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!

365 More

"525,600 minutes, 525,600 moments so dear.  

525,600 minutes.  

How do you measure? Measure a year? 

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. 

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In 525,600 minutes -- how do you measure a year in the life?  How about love?  

How about love?  How about love? Love.  

Measure in love.  Seasons of love." 

-- "Seasons of Love" from Rent (the musical)

I've had her for three hundred and sixty five more days.

An entire extra year.

Hundreds of thousands of minutes, countless moments, dozens of books and a myriad of chances to squeeze tighter, hold closer, give second chances and measure in love.

Today, of all days, it happened to be her First Reconciliation.

The irony of talking about sin and transgressions with someone who still believes in Santa and carefully writes notes to the Tooth Fairy and still sleeps with a multitude of stuffed of animals is not lost on me.

She knows about making good choices.  She knows how to be kind and thoughtful.

She does it pretty much every day.

I'm not too worried about her spiritual health.  

She's closer to God than almost anyone I know.

And yet, this is when our church says she's ready...and on this terrible anniversary of losing 20 six year olds, 

a whole bunch of seven year olds made another step forward.

In the glow of candles, amid family and friends, they spread out among four different priests and went up there and asked for forgiveness.

So much lighter now!

Caroline was worried about this whole process and so her teacher helped her out.  She asked her to hold a book.  Then she piled another one on top, and another, and another -- until she was holding five heavy books.  She told Caroline that when you do something wrong, it feels heavy and weighs you down. Then she swooped in and removed all the books.  She told her that she would feel so much lighter after Reconciliation. 


As we walked up to church, Caroline wondered aloud if she would "feel lighter".  She couldn't wait to find out.
She wasn't fearful.  She wasn't anxious.
She was curious.

Afterward, she sighed and said, "I'm so much lighter!"

I smiled...that lucky smile.
The smile of a momma who had someone else give their child a gift.
Someone else had given her another way to see the world.
I was so so grateful.

Walking home, I tried to hold her hand but she was skipping ahead.
My heart is always lifted when she skips...but then it remembered the twenty who no longer skip...and the many, many heavy hearts surrounding those twenty.
My heart always holds those twenty close.
I can't look at Caroline and not see them.

At her birthday, I thought of the quiet homes with no extra candle to add.
When she lost another tooth; got bolder swimming; started voraciously reading.
All of the days she spent singing, dancing, creating, laughing and telling knock knock jokes.


Six moving to seven -- 525,600 extra minutes.


What did I do with those precious extra?
How did I spend them?
Sadly and beautifully, we just went about our days...taking hikes, trying new things, making new pictures,
learning and wondering and asking and celebrating...
nothing too special...

until it's gone.

So, Newtown, Connecticut and most especially the families who have not had that extra,
I want you to know that your insane, mind-numbing loss is not forgotten.

You are alongside us on our journey now...forever.

We are lighting candles,
remembering
and choosing love every chance we get.

Nesting Part II

In the fall of 1992, I was pregnant with my first baby.  I went about my days teaching school to some 5th graders and coming home and painting, preparing and otherwise "nesting" in a big way.  That word was unknown to me at the time but I was feathering my nest just like a mother bird...anticipating, smiling, imagining and wondering.  It was a blissful time.  

It was impossible to picture -- us with a baby.

John would take the tiny outfits that we had been given and make the tiny legs walk with their hanger and speak in a  tiny voice..."Here I am!" he would say.

We'd giggle and try to picture us as parents.

Preparing for a baby when it seems that most of the world is preparing for another important birth is extremely special.  It felt like my universe made sense.  I could relate to Mary on the back of that donkey in a big way...and giving birth in a stable didn't seem so bad, better than on the side of the road!

I cherished the idea of a star pointing the way to that stable...loved the royal visitors...every part of the story seemed better for being pregnant too.

As we got the room ready, our hearts ready and our world ready we felt nervous and excited.

There was no way to know how it would all go but it didn't matter.  It felt joyous and right.

And on December 26th, 1992, we met our first born.  He came easily.  He was sleepy and snuggly and the very best bit of Christmas magic around.  We slid into parenthood and marveled.

Nothing can prepare you for the expansion of your heart or the experience of a whole new world.

And so yesterday, as I found myself cleaning and washing and imagining and picturing not just one child coming home from college but two, I couldn't help but smile.

The nesting, it seems, doesn't end.

Like everything, it morphs...

but there is a familiarity to it.

I went into Jack's room yesterday and got it ready.  I lingered over the pictures from high school, the photos, the memories and the feel of having him here.  I moved to Mary Kate's room, changed the sheets, smiled at the pictures and posters and primping supplies left behind in her safe haven.  

