DD), glaucoma, and aggressive/violent behaviors. 

I recently received an anti-guardianship letter in my work email. After reading the letter, I decided to contact two members of the organization’s board to ask questions and offer a different perspective.  During both of those conversations, I was invited to present my thoughts on guardianship, express concerns about their hardline approach to guardianship, and relate my own journey in obtaining guardianship for Jonah. I felt heard by both of these individuals, and they both agreed that further conversation is needed. 

They subsequently brought my concerns to the board at large. I received an email from a board representative in which it was incorrectly assumed I needed instruction about the nature of IL and its mission. I was not asked any questions about my situation, nor was any interest expressed in my voice. After I replied to the email and tried to explain myself, I received an answer assuming I was writing solely as a parent in need of edification about Supported Decision Making (SDM) as an alternative to guardianship. Had that board representative taken the time to ask about Jonah, it would have become apparent that SDM is not an appropriate solution for him.

I decided to respond here, and talk about a few other things while I’m at it, as I don’t wish to attack any individual or group but rather address some issues I’ve observed about the disability community in general.

I am somewhat familiar with SDM but to learn more I visited the SDM website link provided in the email. I reviewed the information and watched the videos, each of which profiled an individual with disabilities making complex life choices with assistance. In every case, those profiled had far greater cognitive, behavioral, developmental, and intellectual abilities than Jonah.  I am not underestimating my son. Jonah, and many others like him, simply do not possess the ability to have conversations about decision-making, to weigh the consequences of their actions, or to formulate goals, no matter how diligently they are guided.

Jonah has his own room in a house at a residential school for individuals with similar severe disabilities and self-harming/aggressive behaviors.  He needs 24/7 supervision and supports, and he requires a restraint protocol for his violent behaviors. Anti-restraint and anti-congregate care rhetoric is ubiquitous in the disability community. I’d like to hear a solution in lieu of restraint while being physically attacked by Jonah or any other individual with severe autism. I’d like to know where we can house and educate our children when our windows and walls are destroyed, our families live in constant fear of physical injury, and our children are kicked out of special needs day schools because of violent and/or self-harming behaviors which cannot be mitigated.

With the right support, some insist, everyone can live independently in the community.  That sounds great, except the level of support Jonah needs is not only unavailable – it’s nonexistent. In fact, he is ready for an adult program and there is currently nowhere for him to go. These realities do not make me pro-institutionalization, pro-congregate care, pro-restraints, pro-guardianship, or pro-nursing home. I am frustrated when parents are dismissed as short-sighted or, worse, are attacked by those who seem to believe there are no people with severe autism and severe I/DD. There is a pervasive and condescending anti-parent tone to many disability conversations and conferences; while I agree that choices made by an individual should supersede those of a parent, parents need not be perceived as enemies by default.

I most certainly support the right of all people with disabilities to practice self-determination. But possessing the right to do something isn’t very useful if you don’t also have the ability. Some individuals with disabilities simply can’t make the choices that the disability community so ardently insists they have the right to make. I challenge anyone to offer Jonah SDM services.  I challenge them to make a video about Jonah, and in that video present important life choices to him, using PECS or any other means of accessible communication.  Please quote his responses, verbal or otherwise.  And don’t forget he may physically attack you at any time during the process.

Of course, I wouldn’t expect anyone to do any of that.  People like Jonah – and those more severely impaired than Jonah – don’t fit into the preferred narrative. It’s easy to see why. Their dependencies are inconvenient and their stories aren’t pretty. Most autism groups look right through them, and most self-advocacy networks seem embarrassed by them. Too many disability organizations claim to represent ALL people with disabilities – but they don’t want people like Jonah on their websites.  They don’t want people like him in their videos.  They don’t want to see people like him at all.

