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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Life or Crimson Pools?

She felt the organ, the size of a closed fist, beating deeply within her body, her spirit, her being.

Her thoughts took her back in time to the Egyptians that therorized the heart was the seat of the soul, thoughts, and emotion.

Her's had once been tightly closed, as a fist, but was opening slowly, cautiously, and fearfully.

Though the emptiness had been filling, there were still stabbing pains emanating from the organ she had so closely guarded.

At times she she sensed the trickling of ruby colored beads oozing from the still open wounds.  They slowly moved down her beating heart and changed their paths with every breath she took, each fluttering movement of her chest.

She wondered about their final destination. Would they come together, nourish the organ that had been bound in barbed wire, feed it, and allow it to fully open, and experience life the way her Creator had intended?

Or would they find their way into a crimson pool on the floor draining, not only life sustaining nourishment, but her soul as well?

She hoped, dreamed, and wished for the former, but continued to fear the latter.

Respectively,

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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 Window's Open

The window is open tonight. I can feel the cool evening breeze gently wafting through the room, and hear the cars passing by. The owls are out, and the coyote pups are howling. My phone is buzzing with tweets from time to time, and the whir of the overhead fan is calming. Intoxicating ribbons of the aroma of lavender are making their way through the room, creating a serene atmosphere.

The dog has finally found her spot for the night, and has settled in under the cream colored matelasse quilt covering the bed. I can feel her warmth next to my leg, and the movement of her chest with every breath she takes.

I hear the deep and even breathing of my husband. I can see his outline in the dark, as the light from the computer screen illuminates parts of his body. His left leg is rhythmically rocking back and forth, moving the bed ever so slightly with each motion. He only does that when he's in pain. For awhile there will be no escape from it, even in slumber.

I know there's not much I can do, only listen and gather what he needs. There's no talking this man into anything. He will do what he wants to do, as he wants to do it.

But at night he pays the price. He saw a physical therapist today. It was a three and a half hour appointment. He called me after, and sounded better than I have heard him in weeks, his voice upbeat and encouraging, his tone was calm and refreshed.

I had errands to complete and, after a few hours, I returned home. He was sitting in a lawn chair, covered by a red beach towel, in the garage. There was a pillow behind his back, and he was rocking. That was not a good sign.

He had a massage appointment that he couldn't make it through, he panicked. Then on his way home, he got stuck in traffic, and panicked once more. He pulled to the side of the road, put on his flashers, put the windows down. He closed his eyes and just was. He breathed deeply and attempted to put his mind at rest before he continued his journey home.

As I sat with him, his day spilled out, and down his chiseled face, in tears of fear and discouragement. All I could do was to sit, rub his hand, and listen as he painfully told his story.

I thought of the appointment I had with my psychiatrist today. He told me I looked and seemed "positive." I told him I was numb. You do what you have to do to get through the war. When the war is over, the emotion can run free.

Jeff's war is now, as he's healing. When he gets back to problem solving and reading blue prints, he will be emotionally free, his focus re directed. That is when I'm afraid I will fall. Now I am busy with all of the different doctors appointments, keeping him taken care of, and all the things that come with the duties of a caretaker.

Yes, I'm afraid my fall will come when he is once more whole. 

You can read more of Jeff and his story here: Help Rebuild Jeff One Nail At A Time.

Until next time, kisses,

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But I Don't Have To Go!

Jeff: "I'm SO tired. I can't sleep because of the pain."


Me: "Then take the pain meds the doc told you to take.

Jeff: "They make me loopy."

 Me: "So, you'll be asleep."

Jeff: "I'm so tired and can't sleep."

Me: "So take an Ambien."

Jeff: "What if I have to pee?"

Me: "Then go now before you go to sleep."

Jeff: "I don't have to go now."

Me: "I don't see any pee in the jar. When was the last time you went?"

Jeff: "Oh, several hours ago."

Me: "You don't think you have to go because the pain meds might be masking the feeling."

Jeff: "I don't have to go."

Me: "Fine, then take the Ambien and pee in the bed."

