Grace Bats Last

I didn't mean to do it.

I was rushing - trying to get my kids to school - calculating the opportunity cost of three minutes , maybe it would be two, of putting on my shoes.

No time.

I couldn't afford another tardy.

I broke my ankle last August and the sheer obstacle course of living my life without bearing weight on one of my legs for eight weeks made for quite a few tardies in my son's life.

So, on this rainy day, I walked barefoot to my car.

Dropped the kids off successfully.

Went to get out of my car and my feet landed in a very small puddle.

It was a foot baptism.

It brought me to the moment.

Took me out of my to-do list...

my oh-my-gosh-our-world-has-gone-nuts list...

my distracted movement through my days...

to a tiny puddle.

It felt so good that a thought popped into my mind:

take Buddy for a walk, barefoot.

I did just that.

Giggling at the craziness.

Enjoying the light-heartedness.

Relishing my ankle's new found strength...

I baptized myself.

It was just what my heart needed.

I want you know something very important:

YOU and YOU alone know your path to healing.

Even if its weird, or makes no sense, or seems impossible like walking the Pacific Crest Trail did for Cheryl Strayed, you know it.

So I walked and felt the bumpy earth, the soft grass, the twigs and leaves still left on the ground.

I walked and thought of all the many people who can't walk, who are in a hospital fighting for their life, in a prison locked away, in a grief stupor too deep to feel anything...and felt the breath of grace.

As I walked, I reminded myself of my warm shower, my cozy clothes, my very happy stripe-y umbrella and again thought of the blessings I often do not notice.

This past week-end, dear friends of mine celebrated their eight day old son's Bris.

They called it Superbowl Bris Day.

What's a Bris?

It is a celebration of life - an ancient faith-filled tradition for people of the Jewish faith.

At the Bris, the family reveals the Hebrew name they have given their son.

Etan's Hebrew name is Elie Shimon.

He is named after two incredible heroes of the Jewish faith that passed away while his mother was pregnant with him.

Elie Wiesel and Shimon Peres...

one a Nobel prize winning author and Holocaust survivor, 

the other an Israeli politician that was both the President and the Prime Minister...

and peace-maker.

Watching Etan's family welcome him in such a mindful, intentional way was humbling and healing.

Having the opportunity to read these words at his Bris is a gift I hold very close to my heart:

"You are your parents' dream realized, their hopes fulfilled.

You are the latest and best chapter in the unfolding lives of your family.

You are a bridge over which we, who welcome you, can gaze from this day into future days, 

from our generation into yours.

You are the newest link in the endless chain of our shared history."

Etan's parents shared a powerful quote of Elie Wiesel's:

"Mankind must remember that peace is not God's gift to us,

peace is our gift that we give to each other."

Peace.

Like the rain, at some moments it is ever-present and at other times it can feel far off.

It is within our grasp.

We must only stop and stare with wonder and joy at the gifts showered upon us every single day.

So, for today...I'm grateful for the rain.

For my dog.

For being able to be barefoot and steady...

for friendship and faith...

blessings and grace.

Mostly, I'm grateful for love.

It is sovereign here.

My Guest House

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival. 

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

-- Rumi

Tonight I read this poem at just the right time...so I'm thinking you might need it too.

Lately, things have been hard.

Not necessarily directly for me or to me but swirling around for people I love,

it's been hard.

Real hard.

And I stand in awe of those people...

getting out of bed,

every single day,

putting their lives on and getting out there.

Sometimes, when the universe forces me to s-t-o-p and wait in a long line or

sit in traffic,

sometimes I tear up at the bravery of every single one of these people around me

cloaking themselves in the love of family or good music or faith or whatever
gets them through that day
and out into this hard world.

It's hard...no way around it.

But, then I read Rumi's ancient words

and find comfort.

I've experienced the violent sweep...

a crowd of sorrows,

 as Rumi so heartbreakingly writes.

I'm sure you have too.

And I have to admit that I never thought of that as a guest...or a guide.

Maybe now I can.

So, tonight, I'm grateful for my guest house...
for tomorrow's new arrivals...
and the chance at another day.

