It’s ten minutes before the hour of the time I decided several hours ago to stop my writing and pick back up on the Mommy Bus. After dropping my son off at school over thirty minutes away from home, I realized I struggled with little results in writing production. I committed myself to looking forward to the opportunity to write while he attended school. Thank goodness for public libraries! I carry my portable office and get to sit in a place with minimal distraction. Right? Continue reading
Reflecting on the memories; I’m skipping along the dirt road where the speed limit couldn’t be any more than 5 mph because the bumps, dips, and rocks slowed any vehicle trying to travel faster with terrible shock repairs afterward. The trees seemed tall and grand. The brook talked playfully as the dragonflies dipped and soared around, catching food unseen. The sun would peek through the pines, warming my skin as I climbed the rocks to cross the brook, pretending to be an explorer in a strange land. I loved being outside, the air expanding my lungs and making them feel bigger than the usual breaths in the city.
Every weekend, I stayed with my grandparents, was a treasure to keep and sear in my mind forever. Mom had to work, so Mem and Pep stepped in to keep us safe and captivated in the surroundings they chose to use as their legacy. Like surrogate parents, they taught me and my brother all the responsibilities to share in a family. They loved to be outside. Sun Valley gave them the opportunity to establish solid memories and great times of fun and teaching with the element of laughter whenever warranted.
Campfires were one-of-a-kind because Harvey had a way with fire that called neighbors to come enjoy some fresh popcorn, beer and a game of cards on a chilly nights when the sun went to sleep. Watching him build each fire was like peeking into the process of a highly crafted artist, each stick and log in a specific place so that the oxygen could flow and give the fire its immense breath. How incredible! The colors he could bring out of the fire, made it seem like a rainbow with lots of reds, yellows and orange, then blues, purples and greens as the embers could still kick up a burst if prompted in the right way.
Just like the fire’s smells and colors, the days and nights spent in Sun Valley held our attention and our youth. These memories help me to see how camping and living with Mem and Pep on weekends, or whenever my mom had to work, pulled and formed me to become who I am and the pleasurable moments being outside can do.
My son looks at me from under his glasses as he sets his head all the way back on his lower shoulders. I tilt my head and ask, “Is that comfortable or are you stuck?” He often does this when his medicines are full force or he is tired or bored. Sometimes I see him staring off into space, eyes darting from side to side. Sometimes they go faster, sometimes a steady side to side movement with nothing to focus on. I sit and watch his eyes pick up speed, while the drool comes dripping from his mouth. I pick up the magnet and hold it to the left side of his chest for a few seconds. He coughs and continues to cough for a minute. The Vegas Nerve Stimulator in his chest has sent a message to his brain, stopping the production of Gabba chemicals making the incessant seizures he experiences on a daily basis.
This is my life on a daily basis, with little change except that the seizures may be faster than I am able to combat with the magnet. Many of his seizures are flickers of impulse, a momentary daze, or a tremor in his arm or leg, or a sudden nod of the head for no reason. My nerves are fried; or desensitized by the effect of these seizures that they almost appear to be ticks. Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome is my worst enemy. Yet, I struggle to maintain a battle against the-hardest-to-treat-form of Epilepsy.
Where do I find my strength? My husband continues to shower love and affection on his “baby boy”. When he comes home for lunch or from work, our son drops whatever is happening and spins his wheel chair around or scoots his way across the floor to his Daddy. Joyful, happy vocals come from him as Daddy will sing his favorite song and clap with him.
When my other sons, sit with Lucho on the sofa while I get his seizure medicine so that he doesn’t fall, and I see them playing and sharing time together, I smile, giving thanks that I have children who are loving toward each other. It encourages me to see the positive interactions because I know that not every disabled child has siblings like he does.
When Lucho smiles at me from over his glasses, I feel stronger because his determination to love and be loved is his primary goal, each and every day. I see the angel in him. I see heaven’s extension of grace and glory because he is driven to continue to smile, laugh and play.