To deny the existence and experience of individuals like Jonah is an egregious offense on the part of any disability community that calls itself inclusive.  If you refuse to acknowledge him, you’re not alone.  The significant population of severely I/DD individuals is almost always overlooked.  I’m used to that.  But I’m tired of seeing them swept under the rug during these important conversations.  It’s as if we advocated passionately to get these individuals out of workshops and Willowbrook, then turned our backs on them completely.

One can support the IL movement AND allow for guardianship, restraint protocols, and differing living situations if necessary and, most importantly, where there are no workable alternatives. These things are not mutually exclusive.  I’m proof of that, and I’m deeply disappointed that anyone in the disability community needs reminding that people like Jonah exist. Their unique needs are just as valid as those with higher level cognitive, behavioral, and intellectual abilities.  It’s important to remember they cannot advocate for themselves to say so – which makes them all too easy to ignore. 

If the very disability community to which they belong won’t acknowledge them, who will?

Until the National Council for Severe Autism (NCSA) was formed, I didn’t feel people like Jonah were represented anywhere. NCSA’s guardianship position statement says, in part: Guardians provide an invaluable role in maximizing the quality of life of severely autistic individuals, and NCSA supports guardianship as a fundamental protection for this vulnerable population. The statement also points out some important concerns regarding SDM.

I stand by my decision to obtain guardianship of Jonah as the best and most caring, logical way to ensure he enjoys life as independently as he is able, with dignity, in the least restrictive environment. 

I am not asking the disability community to change its intent to ensure people with disabilities have the right to live and work independently in the community, lead others, and have self-determination.  I agree with that important mission. I also support the fight for fully accessible communities, and I hope someday my son can live in the community with the supports he needs.

In the meantime, I do wish to see kinder, more respectful and open-minded discourse with individuals who question a disability organization’s stated beliefs. I do wish to see changes in the disability community’s thinking and rhetoric to reflect full inclusivity, crafting language that acknowledges all populations of individuals with disabilities and provides exceptions to some of the hardline beliefs which, as they stand, are both exclusionary and ableist.

Nothing about us without us.  That means all of us.  

Well I did say in the last post that this would be a big year — but I had no idea just how big.

A few days after I last wrote, my mother fell. She didn’t answer when I called her that morning, which was weird enough – but when she didn’t call back after I’d left a message, I knew something was wrong. So I drove over and found her lying on the floor of her bathroom, frustrated and hurting. No bones were broken, so over the course of a few hours I helped her up and back into bed (she absolutely refused to have an ambulance come). I’ve been living here ever since, taking care of things and carving out a space for myself in this sea of fake flower swags and Thomas Kinkade. As if to illustrate Murphy’s Law, the Life Alert emergency response system I’d ordered arrived on her doorstep later that same day.

And so we began a new journey, on a foggy road, with no clear path ahead and random raging storms. My mother will not accept nursing/medical care, so we’re kind of flying blind. She isn’t breathing well and she’s very shaky, but she enjoys her puzzles and her meals and her TV, and for the most part we are getting along.

Still, I regularly bitch to friends and family about how stubborn my mother is, how tropical she likes the heat, or how exhausted I am…but I’m also grateful. I’m grateful I’m not in my 20s, itching to play pool and drink margaritas with my friends at Café Hollywood on Lark Street. I’m grateful it’s not summertime and I’m not missing out on trips to music festivals or Hampton Beach. And I’m grateful I’ve got some stellar friends and family who have provided support, gifts, flowers, food, opportunities to get out, and company — all of which make a huge positive difference.

I marvel at how the experiences throughout my life have led me to this caregiver role. I had a child in diapers for 9 years, which better prepared me for this. The pandemic sent us home for work, which enabled me to move my office for both jobs here. Working as a caregiver some years ago taught me a trick or two in finding ways around difficult tasks, like changing sheets when someone’s lying in the bed. I reckon I was about as ready for this as I could be.

Luckily my mom loves cats, so it was a no-brainer to bring my two cats with me. And I’ve been able to get out for a few hours at a time here and there. When I visit Boo I’m gone for at least 5 or 6 hours, so on those days I serve my mom a hot meal for lunch and wrap up a peanut butter & jelly sandwich for her dinner while I’m away.