And, I'm grateful for you.

The Naughty List

Tonight she asked if I could snuggle in bed with her.

She wanted me up close and holding her hand...that's rare these days, so I went with it.

She didn't say much.

But the quiet wasn't comforting.

It was heavy and it made the room seem extra dark.

All of a sudden, out came the question...

"Do you think I'm on The Naughty List?"

Shit.

Let me set something straight right now.

I'm not a fan of the Naughty List.

I don't use it...or talk about it...or even mention it.
And she hadn't done one thing that would be even close to earning The Naughty List distinction and yet, here it was.

I'm not a fan of doing good because you are guilted into it.

I know that must seem ironic since I am most definitely Catholic and we are good at guilt.

I'm all about doing good, being good, acting good 

because it's the right thing to do...

because that's who you are...

because you know what's important and you value it.

So the tiny voice asking about The Naughty List sunk me.

I had to snuggle in bed and take a deep breath and think about things...

I got close to her soft sweet cheek and whispered to her the only comfort I could bring.

"I know for sure you're not on The Naughty List.

For sure.

No doubt about it."

"Remember, I'm friends with Santa...good friends...I know."

Her body softened ever so slightly and I held her hand in the dark.

I inwardly cussed out whoever created that crappy old story we dish out to poor unsuspecting kids.

We know when we blow it.

We don't need The Naughty List adding another layer to our Big Mistake.

I tried to explain about the process of living and the idea that mistakes are just part of the deal.

I tried to assure her that the normal, day in day out, stuff of life was just that.

Santa understood.

But it's a tough gray zone.

We make mistakes...does that make us "bad"?

Are we only as good as our last mistake?

How do we ever make up for our mistakes?

Do you ever get off The Naughty List?

*****

In the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling her familiar little hand, smelling her sweet Caroline scent I remembered another mother on another December night fighting for her life.

She died on December 23rd. of breast cancer. leaving behind a 4th grader and a 2nd grader when Jack and Mary Kate were in 3rd and 1st.

There was a time, long ago, when every mommy moment of mine was suffused with all of the mommy moments she had never had...that her boys never knew.

In my kids' teen years, when it was hard, I held close the privilege it was to be right there in the center of the ugly.

Even when it was extra hard I thought of her...and her white chocolate and cranberry scones.

But I admit, I hadn't thought of her for a long while.

Years.

Until tonight...when my December 22nd sliding into December 23rd reminded me...

of how lucky we are to be right there for the hard-ness, the bad-ness, the I-can't-believe-this-is-my life-and-not-some-really-bad-movie ugliness.

Life is hard.

Really it is.

Why add The Naughty List?

Tonight, as of this very minute, it's gone.

Santa has no list.

He doesn't need one.

Dude, you are good...so good...and if you're not...well, we'll deal.

You don't need no list to tell you a thing.

Trust your gut.

Know yourself.

Own your actions.
Fix your mistakes.

Make it better.

Move on.

Tonight I'm grateful for late night snuggles and quiet questions in the dark.

That's the good stuff.

The Naughty List, on the other hand, well, that can hit the road.

*****

And Mary Lou, we still miss you.

Still don't understand.

Still wish it weren't so.

December 23rd is hard.every time.

God's Greatest Gifts

I don't know what you hope for, long for or dream about.

I can just share with you the dreams in my heart.

Ever since I was a young, young child I dreamt of being a mom.

I know this is TMI and I know Mary Kate will be cringing as I share this...but, I got my period super late in life -- 15 years old -- sophomore in high school -- in other words, ancient.

Before that time, I knew that if you didn't have a period, you couldn't have a child.

Trust me, my reproductive knowledge was greatly limited but that I knew way down deep.

So my prayer for years was, I kid you not:

Please, please please God, let me get my period.

Let me have kids.

They were always called kids in my adolescent mind.

Always plural.

Not snuggly babies.

Or baby dolls.

Kids...and I wanted plenty.

I guess God knew my heart because he helped me find the right guy and gave me the joy of four great kids.

Four.

That still seems a bit greedy on my part.

