A Good Memorial Day

Today was a good day. It could have been terrible or sad or both. Today is a day people think of fallen veterans and departed family and visit grave sides. We went hiking instead.

We visited the Badlands. It was a place we’ve loved to take the kids for years but oddly enough last year we never made it out there. I think that helped it be a good choice for today. There were no fresh memories with Dad here. Lucy didn’t even really remember this place. To her it was a vague memory enhanced by a visit to a photo album.

Today I tried to do things differently. We didn’t stay long at the visitor’s center. We chose different places to picnic and hike at the start of the day. I passed up places we “always” went. Today was a day for new adventures with a touch of the familiar.

We were treated with several firsts today—a gift from God perhaps to help today be a new experience?

We fed prairie dogs right out the window of the van! That’s never happened before. The kids crammed out the windows to toss grapes and lettuce and at least pretend we were trying to feed them things the game wardens would approve of. I kept glancing on the horizon for any official vehicles arriving to make us stop while the giggles and requests for the camera kept coming. One little prairie dog even sang for his supper. Either that or he was yelling, “Hey! I want a piece of that action!”

We saw mountain goats on the ridges as we came to stopped traffic around a bend. We don’t remember ever seeing them this close before. Kati even saw a mom with a baby.

As we arrived in the last portion of the park to get out and hike, we were greeted with the most breathtakingly beautiful views I think we’ve ever gotten here. It was certainly the most green and lush we’ve ever seen the Badlands. A winter with record snowfall and wet days in the past weeks have been rewarded with bursting green growth and astounding contrast in the hills of yellows and reds bursting forth where normally a sea of tans awaits. It was phenomenal.

I watched as my own little mountain goats romped and climbed higher and higher until I had to shout out for them to return. A storm was moving in on the horizon and I wasn’t sure I wanted them perched precariously on a precipice with thunder rolling softly in the distance.

Today was a good day.

At dinner I decided I should tell them how some people who’ve lost a loved one celebrate today. They agreed this was better. Dad would have liked this better. Still grief snuck up on one of my children at bedtime. Ryan, because of his autism, keeps looping back to the night his father died and wrestling with his shock, anger, hurt, and so on. Today reminded him of Dad’s absence. But at least it didn’t hit him until the quiet of bedtime.

On another day I will ask one more time if they want to help me scatter Kraig’s ashes or just want me to take care of it. It’s time. It’s past time. On another day we will go pick out rocks to have engraved as monuments for Dad to keep in our garden. I’ve decided this is a more personal tribute than a cold cemetery they will never want to visit. Those things can wait for another day.

Today we laughed. We hiked. We climbed until Mom either couldn’t keep up or demanded for safety-sake they come back to earth. We fed prairie dogs and played “what do you see in that cloud” on a long drive.

Today was a good day.



 

Uniquely Gifted

I’m working through something difficult right now. I need to determine where my son with autism will start his high school career. I need to make the call on two options for what kind of learning environment he will begin next year with. And the decision rests with me alone.

That had me really down yesterday. I should say that I’ve always been the one who meets with his teachers and therapists. I’m the one who goes to the IEP (Individualized Education Plan) meetings to find out how he’s functioning in school and help determine what kind of support he needs. I’m the one who has done the research on his rights in the public school setting. I’m the one who gathered information and have been since he was two years old and we discovered he was different.

But after I had the information, I had a husband who listened. We’d discuss what I learned and what I heard at meetings and we’d decide together what the best course of action for Ryan was. Most of the time, Kraig would follow my lead, trusting my research and instincts. I’d made myself the expert on Ryan’s special needs. But sometimes he would disagree and I valued his wisdom and input.

Yesterday I was close to tears because that input is gone. He’s in heaven and I’m still here.

I thought I had the best choice ready for Ryan. I’ve got a meeting coming up where we finalize those plans and his schedule for next year. And then I spoke with one of his teachers. Audra is a wonderful woman who pushes Ryan, sometimes to tears, telling him, “I want you to be the best Ryan you can be.” I value her input. And her initial take on my choices was the other one, the one I hadn’t chosen.

