Diametrically Opposing Realities

As the intricate cloak of the past fell to the ground
A child appeared where a woman once stood

Eyes that had previously seen the world though a mist of grey fog
Now see it through those of an inquisitive toddler

Although both views are intimidating
They brought, and will bring, laughter, tears, joy, and fear

Both perspectives are multi dimensional learning experiences to be embraced
The wonderful, treasured, memories of decades past are mingled with a new life

The merging of two such diametrically opposing realities bring challenging obstacles
That in time will unite, completing the circle that was written in the universe centuries ago

A new woman will emerge energized with the finest of all that has been learned
The dark times will be integrated and will be seen for what they were intended

Light cannot exist without darkness, learning without failure, appreciation without loss
Strong winds will come in hopes of bringing failure and doubt

We can allow our feathers to be ruffled or we can seize an upward current and soar
We can choose to see only the darkness of night or the brilliance of stars upon black velvet

The choice is ours to make
The circle ours to complete

xoxo

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The Unexpected

My eyes were wandering from item to item in the small office I'd been in hundreds of times during the last six, or so, years as I listened to my doctor updating my chart and researching questions I had moments earlier asked.

I studied his many degrees, the multitude of books on various topics of the human mind that were tightly arranged on the shelving unit. I glanced over at the cartoons pinned on the wall, and I chuckled as I admired his enormous collection of rubber ducks.

I was patiently waiting and allowing my thoughts to wander when he suddenly looked over his glasses, that are always perched upon his nose, and he asked if he had ever told me the story of his aunt.

In the years I've been under his care I've heard many stories, assorted anecdotes, and sometimes colorful jokes. This particular one, however, I hadn't heard or perhaps had and it just didn't have the impact on me that it did that day.

"Teri, have I told you about my aunt and her brother?"

"No Sir, I don't think so."

"My aunt that escaped the Holocaust?"

"No Sir, I don't believe I've heard about her before."

"Oh, she was a wonderful woman, simply wonderful. One time I asked her how she managed to be such an optimist after enduring the horrors that led up to the Holocaust and her escape. She looked at me, with wisdom dancing in her eyes, and said 'My brother is the optimist. He's always looking for the best, expecting the best, and he's continually disappointed when it doesn't happen. I, on the other hand, am a pessimist. I have learned to expect the worst and by doing so each day brings me a miracle, something I didn't expect. I've learned to appreciate the beauty in things that happen others might easily overlook and those things bring me great joy."

I thought of her words of wisdom today several times, once when I walked outside to see that my Magnolia tree had bloomed with beautiful, large, white petals accented with a deep purple. I thought of his story about an hour later while sitting in a restaurant. I glanced out of the window and saw that two very close, long time, friends had pulled into the parking lot and were on their way in, and I thought of those pearls of spoken words just now as I looked across the room and saw soft brown eyes gazing at me atop an encouraging smile that, without words, assured me all is as it should be.

There are miracles everywhere if we just take the time to acknowledge them.

xoxo

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Foreshadowing Or Emotion?

Simple emotion, or tales of things to come?

Sometimes it's difficult to understand, to discern exactly, which emotions on which to act, and on which to rest.

One thing I have learned though the years of life rocking torment is, generally, resting on those emotions is a far better way to cope with the undercurrent that seeks to pull me down, and take me with its power.

No longer is comfort found in sitting on the edge of the sterile, tiled, tub deck, holding a recently misused, cold steel blade, although they are just feet away, and gaze at the release of warm, red droplets as they form a trail that runs the length of my arm. Then seeing, feeling, them as they fall into a splattered pool on the hard stone floor.

It's difficult for others to understand how the thick, crimson ribbons take with them emotional pain and release immeasurable peace that floods the mind, soul and spirit.

For the last several years the temptation is one that has rarely entered my mind, and when it has it's only been for short flashes of time.

I'm in a good place, I can cope, even though the temptation lies only a few short feet away. Clinging to that good place can be a difficult task, but cling I do, for now.