I never thought it would be four...but I learned with my very first pregnancy -- which ended with a miscarriage -- that I was most definitely not in any sort of control.

These four are by far my greatest gifts.

My biggest joy.

My purpose.

They are the thread that helps everything else make sense.

I see my children in every child I encounter.

I see every mother in me.

I see every family in mine.

That separation that existed between me and the rest of the world felt a little less with Jack and Mary Kate but it fully disappeared with Patrick's presence.

Suddenly, the marginalized were part of me.

The "broken".

The disabled.

The slow.

The people that others look away from...the people that others don't discuss...that are okay to terminate...those people were now part of me.

There was no way to love Patrick and not see them too.

I look at the way Patrick has changed me and I think of God's gifts.

My dream as a teen...so limited and finite...busted wide open with the realness of His gifts.

It was way better than any dream of mine.

How could I know what to wish for?
Little, sweet Caroline?
How could I know to ask for such wonder?

I never could have imagined it.

Four busy, funny, quirky, messy kids.
Old and young.
Fast and slow.

All I can say is thank you.
Thank you for my kids.
Thank you for the joy that comes with
loving,
 guiding,
 watching,
 hoping,
fighting with and for...

and for the heartbreak.

For in feeling so deeply we get close to what really matters.
This, right here, this moment, this meal, this day is what counts.

Thank you, God, for your greatest gifts.
Put my tiny dreams to shame, no doubt.

Doing Without

So, my family and I went up to one of our favorite family spots.

I wrote about it a couple of years ago: here.

It's called Silver Lake.

It should be called Sliver Lake....since it's just a tiny spot...a sliver in the woods.

Found in 1938 by my husband's grandmother, Mary Goni.

There's a cliff made of giant boulders.

A blue lake fed entirely by snowpack.

Pine trees, crown blue jays, chipmunks, bats that feast on the bugs at dusk and osprey.

Those osprey soar all over the lake, high up, searching for their perfect tasty morsel and then scoop that unsuspecting fish right out of the lake with the most amazing no-shirk-grip talons you've ever seen.

I've seen those birds snatch up their dinner many times and each time I'm the one who's unsuspecting...

wanting to yell, at somebody, anybody, "Did you just see that??!!"

A bird plucked a fish straight out of the lake!!

Can the bird get a standing O right now?

I feel like the guy from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom...full front row seat.

Breathless.

Visiting Silver Lake takes some concessions.

You have to be able to let go of the internet.

There's no cell reception.at.all.

Off the grid.

This is both an endearing quality and a maddening one.

You have to let go of electricity.

None.

You live by candlelight and roaring fires and get in the rhythm of the natural light.

I feel both Amish and woodsy in a Little House on the Prairie way that just works.

Don't mind it at all.

You have to let go of plumbing.

You use an outhouse at Silver Lake and it's actually completely fine.

Yes, you're in a house.  Yes, there are bathrooms and showers.

But, they just don't get used.

(Exceptions are made for very young children. Read: babies. But that's it.)

But this time...this time the well was dry.

Bone dry.

Not one single drip came out of the kitchen sink faucet.

Nothin.

It was eerie.

It was comical. (at first)

It was one more rung on the doing without ladder...and I wasn't expecting it.

True. California is in a severe drought.

True. We have always brought up a couple gallons of water just to be safe.

True. People stayed at the cabin before us and that doesn't usually happen.

Spoiler alert: I should have known better.

So, my family spent four days and used six gallons of water.

Total.

Six people and a dog.

6 gallons.

I developed wizarding skills that could rival Hermione in my dishwashing ability.

We got creative...and miserly...and downright scavengerish.

I even looked at Buddy's water bowl in a whole new way...resentfully.

(and I'm one of those crazy dog-loving people!)

Funny what a little deprivation feels like.

In truth, we had plenty to drink and eat.

We stayed in a house that sleeps 12.

It's just that it had no water.

It had a gorgeous lake to swim and canoe and kayak and play in.

It had rocks to climb.

Hikes to take.

Wildlife to watch.

Best of all, we were together.all.of.us.

Candlelight monopoly games.

Talking and laughing and just being together.