As I drove my son to school this morning, my mind began to wander to the memories of two years ago. In a rush, the feeling of a gravel sea tossing and turning us around in a storm pricked my sentiments. I checked my son in the rear view mirror. His smile causing me to imagine the Grace of Angels. My hands held the steering wheel a little tighter as we climbed steadily around and over the bridge that over-hung the Marina to our east. My eyes returned to the road. Taking a deeper breath than usual, I pushed the memories back again.
After passing the area where our accident took place two years ago, my imagination prevailed in creating a stable, normal sense of daily interactions. We are fortunate to be able to continue with our imaginable daily routine. We are fortunate to imagine faith, safety and grace. I have rosaries in my vehicle. My imagination helps me to see the symbol of power of faithful protection. While I am still plagued by the memories of that tempestuous event that nearly destroyed us, my imagination empowers me to strive for tranquility.
“I hold to the wonders he has done, his miracles, and the judgements he pronounced. ” (Paraphrased from Psalm 105:5) I find this to be the most incredible coincidence….or not.
My son is attending school after four years of rehabilitation through the advocacy of his mother. While he attends a medically fragile classroom, he shows eagerness and joy to move closer and closer to his teacher’s classroom door where his friends are looking forward to seeing him. It’s 2018! Wow! He is shining. He is smiling. He is so happy to be.
His miracle reminds me it’s okay to be. Take the time to “smell life”, to cheer when the sun glistens on the river, bursting brilliant rays that chase the chill of the night.
As a little girl, I had a pet cat, which came to be mine through my mom’s second marriage. I enjoyed this cat name Kid because it taught me responsibility and was so much fun to play. I taught it to do ‘jack-in-the-box’ and scare my brother. Kids was the firs pet to teach me responsibility. My affinity for cats lasted more than twenty years.
Every pet thereafter was a cat. When I went to teach in Colombia, I raised four kittens without their mother, when they were recently born and still without sight. I kept them in a box with soft towels, and a baby doll bottle to feed them milk, until they were old enough to go to new homes. I was their surrogate. I fell in love with one of the kittens and kept her for myself.
Cats were a successful pet for me. They were always easy to care for and easy to play with. Litter boxes and food left in their bowls allowed me the easy freedom of singleness. They would wait for my return, always happy to see me as they walked up to push against my pant leg. Cats allowed me the flexibility of caring as a parent with the not-yet ready for the responsibility of true parenthood.
Since my true inducement into parenthood, I’ve come to be the dog lady. I did have a puppy years ago, but failed at my attempt of diligence at being a parent to my puppy, Maxwell. I gave him away, but never forgot my inability to be diligent and learn how to be a good dog owner. I look back and feel as though it could have been different.
Now it is different. I have two dogs which were rescued through the sheriff’s program. I’ve become a dog lady instead of a cat lady. I find it interesting when I reflect on how things change and turn for our better development. While being a mom of three boys, I’ve learned much about being a diligent parent. Moms almost always make comparative notes with other moms to decide and measure one’s caliber as a parent.
With the arrival of our new pets, I learned from my failed experience with Max. I learned that I needed to be trained with my pets so that we could live harmoniously. If it weren’t for the cost, I’m sure there would be more training to learn on all parts. Now, not only am I finding that diligence doesn’t stop with children. It continues with the dogs. Because the cats are more “independent” in their nature, the dependence dogs have on their owners is almost synonymous to children and their mothers. Happily, as my boys grow into adolescence and on to adulthood, I have our four-legged friends to keep life happening. The boys are better attached than before Angel and Daisy.
Even though my boys are becoming more independent, my diligence in character and discipline continues. Now it extends beyond three boys to include two females. While working hard to form good citizens, I am working to form well-mannered pups. The continuity of parenting children and pups seems synonymous. Thankfully, practice makes perfect.