  "The Letter"

All I ever wanted was some love and peace and harmony
I could dance in the raw in the sun underneath the stars
When I walk over to my money tree ain't nobody there
Trying to take from me
When they ask "Are you truly free?" I'd say "Yes, truly"
But down here in really everybody knows there ain't
No such thing
And It's clear
It's obviously this is not the place I'm supposed to be
On and on and on I've searched
What I'm looking for is not here on earth
I can't stand I can't take no more
So I know that I goota go
So long everybody
Mama don't be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don't know where I'm headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody
I have gone beyond the moon

All I ever wanted was some love and peace and harmony
Just to be live and shine
When I get ready I up and fly
And I can't remember none of the things that I want
To forget
It's the best - satisfaction no less
Ask if I'm free and I'll say "Oh yes"
But down here in really everybody knows there ain't
No such thing
And It's clear
It's obviously this is not the place I'm supposed to be
On and on and on I've searched
What I'm looking for is not here on earth
I can't stand I can't take no more
So I know that I gotta go
So long everybody
Mama don't be sad for me
Life was a heartache and now I am finally free
Don't know where I'm headed
Hope I see you someday soon
So long everybody

 

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Behold A Pale Horse

"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

I'm not sure what it is, the frail voice that was once strong and filled concert halls, his ability to continue to play his instrument as if it were an appendage, the words he'd written, his journey in life, or maybe I gravitate to the pain, the hurt, and triumphs expressed in his lyrical wanderings.

Something has drawn me to the music written in the last years of his life, many in the last three months of which his Creator allowed him breath. It's held me together when I felt nothing else could. It's comforted me when there was no solace, only unanswered questions.

I close my eyes and listen. I listen to the haunting bass-baritone voice and am able to discern his good days from his bad days. I listen to him beautifully manipulate the strings of his well worn guitar. I allow myself to feel the pain in his soul, as well as the joy in having made peace with the paths he chose to follow throughout his 71 years on this Earth.

I listen to his voice daily, closing my eyes and I am able to put myself in the midst of the verses so beautifully sang. Many I can identify with. Many remind of my life and how I chose one path over another.

Maybe it's his confidence I lean on, that I feel emanating from him,  that I yearn for. Whatever it is, I shall continue to listen, most likely several times a day.  Maybe I'll find what I'm searching for, maybe not, but he gives me hope and strength when none is to be found.

Even in death, he has the ability to bring emotion to people that have buried it so deeply, hoping never to feel it again. His words are able to bring life, pain, torment, and joy together to knit a beautiful piece, a proxy, for the Rock on which some of us stand.






 

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The Stronger Force

The fog has lifted, the clouds have fled

And with them went the barrier that had prevented

The radiance of the sun from being impressed upon my soul

Its essence able to reach the innermost depressions of my being

While being anxiously absorbed by my parched and trampled spirit

Benefits of this new found energy are difficult for my mind to recognize

Instead it fears that the strangeness brought forth may instead singe my naked soul

Logic and heart will bond and the perfect balance Intended by the Creator will be experienced

One day surely the haze will come again but its grip quickly loosed by the brilliance of this radiance

And this light shall remain the stronger force.

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The Stronger Force

The fog has lifted, the clouds have fled


And with them has gone the barrier that prevented


The radiance of the sun from being impressed upon my soul


Its essence had been unable to reach the innermost depressions of my being


While being anxiously absorbed by my parched and trampled spirit


Benefits of this new found energy are difficult for my mind to recognize


Instead it fears the strangeness brought forth may instead singe my naked soul


Logic and heart will bond and the perfect balance intended by the Creator will be experienced


One day surely the haze will come again but its grip quickly loosed by the brilliance of its radiance


And this light shall remain the stronger force.

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Bipolar? Diva? What? That's Just Crazy!

Bipolar. Diva.

