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Posts Tagged ‘miracle’

On Thursday the 7th, I took time off work for Jonah’s quarterly glaucoma doc appointment.  Two Med Run Peeps drive him the 90 minutes up to Albany every time in the Anderson van; Jonah rides in the way way back, transported like His Majesty the Prince of Rhinebeck.  I was very much looking forward to seeing him.  It has been a long, long stretch of time since Boo has had an aggression.  Since maybe October.  I was hopeful he’d be glad to see me.

The stars were aligned this day.  It was Laura Ingalls Wilder’s 152nd birthday, the Med Run Peeps were being their awesome, caring, kind selves, and Jonah was cooperative and happy.  Silly and funny.  Amazingly good.

Even more so when you consider that, unlike most visits to this doc, we had to wait a while; they wanted to take a scan of Jonah’s eyes before he saw his regular doctor.  So we moved to an empty area of the waiting room, where geriatrics henceforth feared to tread – though those with vision watched us curiously and not unkindly.  Jonah laughed his brash, loud laugh, pacing up and down the row of empty chairs.  He hugged me and asked for more kiss? again and again.

My son is nearly a man.  In a photo, he sometimes looks like a regular kid who is 16-going-on-17.

In person, though, there is no mistaking him for a “normal” teenager.  His disability is as visible as if he were in a wheelchair, and to be honest I don’t mind that.  In general, people are more compassionate now.  When Jonah was very young – until he was 10 or 12, really, this was rarely the case.

Back then, to some, Andy and I were bad parents of an out-of-control kid.  Once, an autism-denier went so far as to comment that I should give him Jonah for a week and he’d “straighten him out.”  (I think his comment is still on that long-ago post).  I remember how tempting it was to let him try… just to sit back and watch Boo kick his ass.   If there is anything from those darkest days I miss, it’s the secret evil pleasure of watching Jonah attack a smug doctor who’d ignored my earnest warnings of severe aggression.

I talk about the pendulum swinging: aggressions and respite, hope and despair – our cyclic existence with no real patterns upon which to prepare for the next “season.”

Dare I pretend
to hope
to believe
Jonah’s aggressions have disappeared altogether?

Since autumn of 2010, I don’t think he’s ever gone this long without aggressing in some way against someone.  He still gets squirrely, and he’ll swat or “flinch,” as the school calls it, motioning his hand in a warning.  It’s the rattle of the snake, and yet nothing comes of it anymore.  Now it is an end unto itself.

His awesome teacher Sophia wrote me yesterday that he had zero flinches this week.  Not just zero aggressions. Zero flinches.  My hero zero.

I’m proud of my son.  I think he’s worked hard with the wonderful teachers & caregivers to learn how to manage his feelings.  Fred (Mr.) Rogers said he wanted to teach children that feelings are mention-able and manageable.  It may well be one of the most important lessons a person can learn.

The rest of Sophia’s email to me reads:  “This week we learned more about coins and bills, we celebrated the Chinese New Year, the Phases of the Moon, we did an experiment with Oreos to show the phases.  Jonah enjoyed the part where he got to eat the cookies!  We made a banana sushi roll today during Group OT and we also enjoyed a nice walk outside!”

I was so happy to hear about his week and know he spends time learning in ways that are fun and comfortable for him.  When he first arrives at the classroom, he gets under a beanbag chair and blanket for a while.  They recognize he needs to start his day this way and I appreciate that.

And so Jonah is well, and happy.

The rest of this post involves another disappearance – so if you’re here just for Jonah news, all done. 

Every day when I get home and don’t have to go out again, it is my custom to take off my winter ‘office work boots’ I wear nearly every day and place them next to the radiator in my bedroom.  So on that same day – Thursday, February 7, I came home from Jonah’s appointment and put the boots where I always put them.

That night I woke up at 1am mid-migraine, head pounding hard.  I immediately got out of bed and took the med that stops my migraines about 50% of the time.  Then I stumbled into the bathroom and, without turning on the terrible light which has become my nemesis, found a washcloth and ran very cold water over it.  I returned to bed and nearly started crying in despair for what I knew was likely coming:  the 24-36 hour marathon of puking, even the tiniest sip of water rejected; dehydration and retching causing my head pounding to worsen and the head pounding causing nausea, on and on in a nightmarish underworld where there is only pain and the desperate desire not to be in pain.  In those first minutes lying down with the cool cloth, I prayed.  I prayed the fervent, frantic prayer of one willing and ready to strike a deal with Divinity.  Please, please, let this migraine subside and I’ll do anything.  You can take anything from me. Just make it stop.

And lo, on this day in the year of our Lord twenty nineteen, the migraine stopped, blessedly subsiding into nothing – the pain retreating as if ordered to cease and desist.  I eased into unconsciousness before I could pray or even think my thanks.

The next day I awoke…

…and, as part of my every day morning routine, got dressed, reached for my boots…

And this is what I saw:

One boot.

I looked under the bed.  No boot.  In the closet.  No boot.  After a while I didn’t have time to look anymore so I found my old pair from last year and wore them instead, telling myself I’ll find the other one later.  After all, how hard can it be to find a knee-high boot?  Yes, I lost 3 books of holiday stamps after New Year’s, but those are stamps.  This is a freaking boot.

Only later that day did I realize I’d promised in my prayer the night before to give anything for the migraine to go away.

The only conclusion I can come to is God took my boot.