It felt a lot like getting ready for babies to be born...and in a way it was...my babies are most definitely in their college cocoon.  They are transforming and growing and changing and slowly being born into adulthood.

It's scary and sacred...just like the months before birth.

So, I guess I'm Nesting Part II.

Who knew that it continued?

Never got that tidbit of info.

But, it doesn't matter.  I'm smiling with anticipation.  I'm looking forward to seeing them both walk off their airplanes...ready to look deep into their eyes, hug them tight and drink them in...just like their real birth-days many moons ago.

Welcome Home sweet ones...we missed you!

Eighties Ladies

"When grace is joined with wrinkles, it is adorable.  

There is an unspeakable dawn in happy old age."  -- Victor Hugo

Every September, we celebrate my mother-in-law's birthday.  Like Easter or Thanksgiving or Christmas, it's a required once a year family celebration...except that for the last few years it hasn't really happened with very much flair, if at all.  

Before that, when our kids were younger, we'd go down and make a week-end out of it...swimming and sunning and being leisurely with grandbabies.  We must have looked like a micro-version of the Kennedy's on Martha's Vineyard.  

But like all good traditions, kids got bigger and school and sports and the busy-ness of life happened and before we knew it, late September blended into early October and the celebrations got smaller and smaller.

That is, until this year.

This year, Suzie would be 80 and a party was necessary.

I was informed that we would be hosting it at our house...

the week-end before Mary Kate left for college...and the party would not just be the tiny little family affair of days gone by.

Nope, this one was going to be a PARTY with a capital P, 

well actually more like a real authentic Mexican Fiesta.

(Can you say: ai, yi,yi,yi??)

Formal invitations

White table cloths

Flowers

Mariachi Music

The Whole Shebang

Can you say: please, pretty please, no?

Can you say: don't wanna?

Can you say bad attitude?

That's me, over here.

It was bad timing.

It was a royal pain.

It filled me with dread.

And it was the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend my last week-end with Mary Kate,

but...

it was awesome.

There were gobs of Ladies in their Eighties.

Plenty of gents too.

They had their children give them rides.

Virtually all of them needed some sort of help walking.

But they were dressed up and they were ready to party.

They showed up on time, early even.

Quite a departure from the events I host where being a half hour late is the norm.

The party started at 3pm.

The entire group was here by 2:50!

I was dying.

I had to wear a Mexican dress...

grumbling about hell freezing over I did...

turns out those things are comfy. :)

Mary Kate and I rocking that fiesta look -- olé!

The guest of honor arrived by limo -- I told you this was big time.

And the friends of old arrived soon after.

They were polite.

They were delighted.

They were tickled.

It was awesome.

Watching them catch up on forty or fifty years of history was crazy.

Hearing tiny snippets of their life stories stopped me cold.

There was Faye who was married only three months before she had to say good-bye to her husband who went to India for the war for two years.

After he came home, they moved from San Francisco to Butte City (talk about polar opposites!)

and proceeded to keep house for not just her husband and herself but for his two brothers too.

For FOUR years!!

Yep, Faye played surrogate mom to two eligible bachelors for four years 

(can you imagine the reality show version?)

no complaining, 

no irritation,

she just did it...cause that's how it was done.

Of course, she did get her own sweet reward: 

she had a bit of an influence over who those brothers would marry.

Today, all three of the brothers have passed away.

But Faye came to the party with her sisters-in-law, Teresa and Maureen.

It was non-stop adorable.

There were couples there who were literal extensions of each other's limbs.

Together, they climbed the steps.

Together, they navigated the difficulties of the lawn turning into cement and chairs being too close together  and the dexterity required to maneuver to visit someone in the distance.

These guests were gracious, interesting, charming and fun.

They were touched to be invited.

They were the kind of people who still enjoyed life at 80 or 85 or 90.

I want to be rocking a Mexican dress at my 80th birthday too!

And it made me ashamed at how few parties in their honor we have.

I celebrate my children's birthdays in a big way.

But this was my first big party for the generation above me -- 

well, except for an anniversary party or two.

That's just not right.

These people deserve to be celebrated.

We need to honor them and cherish them and bring them out into the sunshine.

They need a big ole fiesta.

They have a lot to celebrate.

And a whole lot to teach us...

if only we would take the time to listen.

I'm grateful that the universe forced my hand.

I'm grateful to the children who drove.

Grateful to my darling sister-in-law and brother-in-law who came to help early and stayed late to clean up...and brought Mexican dresses and Gerbera daisies and delicious cupcakes.

Mostly, I'm grateful to the ladies in their eighties who showed me how to live.

It was awesome -- thank you!