At first glance those two words seem to have no logical connection. Well at least to a non-crazy, non-Diva like person. At dinner the other night my husband posed the question:


“Why Bipolar Diva?” He had that look on his face, the one I've come to realize means he thinks I'm crazy. Well, I am.

My bipolar thought “What the hell are you talking about? I am a Diva!” Now that would be the bipolar symptom of “Unrealistic, grandiose beliefs about one’s abilities or powers.”

My Diva thought “I make bipolar look good! Now pour me another glass of champagne and I’ll take a little more butter on that roll please. I don’t want to chance chipping my freshly manicured nails.” This would match one of the Urban Dictionary’s definitions: “A girl or woman with an exaggerated sense of self-importance, requiring a great deal of attention and excessive effort to maintain beauty, style and image.”


Pretty much the same theme going on there I think. It got me wondering just how alike the two words, the two parts of my personality, are. I mean, in my mind, they’re pretty damned identical. But to the ordinary human it may need some explaining.


I think my shopping addiction can wrap up several similarities in one fell swoop: (Shopping addiction, yet another symptom of both bipolar-ness and Diva-ness)

Bipolar: Talking so rapidly that others can’t keep up, racing thoughts, jumping quickly from one idea to the next.

Diva: “I’ll take these. Wait, maybe those. No, no, what about the sparkly ones? Oh, and I need lingerie to match, and shoes.”

Bipolar: Impaired judgment, and impulsiveness. Acting recklessly without thinking of the consequences.

Diva: “What the heck? I’ll take them all! What? There’s no room left on that credit card? Here, take two more. After all I have to have to have those Chanel sunglasses and the Manolos to keep up my polished Happy Valley Mom image.”

Bipolar: Feeling unusually “high” and optimistic OR extremely irritable.

Diva: “Can you please have someone carry all 19 of these beautiful, wonderfully filled shopping bags to my car?” “What do you mean I’ll have to wait a half hour for that? I want someone and I want them NOW!”

Bipolar: depression

Diva: “I have absolutely nothing to wear. All that shopping for nothing! I’m going to bed for a day or two. Bring me an aspirin and a Xanex.”

See? It all makes perfect sense to me. The two are intertwined, at least in my justifying, bipolar mind. I’m really not trying to make light of Bipolar Disorder. It can be a devastating force in many of the lives of those that are affected.

I’m one of the fortunate ones; my condition is mild for the most part. Bipolar is what makes me who I am. I’m usually on the high and optimistic end of the spectrum, but the lows are all too low and extremely dark. I tend to try to write through those times. You can find a few of those writings here: Unorthodox, Calm, Sea Turtles, Not So Good. I isolate myself from everything and everyone during those dark days. You can find out more about Bipolar Disorder in this book The Bipolar Disorder Survival Guide.

I was diagnosed in 2008. I’ve worked though a lot and am finally on what we believe to be the correct pharmaceutical cocktail for me. I’m determined to take control of my situation and not let it control me. That's why I wrote The Stronger Force.

There's one more Urban Dictionary definition of Diva fits here pretty well I think: “A woman who appreciates everything achieved in life's past knowing that it only adds to who they will become in life's future.”

Now where’s my credit card? I have some online shopping to do!

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The Baby

The sun shines brightly today


No clouds, no wind


But rain is falling and the mood is heavy


I hear him cry and my heart breaks


My tears fall freely as they did all the months of his life


He's holding my kisses and the angel I placed in his small lifeless hand


He is peaceful now, but we are left with the pain of his demise


When he left he took my heart, my joy and my life


How I want him back for just one more day


To tell him I love him, to kiss him and to smell him


Before placing him back into the safe arms of his Creator

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Autism, Quacks and Cops

We thought we had this parenting thing down. We’ve blended families, adopted infants, adopted older kids and dealt with foster kids from all types of horrible situations. We’ve experienced fetal alcohol effects, cocaine babies, mentally, physically and sexually abused kids. We thought that we had encountered just about everything a parent could and were doing pretty well. Well not so fast Cowgirl!