Sleepy mornings and fireside s'mores.

It's truthfully a little slice of heaven...

just without any water.

So, I watched my kids deal...and no complaints came.

The eight year old loved Silver Lake with even more abandon and wonder than last time.

The 15 year old was more worried about the lack of electricity for his Iphone.

The 19 year old was freaking out about trying the gigantic huge rope swing...steeling herself for the moment of truth.

The 21 year old...well, he got it.

#welcometoadulthood

It cut our time short.

It made me focus on something that's been in my peripheral vision for quite awhile.

I've been taking water for granted for far too long.

Mostly, it made me a sister to the millions of mothers who must walk to clean drinking water 

and carry it home.

Only for me, I knew I was a car ride away from that craziness,

 a long car ride, 

but still.

So tonight I am grateful for a faucet that runs...

grateful for a hot shower...

and a flushing toilet inside my home.

But mostly I'm grateful for those five people and one dog that graced my days at Silver Lake.

Sure, we weren't expecting to play a real life game of Survivor.

Sure, our kitchenware didn't win any cleanliness awards and 

we used way too many disposable dishes.

But we were together...

unplugged and in the candlelight...

it doesn't get any better.

Thank you Mary Goni.

Those kids don't even look thirsty!
#waytoomanycokesthistrip

Hanging Out With Eagles

Today was another one of those hold-your-breath-its-really-happening days.

I've been letting Patrick hang out on his own at home.

Just like with typical kids, there's no manual for kids with Down Syndrome.

No rule book.  No cheat sheet.

I really wish there was, trust me, because most of the time my parenting tactic is: 

guess --> see what happens and hold your breath --> adjust.

I try not to be too crazy cautious with Patrick.

That alone is a leap of faith...and a generous reliance on the rest of humanity 

out there in the big, bad world, 

and it's oh so hard.

Not hard for him by the way...just hard for me.

Anyway, he's been on his own at home, probably watching too much TV but learning to have independence.

Today I had to run around and do errands and thought that might be a good chance for Patrick to hang out on his own.

Every other time I've left him, I've found him watching TV or on the computer when I get home.

Today I found him cooking.

He made his lunch.

It was a gourmet sandwich of tuna and turkey. 

He found some tortilla chips and some cream cheese and thought that might be a good combo as well.

When I got back, he had that smile on his face that feels so great to see.

The I-did-it-and-I'm-awesome smile.

As a parent, there is nothing better.

When they're toddlers or preschoolers, you see that look all the time.

As a school age child, occasionally you see it and boy, does it feel amazing.

As your kid gets older and older, it's like a rare sighting of Sasquatch,  you're not even sure if you've seen it...many, many times, their eyes are down and they are smiling to themselves...sometimes there's a perfect moment and your eyes catch each other and you telepathically high five -- with a goofy grin across your face.

Maybe it's because every single step forward is hard won for Patrick, 

or maybe it's because I just don't have any reference points on my trail...

no cute pile of three rocks showing me I've made it to the next spot,

for some reason, the most basic steps forward to independence are marvels and wonders.

Every time, it makes me value my own independence.

It's pretty amazing I can live on my own, navigate the world, pursue my dreams and help my kids and John to work toward theirs.

I don't need much support...but maybe that's because I've been allowed to hang out with eagles my whole life...

there was no question I would fly.

But when you're born with a disability, people want you to hang out with the chickens...

they want you to earn your way to the eagle's nest.

You need to prove your worthiness.

*****

Sometimes, you don't even get to hang out with chickens...you are thrown away, discarded and worst of all disregarded.

Here's a real life example of what just happened to a baby that had the audacity to be born with Down Syndrome while his twin sister did not.

*****

So today, Patrick made his lunch, watched the clock, got his stuff together and 

headed off on his bike to camp.

I hounded him to make sure and text me when he got there.

He promised he would,

and he did.

Later he texted me this costume pic...technology is amazing.

...another trail marker...

three pretty rocks.

Presume competence.

Offer supports.

And then,

...hang out with the eagles, my boy...

Fly, Patrick, Fly.