Jeff: "FINE! I'll try to go!"

Me: "Good idea."

Jeff: "Hand me the jar."

Me: "Here."

Me:"Well?"

Jeff: "Be quiet. I'm trying to concentrate."

Me: "Whatever. Just go."

Jeff: "I am."

Me: "Good."

Several minutes pass..........

Me: "Are you finished yet?"

Jeff: "Not yet."

Me: "So I guess you did have to go?"

Jeff: "Be quiet"

Jeff: "OK, here's the jar."

Me: "Gross! It's hot, AND full!"

Jeff: "You're a baby!"

Me: "And you would have peed in your bed! Take your Ambien and go to sleep!"

Jeff: "You win."

Me: "I know."

Jeff: "Goodnight."

Me: "Goodnight, oh, and take your glasses off before the Ambien sets in."

Jeff: "Shut up and go to bed!"

Me: "Nikki, take your dad's glasses off before you go to bed."

Nikki: "Hahahahaha!"


 Go visit his site, give some love, tweet it, FB it, share it. Please?

Much love and appreciation,

XOXO


 

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I'm Not Sure What to Do

I'm not really sure where to begin tonight. I can't get my thoughts together, they're melding into one big confusing mess. I am sure that this post will probably be one big, long ramble.

Generally I have an answer, a solution for everything with our kids. I mean, we've been through this 11 times and that doesn't even begin to cover the foster kids.

I've talked to more doctors, specialists, police officers, blah, blah, blah..... than I can count. I think about the situation, get input, make a decision and it's usually solved.

Our 17 yr old son with autism throws me for a loop every single time. Usually he's happy, smiling and full of chatter. This afternoon Jeff and I came home, I went in the house to get ready for a party that we had tonight.

I got in the shower, Jeff didn't show up, I dried my hair, got dressed and Jeff didn't show. I went downstairs into the garage and Jeff was sitting side saddle on his motorcycle. He was facing me as I opened the door. The look on his face was stern but concerned, exasperated, but loving and it also told me to go away.

Me being me, I didn't leave. I walked around so I could see Joshua. Joshua was standing with his arms crossed and his back to me. He didn't turn and look as I walked out into the garage. Something was up. My first thought was that Joshua had done something dumb and was getting a talking to from dad.

I decided to let them finish and went back upstairs to ask the other kids if they knew what was going on.

They freaked on me. All four of them were trying to talk at once. I was being hit by screeching voices coming from all directions.

"OK, ONE at a time!"

Nikki spoke first "You're going to have to get the whole story from Jakob and Jeremiah. All I know was that when I got home the they were running out of the house and Joshua was chasing them yelling."

Jakob chimed in "Jeremiah and I were tickling each other and I grabbed Jeremiah's leg above his knee. Joshua thought I grabbed him somewhere else and he freaked out on me calling me all sorts of names." Jakob proceeded to tell me the names and Joshua, of anyone, shouldn't have been throwing around those names.

About the time Jakob ran out of breath Jeremiah picked up the tale. "Joshua pinned Jakob into the couch, got into his face and was calling him all kinds of bad words and telling him to get out of the house."

Ok. I'm pissed now. Joshua has done this before and I, as well as everyone else, was sick of it.

There was a lot more to it that I just can't go into here. I turned and went back to the garage. Jeff was still talking, Joshua was crying. I asked Jeff if Joshua had mentioned the "problem" in the house.

"No, he didn't say anything about anything happening."

"Well ask him about, blah, blah, blah!" with that I turned around and went back in. About that time Jeff came in. Joshua had been talking to his dad about not wanting to live. Jeff got him calmed down as usual and all was fine.

I mean, Joshua can change on a dime. The child was fine, smiling and happy. He apologized to everyone about his actions earlier and assured me that all was well. Jeff and I had a grad party to attend and we had to leave. Our two oldest, 19 and 20 were home to supervise.

We get home a couple of hours later and all seems well. Joshua was in his room singing to his iPod, some kids were playing video games, some were running around and some were pirates. Pretty typical.

