Tuesday, September 11, 2012

9/11

The phone rang, 11 years ago, and not unusually, Glenn answered. What he said next and what we witnessed next was unreal, horrifying, heart wrenching and unifying.

Turn on the TV.

And how I wish we hadn't. I wish I hadn't watched that first tower burning, how I wish we hadn't seen the second plane hit and watched, through tears and the news channels, in an incredible use of poor taste, played those images over and over. It was as if the news channels were almost gleeful that something had happened that could now devote hours upon hours to explaining and analyzing, criticizing and inflaming a response. It was NOT all major networks finest hours. I wish I did not have those images of people, wives, daughters, sons, fathers, jumping from those burning buildings, oh I wish those images were not seared so deeply into my sub conscious. I wish I had not heard myself saying NO, NO, NO so much that I heard it in my dreams for weeks.

One unimaginable thing after another that day. And yet, someone had imagined it, had practiced it and had relegated those people, who were doing the most basic of things, working, to being victims. And their families, to being Widows, and Widowers and never giving them the chance to say 'I love you' one last time.

As the first hour passed, Glenn called one of his employees to find out if his brother had gone to work that morning. There was no word. He had not been heard from. It took another 3 hours to hear that he was OK. Three long hours.

We had visitors with us that day and we had planned on going to Disneyland. We could not help the Special Needs young man understand what had happened. When we told him that Disneyland was closed, he couldn't understand why and was very upset by it. THAT was difficult. One wanted to scream that people had died and we had to be careful, but he didn't understand that. It was then, I learned patience. THAT moment. I mean, the patience that comes with having a Special Needs child. I had patience in spades before that but I learned what it is to have to distance yourself from YOUR moment for a time, even if it is a moment shared by millions of other people, it was not shared by that one young man. He could not grasp it. And maybe he was better off. I had to repress my reaction and replace it with compassion, understanding and patience, while we tried to get him to understand that we could go some other time. Tomorrow? Probably not but we will see.

Honestly, I don't remember when we went. I know we did, but I don't remember it. I have the pictures but they do not illicit any memory of the event. I was too shocked still, too saddened. The only glimpse I have of the Disneyland day after the attack was of me holding onto to Glenn crying.

As the stories of the heroes of that day emerged, so did the flags. On every porch, on every car. The ribbons were everywhere too. I, naively thought, this changes everything and we will be more unified. It did, and we were, for a while. I am sure that in each part of the country the timeframe was different but in California, it lasted about 5 months. But even after 5 months, we were still bombarded by the joy in the streets elsewhere at the death of other human beings. To this day, that STILL shocks. A lot of things shock me about that event, but that is the strongest: Joy at death.

Over the years, many things have changed, and all things are still the same. But me. I will forever hold that memory with me. Because I will NOT let it go. I refuse to let it be a story in a history book. I remember it. I was changed by it. I was overwhelmed and consoled by it. I will not apologize for my tears this day. I will hold my children longer and be grateful for the experience life has yet to teach me. I reflect on the past, and I relate it to the future, so that I might learn and I might teach my children. How different might the future be because I honor the past?

Leia Mais…

Sunday, July 31, 2011

Please...shut up.

I have really been avoiding Facebook as much as possible. Trying to get caught up on the family and friends and trying to avoid the other crap.

Today, after Bug's 2nd day of 4 seizures and not eating too well, and after a week and a half of watching him struggle just to walk, sometimes even sit up, I have found myself really resenting people complaining about...well...mundane things and people supporting them as if they lost something really valuable. I mean, really? Where the hell is the perspective?

I read the posts of people who have told me that Bug has his problems because I am not going to church, complaining about how horrible it is that their scrapbook page didn't win an award and yet, they tried really hard on it and it was beautiful. Or how I should just pray more (as if they know how much I pray) talking about how excited they are about the latest wizard/vampire/escapism novella/movie is being released. Correct me if I am wrong but isn't that idol worship of sorts? At the least it's giving credence to something that has a demonic undertone to it? I don't invite any kind of evil into my life, except maybe modern medicine. I have been hiding those people, maybe later I will get around to deleting them, friends, family or whatnot. I want to scream at them: shut up, I wake up in the middle of the night just to make sure my eight year old is breathing. I research the latest advancements with his condition, I prepare his cream and Ketocal and beg him to eat his favorite food so he doesn't lose anymore weight. I give him 4 medications, 2 times a day and think about how cool it is that it's not more. I follow him around to make sure he doesn't run into the door handle again, I check him daily for new bruises, because he won't tell me, and I plead for him to say Mama, just one more time. I wait by the phone for the Doctor to call, and every time I leave him with someone, I worry constantly. I have had friends think I am a horrible parent for taking 3 or 4 hours here and there to myself, and really, those people are just trying to avoid having to be thinking about anyone other than themselves. Believe me, I am always with my son, even if I am not sitting next to him. It goes deeper than other Mothers, it really does and the ones that argue that point...don't have a child with Special Needs. So...shut up. Don't complain if I ask you for help...it's a REALLY BIG FREAKING DEAL when a Special Needs Mom asks anyone for help, because she doesn't believe anyone can take of that child like she can, and letting go, is like turning over your heart AND your lungs to someone else.

And I don't complain. I may say: Dang, bad day. But the words: Why me? Why him? NEVER leave my lips or show on my computer screen. I mourn things he can't do everyday, and I look at the pictures of his happier days, and sometimes I cry. I don't cry in front of anyone and I don't create drama for attention. Even though, these things he can't do and these things he is in danger of daily are palpable, and not getting the best seat in the movie theatre, or finding out the my favorite author isn't writing anymore, those things, don't even make the list of truly lamentable things. Sorry.

Yet, I look at the lives of the people that place such importance on these things and I think about how miserable they must really be. If something that has no real effect on their lives, physically, is so devastating, then how much life are they missing? If they are so immersed in something that they comment more about that thing than the people in their lives, they must be unfulfilled.

I don't admire, worship, or give lip service to people I don't personally know. Dad used to always say: They sit to shit, just like you do (be offended, go ahead, it's my Dad NOT ME). Keep it in perspective.

So I have learned to find joy in little things as much as big things. I spend my time with people that I love, not that people I wish I knew. As too many people like to say: What would Jesus do? Would he go to HP8 or Camp Spike and Wave?

Easy answer. Harry Potter...is not real.

Now, I continue to wait for the Dulcolax to work so Bug can feel better. What are you doing?

Leia Mais…