I drove away thinking about this and I was scared. What am I going to do? Time is running out and if I choose wrong, the worst case scenario of either will be a) he’s not challenged enough and he loses progress we’ve made OR b) I place him in a stressful environment that frustrates him and sets him back. And then a song came on. It’s one I’ve always loved: Jason Gray’s Remind Me of Who I Am.

When I lose my way, And I forget my name,
Remind me who I am.
In the mirror all I see, Is who I don't wanna be,
Remind me who I am.
In the loneliest places, When I can't remember what grace is.

Tell me, once again, who I am to You

As I listened to the lyrics of this song, words flowed into my heart as clear as a bell. Not the lyrics this time but words I have encouraged moms with for years. They are my words: “I believe you are uniquely gifted to be the best mom for the children God gave YOU.” I AM uniquely gifted to be the best mom for Ryan. I can do this.

The panic evaporated and the peace replaced it; I came up with a plan. I would seek wise counsel from the regular education teachers who work with him daily. I would weigh the benefits and then choose what I feel is best for Ryan. And then I will monitor it closely, keeping in contact with his teachers next year to make sure whatever choice I go with is helping him be the best Ryan he can be.

Whether you are a mom or dad to a special needs child struggling to make choices you never dreamed of or the parent of neuro-typical kid struggling at a crossroads, let me be your cheerleader. YOU are uniquely equipped to be the BEST mom or dad for this child.

Of all the mommies and daddies possible YOU are the parent God in Heaven, Creator of this child, chose for this child. It may be hard. At times you may want to take the easier path because you are just tired. I get that. Parenting is exhausting. But don’t choose the easy path—choose the best path. Wrestle with the options. Be consistent day in and day out. Ask the God who gave you this child to help you rise to the challenge. You can do this. I can do this.

We are uniquely gifted to be the best parents our children deserve when we trust God and don't give up. It is worth it.

Falling Teeth & Turning Pages

It was something so simple. My youngest daughter stood there in front of me with blood on her lips but a smile proudly plastered on her face. “I lost my tooth!” she exclaimed. She’d been wiggling that thing for a while now and she was so excited. It was her first.

Today we’d even been to the dentist. I had asked about a different tooth, dark grey from a fall a few months ago. It was fine, not badly damaged. It would fall out on its own unless something changed. We smiled and chatted about her tiny bottom tooth, normal and moving towards falling out. I hadn’t expected it to be tonight.

As she went off to brush her teeth for bed, it happened. No huge effort—it was just time. Her sister warned her it would bleed but Lucy wasn’t a bit scared. She was too excited for this new milestone.

She proudly held it out for me to see as I tried to press a cool washcloth on her bleeding gum. And it hit me—Kraig was missing this. I had to turn away so Lucy wouldn’t see me struggling for composure in her shining, big-girl moment.

He always got a little sappy about their baby teeth. I remember one night telling him that no, the “tooth fairy” should not hold on to them. That was creepy. He just said it was a tiny part of when they were little and he had a hard time letting it go.

Tonight was another milestone gone by without him. Earlier this week it was Jarod’s debut on the high school stage in Ghostbusters. Only two of my friends knew that before we were seated, I was so overwhelmed that Kraig was missing this that I fled to the bathroom to quietly sob in the stall—not wanting anyone to see me or hear me. Jarod did amazing and had no idea the moment was bittersweet for his mom.

There will be many milestones where his absence will be noticeable. That makes me sad.

But tonight I also found myself watching the end of a favorite movie of ours with my girls—Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium. They picked it out. It’s a movie about a man with a magic toy store who declares today is the day when it is his time to die and he wants to pass the magic on to his assistant. It is anything but a sad movie. It’s a movie about celebrating the magic in our lives. Mr. Magorium has one of my favorite lines from a movie: “Your life is an occasion—rise to it.”

As I sat snuggling Lucy and sitting across from Kati we talked about Daddy and heaven. We talked about the lines Dustin Hoffman utters about dying. He talks about the end of Shakespeare’s King Lear, a five act play that simply ends with “He dies.” Mr. Magorium tells his grief-stricken assistant and friend that while this is the end of his character’s story, it is an opportunity for her to turn the page and keep writing the story of her life.

I told my girls that we are turning the page. We remember Daddy’s contribution to our story and we cherish it. “He was the best daddy in the world,” Lucy added. Kati smiled. But now, I explained (as did the movie), we turn the page and keep writing our stories. Daddy would have wanted that.