I get in bed and reach for my laptop. Facebook is first on the agenda. I see Joshua's status update first. "Life is crap." Taking a deep breath I expand his comment section. He then told everyone that he wants to hang himself, that everyone hates him, that his family hates him and that there's no reason for him to continue.

Next I log onto his account to check his messages. He's sent out numerous messages stating the same things. I deleted his post and the comments.

Ok, so I know that I have a child that is autistic, but he knows, he feels, the way others feel about the way he acts. It's hard, it's been hard, on everyone.

I know that I'll watch him closely through the weekend, call his doctors on Monday and get the ball rolling. The thing I just don't know how to get through to him is that he is loved, he is special and that he has to learn to work with others. He has to accept responsibility for the way he harms other people, not just physically, but emotionally.

I don't know how to get across to him that he has to work with us. We just can't make it all come together if he's not willing to meet us part way. I don't want him to feel condemned. I don't want him to feel unwanted, but his actions push people away.

How do I get across to an autistic child that the world doesn't revolve around him, that he has to help to make things better?

I'll have a long talk with him tomorrow and let him know how much he means to us. Monday I'll make all of the calls and try to get get a plan together. I just don't know where to go from there. I don't know how to get through to him. I don't know how to help him.  One of his doctors told me that he'd never in 30 years of practice seen a child like Joshua, that he had no other ideas that he could offer. If he doesn't know, how can I?

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When Pigs Fly

Mom. Nana. Diva. Nazi Mom. Bitch.

Those are all names I've been called and I answer to most of them. Today, however, I was a baby, a big, freaking, baby.

I had decided a few weeks ago to get another tattoo. I know, I wasn't gonna do it again, and not on my back. Well things change. I had just happened to pick up a tattoo magazine and saw this incredible tattoo on a girls back and fell in love with it. I thought about it for awhile and decided to go for it.

Boy, did I go for it! It's huge, it goes from below my tan line to around the tip of my shoulder. I thought about all the negative aspects of having another tat. From embarrassing my kids to the attendants in the nursing home when I'm eighty speculating on what type of girl I had been. Nikki said she'll take care of me so I guess the nursing home thing is out. Also, I didn't want anything that I couldn't hide.

All that aside, there was the pain side of things. I guess I really didn't think that one through well enough. The only places I thought I'd have problems with were around my ribs and my shoulder blade. What an idiot!

When I got to the shop (Living Art in Gresham) Dominick (awesome!) had the picture drawn. When he put it up to my back for me to check it out I could have sworn I saw pigs flying right by the window. Well that was the sign. I was going for it.

Dominick led us back through the hallways of the dungeon of pain into his room. Still not too late. I could pay him for his time and run. Thinking back I'm not really sure why I didn't. Dominick cleaned my back and applied the stencil. I loved it! As he got everything ready I took a couple of deep breaths and a Xanex.

When he was ready to begin he told me to sit on the table and lean over to stretch out my back. So I'm thinking "I have a little extra padding back there, no problem, I can do this". I must have been hallucinating. The second he touched my skin with that gun I knew it wasn't gonna be pretty, the Diva was going to lose it.

Holy mother of God! "Dammit Dominick!" Then I heard thuds, pig were falling to the ground! They tricked me, they hadn't been flying, they must have been jumping. Sly little bastards! Last time I trust a pig. Time for another Xanex.

I began to breathe deeply. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate. Didn't work. Although I didn't cry, I'm sure Dominick heard things from me that he's only heard from drunken sailors before. Not sure why it helped, but it did.

After about two and a half hours I'd had enough. The outline was completed and he had began shading. I was able to compose myself enough to yell for him to stop before I turned around and grabbed him by the throat. No, that never crossed my mind, although I did wonder why the hell I was paying for him to do this to me.

Dominick was great. He always is. He put up with me and did an awesome job even though I'm sure I was being a complete pain in his butt. So now I'm home and already dreading the next session in June. When it's done though, I'll love it and Dominick will be my hero for putting up with Diva turned Baby.

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