Our 17 yr old son has autism, high functioning autism at that. You may think “well that’s a good thing” and I know that it is. However, being the horrible parent that I am, there have days when these thoughts from out of the blue pierce my soul. Ok now, here comes the bad mom part, there are times that I’ve secretly wondered that if he had to have autism why he had to be one of the ones that can talk. That’s a terrible confession for a mom to make. But this kid has talked non-stop for 17 years!

When Joshua was born Jeff and I were in the delivery room with the 15 yr old birth mother and her mom. Ya know how sometimes you just have a gut feeling? From the minute I first held him I knew something was wrong. I’m not really sure what it was, but he was different from our other babies.

I took him from doctor to doctor. I was told by one that if I didn’t want the baby that he would take him. If I had I been a first time mom that would have freaked me out. We checked Dr. Pompous Ass off of our list. The next doctor told us that Joshua was too smart for us. Another doctor said that we needed parenting classes. Ok, so I’m getting a little more pissed each time. There’s something wrong with my child and no one will help.

His younger years are a blur of doctors, screeching, poking rabbits with pencils, running…..everywhere on his tippy toes and climbing on everything.  Finally when he was seven we got the diagnosis of autism. Everything made sense! I wasn’t crazy, all those quack doctors were. And boy did I let them know! Had someone diagnosed him earlier he could have gotten into therapy at an early age and maybe, just maybe we could have avoided some issues and he would have had a better life.

Besides having to deal with misinformed “I know better than you do” doctors, I had my husband trying his best to encourage me. “Give it just six more months things will be better” he said almost weekly. When Joshua was about 2 ½ my husband told me again give it six more months. I freaked. I’d been carrying this screaming baby around on my back for 2 ½ years! I was tired and I was frustrated. He screamed, he cried, he ran around like a wild child. We couldn’t take him out to dinner, we couldn’t take him anywhere. The only time he was quiet was when he was in that backpack or asleep, and he didn’t sleep much which meant I didn’t sleep much.

Things got better after the diagnosis, well, sorta. Our kids would laugh about “when Joshua attacks”. When he was a little thing, for no apparent reason, he’d get pissed and leap up off of the floor and in one fell swoop take down whoever the real or imagined offender was. That was bearable when he was smaller, but when he got bigger and stronger, oh buddy we were in for a challenge. Police. Ambulances. Hospitals. More stupid doctors. I just knew we’d end up on an episode of COPS.

I think we’re past that now. We changed his meds, took him off Concerta, changed our tactics with him and found an incredible doctor. She’s calm with him, and reassuring to me. She’s an advocate for him in school and is just an amazing woman. She’s helped change our lives.

Tonight Joshua asked me to help him on his blog. He only can access his blog account, A Sensative Poet, on his iPod touch since he’s not allowed to use the computers here (he takes them apart and all kinds of stuff). I took a picture of him to put in his profile. We tweaked it a little bit and I read some of what he wrote. For a kid that has no idea what homework is his writing is amazing. He writes poems, stories and songs. He draws and his favorite class in school is culinary.

Tonight I was proud of my son. He’s a good boy that really does try to do the right thing, just this little thing called autism, and a bit of teenage rebellion get in the way. Days like today I think that he’ll be ok. Then there are days like last fall when my then 16 yr old took his bed apart to carve swords out of the wood that make me wonder if either of us will survive.

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Prepared For The Worst

Two years ago today doctors worked frantically to save the life of my daughter. We were told that the baby girl she carried would not live. They told us to prepare for the worst.

Karli immediately before the the surgeons began.

The tiny one has been freed.

2 lbs and 14" long

27 weeks

Trying to get Anna-Grace to breathe.

Karli watching over the fragile one.

Nana gets to touch Anna-Grace for the first time.

The first time I was allowed to hold her.

She's proving them wrong.

Anna-Grace's first day home. In the arms of her Uncle Michael.

She has no idea that she's going in for open heart surgery.

Being taken to the operating room.