So tonight the tooth fairy drifted down to Lucy’s room and placed a fresh one dollar bill where the tooth had been tucked away. No, she didn’t hold on to it. And though his absence in yet another milestone is tangible tonight, I choose to turn the page. The story goes on.

Life Goes On

It’s been 11 weeks today. That fact didn’t occur to me until I sat down to write. Eleven weeks of putting one foot in front of the other. Eleven weeks of successes and setbacks. Eleven weeks of parenting alone. Eleven weeks of homework and housework, listening and laughing, crying and coping. In other words, eleven weeks of life just keeping moving forward since Kraig died.

Today was a busy day. There were errands and chores, meetings with friends, and even a trip into the office. I’m a radio DJ and we had a meeting in addition to me needing to track (record my shows, for all you non-DJs). I finished all of this up and headed to my afternoon insanity—after-school juggling with four kids in three schools.

I’ve gotten it down to a science. Pick up Lucy from Kindergarten down the street at 2:45. Arrive home and wait for Ryan and Kati to return by 3:10. They walk. Then at 3:25 head off to the high school to get Jarod so he won’t have to wait. Jarod enjoys the one-on-one time to decompress with me about his day on the drive home.

Except today didn’t happen like that. Because life is unpredictable.

Today Ryan was having a bad autism day. When 3:25 rolled around, I was still missing two middle-schoolers. I called up to the school and discovered Ryan was having a major meltdown and his special ed teacher, bless her, never lets him leave until he’s calm. I told them I’d be right up. We’d be late to get Jarod but there wasn’t anything to be done about that.

I told Kati, waiting patiently for her brother by the office counter, to head outside to the van with Lucy. Ryan was in an office with two caring adults trying to help him calm the sobs. The lights were out. I was so torn between the child I knew would be waiting, wondering where I was, and the child in front of me hurting and unable to calm himself. He wasn’t doing this on purpose.

I texted Jarod while Ryan and his teacher explained to me the cause of the sobs and tears running down his blotchy, red face. He’d been crying a while. “Ryan’s having a meltdown. Be right there.” I prayed Jarod checked his cell phone. He only uses it to call me. It’s rarely on.

 

When Ryan was still struggling to tell me what was wrong, I realized I had planned to go get Jarod’s newly repaired pocket watch from the shop on the way home from getting him. He’d be thrilled. Now how to occupy all four. “Ryan, would Happy Hour at Sonic for some slushies help?” The tears stopped so fast the teachers laughed out loud. “Sonic?” Ryan perked up. Yes, I assured him, but we needed to go now. Jarod would be waiting and we didn’t want him to think mom had forgotten him.

Ryan calmed and I thanked the teachers. We rushed to the high school to find Jarod, waiting and looking upset. He’d left his cell phone at home. He had indeed worried I’d forgotten him. Plus his day had been exhaustively long and full of high school stress. I apologized. He understands having a brother with autism often means meltdowns delaying things. But his shoulders still sank in a resigned way. What’re ya gonna do? they seemed to say.

We headed to Sonic. Gotta love Happy Hour. Five slushies for $4.33. That’s craft fair money put to good use, honestly. And it let me leave the three younger kids in the van and take just Jarod in to retrieve his newly repaired pocket watch—his pride and joy. It’s over 100 years old and he bought it with his own money. But he fell on it last week, shattering the crystal (the glass, for you non-steampunk fans). Grandpa offered to pay for the repair.

As a result of this chaos, we deemed it “what can we find in the freezer and fridge” for dinner tonight. There are still baths and showers to be accomplished. Rooms to be tidied and laundry to be folded and homework attacked. 

And just like that, another day is done. Life goes on.

In the back of my mind it doesn’t seem right that life is just going on…but I know it is. I’m not sad for Kraig. He’s in a place with no meltdowns, no schedules, no work. And it’s my job to keep doing all those things down here. Today we did. Today I put one foot in front of the other. I tried my best to be a good mom. I talked to God often about how that should work. I pray He’ll give the kids supernatural understanding beyond their years when Mom is pulled in too many directions at once and they must be patient. And I trust He will help me get through tomorrow just like I got through today.