In Praise Of Those Pesky Dandelions In The Middle Of Our Manicured Lawns...and Other Thoughts On The Pursuit Of Pefection

Stop for a moment and take a look at this...

weed?

piece of perfection?

natural mystery?

perpetual propeller?

We pass it by every day.

Sometimes we are annoyed with the dandelion fluff as it teases us, even mocks us, as it stands so tall among the well-behaved blades of grass...daring you to try to remove it.

Good luck!

Just by the very action of plucking it, you spread its seeds...such a clever mode of transportation.

Maybe you could pick it and make a wish...transporting yourself to a more carefree chapter in time.

Or you can wish it didn't exist with its bold brand of yellow...wish it away...and there's always the option of raining down a little poison.  

Round Up Ready.

So much of our life is just like this...

trashing the miracle...

wishing it away...

trying to change it...

and pouring on the poison.

We poison ourselves with the pursuit of the perfect lawn, the perfect abs, the perfect wrinkle-free skin and see no joy in any of these gifts.

As I watch all of my neighbors kill their lawns because of our severe drought, I sure wouldn't mind a lawn or two with dandelions.

As I notice people with so many health problems, I'm pretty happy with my abs of imperfection.

As I slather on the sunscreen around my eyes, I can't help but feel those laugh lines as they get deeper and more pronounced...almost everyday I wonder what I've been laughing about.

Too many good memories.

So fun to imagine which joke, which comedy, which unexpected joy made those lines.

I must have been having one heck of a time along the way.

Perfection is a hollow pursuit.

We know this.

In our heart  of hearts we feel its truth.

Yet, still we let the illusion allow us to abort babies that we wanted but have suddenly been identified with an extra chromosome.

No longer satisfied with ordinary seeds we literally add toxins to the DNA of seeds to resist the pesticides and call them natural.  We praise genetic engineering while pouring on even more pesticides on our crops.

Not good enough.

We berate ourselves internally for our "muffin tops", our "wobbly thighs", our age spots, our gray hair...never cherishing the stories behind each of these changes.

We can't have our houses clean enough, our clothes pressed enough, our children well-behaved enough or our spouse sexy enough.

We are always asking for more.

Me included.

Which brings me back to the dandelion.

Thank God for them.

Thank God for mine.

I'm done with the poisonous lies.

Done with the fractions of truths.

Done with it.

Today, I was reintroduced to a piece of art that I learned about in 2006.

It's called "Sam and The Perfect World" by Peter Lentz.

In 2006, it won the National Portrait Gallery's Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition.

Here are Peter Lentz's words:

"My wife Rosemarie had just given birth to our son Sam, and although he appeared perfectly healthy, something, nevertheless, didn't seem right. There was an awkward silence in the room, no words of congratulation or comments about how cute he was even though he was cute. Five minutes later the diagnosis was given: Sam has Down Syndrome. "Are you going to keep him?" a nurse asked. Later that evening someone else came by to "console" us. "It's every mother's worst nightmare," she said.

Welcome to the world, Sam.

In America today, perfection is highly valued. We dump loads of chemicals on our lawns to try and get rid of every weed, every dandelion. Models and supermodels are tall, impossibly fit, their clothes stylish and wrinkle-free. Images like this tend to change our perceptions, our ideals, until finally they leave us looking around at the peeling paint on our own houses, and our less than fit bodies, and it leaves us wanting.

Perfection, I would submit, is overrated. And besides, I like dandelions.

In the painting Sam assumes the role of presenter, host, even tutor, of this most revealing examination of the civilization man has made for himself. Sam is not society's accepted definition of perfection. In spite of that, or perhaps because of that, he really does have an important message for everyone to hear."

Umm, I like dandelions too.

I'm blowing it off.

Making my wish.

Enjoying the bright, bold yellow in the thick of the green.

Perfection deserves some Round Up.

Not us...not a single one of us.

Your job today: accept and love the people in your life, 

most especially, yourself.

Girlfriends

Susan Branch font :)


Yesterday I was smiling...all day long.
Magically, it had happened again, the calendars were free, pockets of time were secreted away and I could make my way to have dinner with my girlfriend.