Right after the successful heart surgery.

A real Diva.

Growing bigger.

Yummy!

Anna-Grace and her brother Josiah were ambassadors for the March of Dimes walk for life.

Anna-Grace is 1

She's happy and healthy. No signs of preemie problems. No more heart problems.

The miraculous Anna-Grace turned 2 today. She proved the doctors wrong. She's our miracle.

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The Ever Dreaded 5am Phone Call

When that ever dreaded phone call came in at 5AM the last morning of October I was consumed with fear. "Dad, I'm in the hospital. They tell me it's Emanuel. The doctors said I have brain damage, spine damage and a severely deformed leg."




Well my son was speaking, although somewhat incoherently, so the brain damage had to be minimal. The drive to the hospital was one of the longest of my life.



We'd been to Emanuel too many times before. One of my newborn grandsons was diagnosed with a fatal condition there and died at home three months later. My daughter had two babies 18 months apart that were each born 3 months early and weren't expected to live. They were both in the NICU for three months. All of these recent traumas were filling my mind on that seemingly endless 20 minute drive. Would this be one more death, or would Emanuel pull off another miracle?

We found my son listed as "Neon Doe", a code name for unknown victims of car accidents. We made the walk to his room not knowing what to expect. Would we still have our son? Would he be permanently disabled? What would his cognitive ability be?

We cautiously entered his room. My baby was in a back and neck brace. Half of his face was gone, his leg was completely wrapped and was being propped above his heart.


I wasn't sure how the staff would treat us, or what information they would release to us, since my son was 24 years old. They were wonderful. They brought us extra chairs; they worked around us although we made sure to stay out of their way.


The first nurse answered all of our questions and told us as much as they knew. Cole was walking home from a pub and was on the side of the road when he was hit. The driver never stopped. Cole was unconscious when the EMT's reached him. His injuries were so serious that he was flown by Life Flight to Emanuel.


He was hit so hard that he was knocked out of his boots and his wallet flew out of his pocket, When he woke up he only knew his first name so he still had the "Neon Doe" tag on. The nurse walked us through all of this several times so that we could take it all in.

The man accused of hitting him is a high school football coach from one of the nearby districts. We were told that he called in about an hour after he hit Cole telling police that he "may have hit something". (A trooper later told us that this man said he thought he hit a scarecrow. Give me a break! A six foot four walking scarecrow? I'm sure that it was blood left on the hood of his car and not straw.)


After the nursing staff told us all that they knew the trauma team came in and thoroughly explained the trauma he had suffered. They, too,  explained things several times. We were numb and not retaining information very well. They cleared him of any back and skull fractures and explained every step of the way what they were doing.

The nurses came and went, but they might as well have been the same nurse with the same demeanor, they were wonderful. They put up with our large family and Cole's large network of friends for a week before he was released. They never complained even though Cole's friends stayed every night and rarely showered. The boys were ripe! The nurses were nothing but pleasant, informative and took amazing care of our son.

The orthopedic surgeon was another wonderful member of the hospital. Once again he included us in everything and had us all at ease before he went in to re-build my son's leg. He drew pictures of what he was going to do and sat for us to ask any questions we had.

The day Cole was released a social worker came in and told him that we could fill his prescriptions at no charge. They wanted to be sure that he was taken care of.

We feel that our son, as well as our three grandchildren received the best care possible from some of the most compassionate members of the medical community.

This is one hospital that seems, as least to me, to be there for the patients and not for the bottom line.


For our family that hospital brings up terrible memories of lost children, very fragile preemies and now a severely injured 24 yr old. Somehow the memories of the staff and the care that we received each and every time are enough to pull us through and realize how lucky we really are.

On Wednesday, April 7th 2010 the high school football coach was arrested on a felony hit-and-run charge. The maximum penalty in Oregon is 10 years in prison and a $250,000 fine.

My son, Cole

Still my baby

Mug Shot of the High School

Football Coach that was

indicted and arrested for hitting my son

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