It is now the next day, Saturday, and my mother’s birthday (Happy Birthday Grandma, says Boo).  I have conducted a thorough search for the missing boot.  I have looked in ridiculous areas and places where no boot could ever hide.   As of this writing I have no explanation, and I’m trying not to think about it all too much, lest it freak me out completely.

If after my death I am deemed so wonderful as to be considered for sainthood, could this missing boot count as my required miracle?

The world may never know…but I’ll keep you posted if I find it.

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Jonah is well.  There is the usual stress for him associated with the end of school, the break in his routine and its resulting aggression or crying jag.

When there is a day off from school Boo is used to visiting with his daddy, but his daddy can’t come and get him every day and poor Boo can’t understand that – or perhaps he simply refuses to understand it.  I can’t wait to see him on Saturday.  Last Saturday I had less time to see him because I attended a parents’ group meeting on the Anderson campus.

Jonah has had a few aggressions since my last post.  My mind has blessedly shifted from a place of “watch the pendulum, hope it doesn’t keep too fast a tempo, wish it would silence itself into coda”  into a calmer spot of radical acceptance, where Jonah is Jonah and we all help him nurture, grow, and get through periods of stress, fear, or anger.  Especially his beloved daddy; long live Jonah’s amazing daddy.

Jonah and daddy = love

Jonah and daddy = love

This morning I walked outside to check my tomatoes (which will be miraculous plants if they are even close to “knee-high by the Fourth of July”).

I squinted at what looked like a piece of wood stuck in the fence…half on one side, half on the other.  I moved closer and saw it was a bird – a young bluejay, sitting as if too big to get out of its spot and fly away.  From about a foot away, I looked at the bird and the bird regarded me calmly.  I reached out to ever-so-gently touch its feathers, thinking maybe it had been stunned scared by Almanzo-my-cat, but Manzo was inside.

Then I crouched down so we were eye-to-eye and I stared deep into the bird’s  sparkling, black, liquid eye, feeling like Ricky Fitts filming the “beautiful dead bird” in the movie American Beauty…remembering him, for a moment, and how he felt about death, and that paper bag he danced with — how he said:

That’s the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video’s a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember…I need to remember… Sometimes there’s so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can’t take it, and my heart is just going to cave in.

I snapped out of this and went into Wildlife Rescue Mode.

How do I help this bird?  It has to be injured; otherwise it would have flown away quickly the moment it saw me.  Confused and trying to remember everything I’ve ever learned about nursing a bird back to health (which is one chapter in a Laura Ingalls Wilder book where they find some baby birds and try to save them, failing one by one until they all died).

I went into the house and got a shoebox.  I put a soft dish cloth in it, then took another dishcloth and went back out to lift the precious little bird gently from its perch, lay it in the soft box, and examine it carefully.  When I came back, not one minute later, the little bird had flown away.

And circling above me was a larger blue jay, soaring from branch to wire to chimney.  Though they are chirpy and scolding birds, this one made not a sound.  It was as if he were saying hello, and maybe thank you, as well.  I double-checked around the fence to be sure the little one hadn’t fallen.

It was simply gone.

And so I clutched my box and soft cloths and went inside again, sweet tears coming into my eyes.

This day I was able to visit closely with a small bluejay, who was not afraid of me in the least, and have a conversation with his father (?)

A miracle to begin a beautiful day.

“And when I awoke I was alone
This bird had flown…
So I lit a fire
Isn’t it good?”

~ Norwegian Wood by the Beatles

I am so blessed.

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I bought a small package of M&Ms yesterday at the grocery store – one of those impulse buys you make in line while reading front covers of rag-mags featuring things like Snooki’s latest antics and Kate Gosselin’s hot new bikini body.   I never take Jonah with me to the grocery store…haven’t done it since he was a baby.  Andy brings him along on occasion, but since he claims he does not physically tie Jonah to the grocery cart, I can only deem this a minor miracle of the same magnitude as my dad taking Jonah along (not once, but twice) to Catholic Mass while the child sat quietly through the whole hour.

I barely believe these stories, but there they are.

At any rate, the stupid little bag of M&Ms has been the bane of our existence ever since.  When I got home from the store I put the bag on the counter, not thinking much of it.  Jonah’s superior candy radar scoped it out almost immediately, though:

“Skittles?”  he asks me, mistaking my bag of M&Ms for the similarly shaped multicolored treats.

“No, these are M&Ms.” I tell him. “And they’re mama’s,” I add rather meanly.

“m m m?”  he pleads.  He has not been a very good boy this day.  He was screaming at school and he hit a teacher, then was a mess at the after school program too.  I am barely in the mood to feed him dinner, let alone candy.

Finally I get him to eat something dinner-like (he has been really good lately about eating raw veggies dipped in some kind of dressing) and then I stingily offer him two M&Ms.

“What color are they?” I ask.  “s’orange,” he replies as he gobbles them down.  Then:  “m m m?”

I give him two more, again playing the color game.  Then, to avoid any further dilemma about M&M distribution, I tip the small bag and pour the rest into my mouth and down the hatch.

“m m m?”  he asks me again.  “No more,” I say.  “Sorry, boo.”  After a while he allows himself to be tempted away with the promise of playing with moneycoin downstairs.

He obviously hadn’t forgotten about it, though.  This morning when Jonah woke, he came in our room, climbed into bed, and loudly announced:  “m m m!?!”

Next time I buy chocolate I’m hiding that shit.

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