I got the kids handed off and properly freshened myself up from the dust of the day and got in the car...
hooked up Pandora...and drove like the wind.
Singing out loud...LOUD...to MY music...rocking out inappropriately, dancing in the car I could feel the tension of daily annoyances, lists of things to do, and chores that hang over my head just melt away...
an hour in the car all to yourself can be a very good thing.

Along with significant time with your dear friend.

This chick and I have been hanging out, spending hours on the phone since high school.
My dad would just be mystified as I laid on my bed and gabbed the hours away with someone I had already been with for six hours at school.

What did we talk about??

Looking back, I have no idea.
(Note to teens today: keep copious notes and journal like crazy so you can remember these things.)
I'm guessing it was:
Boys.
Drama.
School.
Homework.
Life's injustices.
Dreams.
The good stuff of high school.

I feel sorry for teens today who don't dish on the phone.
They are missing out on some serious fun.

We went to the same college and lived together for part of it, but we weren't joined at the hip.
We joined different sororities.
We had different groups of friends.
Our own interests and dreams.
But like a fantastic score for a movie, she was always in the background, making my world better.

We got our jobs, figured out our paths and saw less and less of each other.
We lived about an hour away from each other and would meet for dinner.

We've been doing it for decades.

There is something so magical about a good friend.
Someone who just gets it.
Who's always on your side.
Who cheers for you.
Who cries with you.
Who does crazy things on your behalf.
Who will pray or pay or play whenever you ask...and many times when you don't even say it out loud...she just seems to know.

I'm blessed to have several good girlfriends.
People who have my back...and whose back I cover whenever I can.
It goes both ways.
It's comfort and care...bravery and honesty...saying the hard stuff out loud.
Owning it...and figuring it out...
or sometimes just recognizing there's no solution to be had and finding a way to make peace with it.

It's righteous anger and hilarious mortification and breath-taking beauty.
It's the wonder and sacredness of getting to be a girl and getting to go deeper
and have those kind of friends.

Leisurely eating dinner last night, sharing salads and delicious taste treats and desserts and secrets and hopes,
I found myself so sentimental...so full of gratefulness  for
this right here...that moment right there...
the good stuff.
So so blessed by friendship...long lasting...
all-the-walls-down kind of friends.

It's easy to gloss over it.
So normal to not make the time
or find an excuse to not be together...
but these people are what life is about.

They are only lent to us...we can't take it for granted.
We need to carve out the pockets on the calendar and say out loud:
you are important...too important to act so casually about.
We must make the time to be together.

Time for laughter and joy and friendship --
 those are the real sparkly gems shining in our cave of life.

So thank you, Tara, for finding the time and making it happen...
today, you're my grace-in-the-ordinary...
have been for decades.






more Susan Branch adorableness!

25 Ways

July 1st, 1989, John and I got married.

It was a sunny day filled with family, friends and a lot of good music.

We knew nothing...

we were babies.

And now, flash, ka-bam, whoosh...25 years have gone by.

25 years.

Silver.

I read somewhere that Anne Lamott (whom I adore and admire) thinks that there are only three important prayers:

Help, Thanks, Wow!

Although I love the simplicity, I'm not too sure about that...seems like God might be able to handle a little more depth there.

But in a marriage...that's where those three prayers just might be miraculous.

HELP!

So many ways, so many days, you have helped...

with the midnight barfing,

the conundrum of children's sports/activities and conflicting schedules,

the indoor/outdoor messes that just never end,

the endless garbage taking-out chore

(traded, in a moment of sheer brilliance on my part, for the endless bed-making chore)

with the big questions of life...

which leads me to THANK YOU!

For never missing a single chemo treatment for Patrick's 3+ year leukemia journey...

that alone makes you a complete bad ass.

For always having a smile or a joke or at the very least an inappropriate remark at 

the exact right moment.

For being able to see the bright side, even in the middle of darkness.

For being the ultimate DJ, always having a playlist and a song that IS the moment.

For being one hell of a dad, daddy or dobby depending on the day --

trust me, that devotion and irrational love is crazy sexy.