When I get frustrated, I try to put myself in her shoes. Her home has been invaded and she’s lost a lot of her independence. She doesn’t feel well, or strong, or in control of anything. She turned 80 in her bed. (I sang Happy Birthday and brought coffee, plus one blueberry muffin with a candle in it). We’re doing the best we can.

Speaking of birthdays, Boo is almost 21, and all our minds are blown. 21?! How did that happen?

I’ve had great visits where he devours his pizza & wings dinner, then we walk together around the campus, always with music on. His current favorite song is Attention by Charlie Puth, which is about as pop as pop gets, but he still requests Guster first and foremost, usually on a playlist I made that begins with Fa Fa. Last time I visited, it was a recording-breaking high temp of 64, so we ate at the picnic table!

I have a few new photos to share, too – Jonah likes his beard and always answers “no” when asked if he wants to shave it off.

I’d like to blog more often, because there are other things to say – but most days I’m too tired. There’s a meeting on Tuesday about Jonah’s “exit plan” from Anderson, which so far isn’t much of a plan. We shall see…

Be well, my peeps. Back soon, I hope!

the big year ahead

This year’s Christmas card came out a little dark, but I love the pictures anyway:

Last week when I drove down to see Jonah, there was a mix-up at the Visitor’s Center and both rooms were occupied, so we made do by having our dinner in the 2nd floor conference room. Briana was there to help, and the room had napkins, chairs, a table, and my phone to provide the tunes – so we had everything we needed. This time Boo wanted to dance, and he pulled me up to bop around as he grinned and giggled. It’s always so awesome to see him happy. He must have said thank you 3 or 4 times – for handing him my phone, for giving him a drink, for opening the blue cheese container…and each time it feels like a precious thing. Spontaneous language of any kind is special, and I know it took a lot of work to teach him. After dinner we took a walk in the dark and cold, and I couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he’ll be at Anderson. On March 7th he’ll be 21, and he’ll graduate in June.

I’m told he’s on a special list for kids aging out who are not currently being considered by any agency, and there’s a meeting soon about that. Jonah can stay at Anderson if he needs to, and it looks like he will need to, at least for a while. As Jonah and kids like him get older, there will be fewer and fewer spots for adult housing and day programs. Openings are few and far between. I used to think I’d do a lot of research and then Andy and I would choose the best possible placement for Jonah, but it doesn’t work that way.

There’s a portion of the disability community who vehemently insist that all people with disabilities can and should live independently, in their own residence, in the community. I’m not sure if they simply refuse to acknowledge people like Jonah or if they really believe all necessary supports will be provided to enable someone like him to live at home. After all, it’s just me here. I’d need 3-4 strong DSPs (direct support professionals) in my home pretty much 24/7, and that’s not on the menu, even if I had a big enough house to hold them all. If I did, and if I could, I’d love to have Jonah living with me again. I’m amazed at how much it hurts sometimes, even after 11 years, to live apart from him. Mainly I want him to live as happy and fulfilled a life as possible.

I’ve joined the National Council on Severe Autism‘s National Grassroots Network (NGN). To quote NGN, “We exist to help ensure that policymakers tackle autism as an urgent national priority — and are fully informed about the realities of autism and challenges faced by families across the country. We in the NGN will operate in all 50 states and across all congressional districts to emphasize the needs of the rapidly growing population of children and adults who need continuous support, and often, specialized services.”  I’m thrilled and grateful to be a part of an organization that finally addresses the needs of individuals like Jonah.

You can see NCSA’s official positions on a variety of issues in its position statements covering topics such as guardianship, housing, language and more. I stand in agreement with them all.

For now we’ll move one step at a time into the future, thankful for Briana and the other DSPs and teachers at Anderson, who care for and teach Jonah every day.

Happy Holidays, everyone! I wish you all a blessed 2023 full of love and laughter.