For taping your eye shut when my eye needed to be taped shut...full solidarity...in a terrible time...

that act of love is my inspiration to this day...

I want to love like you.

which morphs into WOW!

4 kids? 

really?

never would have believed it and yet, here they are...

what crazy, amazing gifts -- our very best dreams come true -- together.  

Out of the everywhere into the here.

Wow!

One dog, one rat, two bunnies, five cars, three different addresses, 

countless hours of late-night Christmas Eve put-togethers,

hundreds of barbecues,

silent nights,

loud, obnoxious mornings, 

25 years of

silly

scary,

sublime

slivers of time.

No one I'd rather spend it with...

my love.

Thank you for being my help, my thank you and my wow!

Thank you for 25 years...

how can that be?

Sunset selfie...June 2014.

The End of Cute; The Beginning of Awesome!

"It's the heart afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance,  

It's the dream afraid of waking, that never takes the chance, 

It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give,

and the soul afraid of dying, that never learns to live.

 When the night has been too lonely, and the road has been too long,

and you think that love is only for the lucky and the strong, 

just remember, 

in the winter, 

far beneath the bitter snows, 

lies the seed that with the sun's love, 

in the spring, 

becomes the rose."

--The Rose, sung by Bette Midler 

Way back in 1999, when Patrick was just a few months old, I read this essay by a father who had an 18 year old son with Down Syndrome named Ned.

It's titled "The End of Cute" and I have to say that the title alone has haunted me.

Here's the link to read it in its entirety:  http://www.riverbendds.org/index.htm?page=palmer.html

At the time, I had a six year old, a four year old and a brand new baby...I was drowning in cute.

I was soaked in imaginative worlds, fairy tales, magic and just plain adorableness.

The thought of having that era come to an end was stomach-twisting.

Contemplating my adorable three-some as teen-agers was located somewhere on the continuum 

of cringe-worthy and full on freak out.

I couldn't imagine the controversy, the angst, the embarrassment and the fear...

funny, since I was already living it.big.time.

Teen-agers are just bigger kids.

More capable, more thought-provoking, more powerful in almost every way.

They are damned amazing.

And yes, crazy-making too.

But I am here to say that although cute does end...

it gets awesome.

WAY more awesome.

I wish I had known that.

Teen-agers have a bias against them...our culture pretty much complains about them, 

blames them and points to them as our downfall.

That's hogwash.

The teenagers and young adults I know are more culturally aware, more sensitive to every single kind of prejudice around, more focused on truth, more globally aware, more able to solve their problems and search for answers than most adults I know.

I have extreme joy knowing that they are coming behind us.

They want to make the world a better place.

They don't just travel to Europe, they volunteer in orphanages and elephant sanctuaries 

or reach out to people in poverty.

They find a way.

They work together.

They believe it can be solved.

Patrick, my son with Down Syndrome who is one day away from being 15, didn't just go to a camp.  He spent time writing a letter to a family that has a brand new baby with Down Syndrome, letting them know all about his life and what he is passionate about.

Yep, he gave back.

And he can cook, and spend hours listening to music or writing scripts and dreaming of what will be.

He's like pretty much any teen-ager I know and you're right, it's not cute...

in fact he'd be offended if I told him he was cute.

  He's awesome!

The process of watching your child become an adult is humbling, fascinating, and a wonder.

Having a front row seat is a gift.

You get to guide, struggle, recommend and nudge.

The real control starts to fade away.

And that's where it gets interesting.

No, it's not always easy or smooth...but neither is parenting a toddler.

 I have had times where I've been yelling so loud that I thought someone might knock on my door and ask what the heck was going on.

I've sobbed at the changes, been sleepless with worry and had moments of sheer panic...

but didn't I have that with my two year old too?

The stakes are higher.

It isn't cute.

But I'm here to say that I've lived with three teen-agers and have one more waiting backstage and 

it's nothing to dread.

It's freaking awesome.

Happy 15th Birthday, Patrick! Happy 19th Mary Kate and Happy 21st Half Birthday, Jack.

You're not cute (well maybe a little, I am your mom after all)

...but you are awesome!

Anything Can Be

Anything can be.

Anything.

Tonight is proof.

5,445 days ago a little baby was born.

He had Down Syndrome...a heart defect and later leukemia.

5,445 days ago I didn't know a thing.

I was biased and prejudiced.

Flattened and broken.

I believed the mustn'ts and the don'ts.

And the universe handed me a child...and his soul whispered to me,

"Anything can be."

I didn't know what to do or how to be.

But my older two kids did.

They knew how to love and they poured it on thick.

They were delighted with this baby filled with shouldn'ts and won'ts.

They knew the secret:

Anything Can Be.

Slowly.

Following the path of love and the glittered steps of preschoolers who knew best, I learned.

I learned that mothering this new baby was the same as mothering those other two...

love, belief, faith, being there....day in and day out.

*****

Recently I read this essay about wishing out loud.

I loved it.

In it, Mitchel encourages you and me to: "Share your wishes freely to anyone who will listen."

I've been doing that for awhile.

Wishing out loud.

LOUD.

Please, please, please let all children learn alongside each other.

LOUD.

Back in 1999, when Patrick was born, honestly, it felt like my wishing flame pilot light had gone out.

I didn't know what to wish for.

I felt alone.

Isolated.

I had no road map...and for someone who used to pour over the giant world atlas, that felt weird.

What does this new world of mine look like?

Who is with me?

Am I as alone as I feel?

*****

5,445 days have gone by.

The baby has gotten bigger, grown stronger, and is sitting on the edge of manhood.

He's reading, writing, passionate, funny, exuberant and his very own self.

Incomparable.

Inexplicable.

Indefinable.

Miraculously irreplaceable.

I could never have known his place that he alone would carve out for himself in this world of ours.

I could never picture his truth.

All I could do was live alongside him and show up each day...learning the lessons meant for me alone.

5,445 lessons...perfectly circular...perfectly balanced.

Tonight it all came together.

Tonight Patrick graduated from 8th grade...from a Catholic school.

He's the first in the diocese to be fully included in the regular classroom,
learning alongside his typical peers,
attending the same school as his big brother and sister.

The first.

In blue cap and gown he walked in holding a lit candle.

Light in the darkness.

Another reminder.

Anything can be.

He strode up to receive his diploma.

He sat back down and listened to the award winners.

Award winners for art, math, science, social studies, PE, literature.
His name wasn't called.
It didn't matter.
The award for most improved in Computer Class came and his name was announced.
He popped up -- eager to be singled out and awarded.
It felt good.
We moved on.

Suddenly, the teacher mentioned a special award.
She spent time explaining the award.
She detailed the recipient.
Describing attitude, effort and perseverance...lessons taught, day in, day out.
Patrick's name was the one on the award.

And like a crazy dream, he leaped up to receive the award
as his classmates cheered.
His classmates stood up.
The audience stood up...
the room transformed into a full standing ovation
I just sat there...
until the energy of the room pulled me up and I turned to my mom and asked,
"Is this real?"

I couldn't take it in.
Couldn't really make sense of it.

Anything can be.

This child of mine -- so broken to the outside world -- was fully seen, fully recognized,
fully accepted on this day, in this moment, at his school.
He was worthy.
He was good enough.
In fact, he was admired and awarded.

And in this moment, in this dream-like world, we were one.
Every single one of us in that big church belonged.
We were valued.
We were loved.

The message was loud and clear.
You, Patrick Foraker, have taught us something.
Something we didn't know until you showed us.

There will always be mustn'ts and can'ts.
Don'ts and wont's.
None of it matters, friend.
Anything can be.

So today I am grateful for this moment of hope and encouragement.
Profoundly grateful to the many, many encouragers who met us on this path.
Grateful to Sarah and Steve and Ashley and the many priests, principals, teachers, aides and staff who found a way to make anything be real.
Grateful for ordinary holiness, sacred acceptance, and this moment right now.

Anything can be.

Dreams come true.
Share your wishes out loud.
Wait.

Watch what happens in a few thousand days.

Happy Graduation, Patrick!