Sand and Water

Beth Nielsen Chapman is a wonderful singer and composer who has experienced her share of grief. I am fortunate to be attending a workshop that she developed with our group facilitator, Renick Stevenson, artist, philosopher, poet, crisis counselor ....

Beth's 1997 CD, Sand and Water is an integral part of the workshop. The song "The Color of Roses" is especially helpful as those of us participating try to sort through the baggage from the past so we can live in the moment, whatever it brings.

. . .
It's so hard to touch what is out of our hands
To know and to trust what the heart understands
Only the ones who believe
Ever see what they dream
Ever dream what comes true
Life gives us magic
And life brings us tragedy
Everyone suffers some loss
Still we have faith in it
Childlike hope
There's a reason that outweighs the cost
And gravity throws all these rules in our way
And sometimes the spirit refuses to play
Only the ones who believe
Ever see what they dream
Ever dream what comes true
. . .
And add my regrets to the tears in the rain
That's what the color of roses contain
Only the ones who believe
Ever see what they dream
Ever dream what comes true


(copied from http://lyrics.astraweb.com)

I wish getting my act together was as easy as singing along to a song someone else has written.

Grief and Creativity: Day 2

It has been a long time since I have written poetry. Perhaps it is because to me poetry should be about happy, beautiful things. As the last two days have helped me realize, there has been way too much sadness and anger covering for the grief I haven't allowed myself to experience. I thought I was handling it. In my book, that means pushing the pain to the side and continuing on as if it was no big deal. Not exactly something I feel like writing catchy phrases about.

Well, today was my day of reckoning. Time to put it all out there. How I have experienced (or failed to experience) grief in my life.




Happiness always comes with something to mourn.

The birth of a child
Brings worry of responsibility
And what can go wrong

The anticipation of first words
Then angst when they are not

The love in an embrace
Grief from a blank stare

After years of wondering
what the next loss will be
Emotions blur
and my heart aches

Trying to hide or deny
the pain only subverts it
Deeper,
swirling 'round
confusing light and dark

Sometimes seeds I plant become
hopeful blossoms that reach
toward warmth
But I know that isn't real

Then the fool sees they are
tears
with roots that hold tight
intertwined

See it for what it is

Real is what I have.

Grief and Creativity: Day 1

At 8:05 this morning I boarded an airplane and traveled a great distance in order to attend a workshop about using artistic creativity for dealing with grief. My intended goal for this exercise was threefold:

1. Deal with the grief I have held deeply for many years about my children, the difficulties they have that I cannot fix, and the lost dreams I once had for them.

2. Learn the program well enough to offer it at home to other parents of children with special needs.

3. Develop a similar program that I could offer to seniors in assisted living facilities.

Within the first ten minutes of the first session, I became painfully aware that this was going to be more about my own struggles with grieving than I had planned. Tears rolled down my cheeks as our leader told us his story and how the program came to exist. As each participant told the intimate group his or her own reasons for participating, the tears kept coming. There was a lot of pain in the room, and it seemed to grow within my chest as each person exposed their wounds.

As the last person to speak, I found myself crying before I could think of anything to say. Without saying a word, I knew that the pain that has been kept inside for more than eight years was about to come out like a thunderstorm, and I couldn't stop it. In the past, I only allowed myself to cry occasionally, and then only for a few minutes, never acknowledging that I felt helpless.

For the rest of the evening, tears continued to roll down my face as we talked. They continued as I walked through the purple glow of early night back to my hotel, climbed the stairs to the third floor, and opened the door to my room. There I sobbed until my eyes burned and my head throbbed. Then I looked in the mirror and said to myself,

"I sure as hell am not wearing mascara to tomorrow's session."

My sustenance for the day has been caffeine, a Fiber One bar, a V8 and 7 ibuprofen tablets (not all at the same time). No wonder I've been crying hysterically.

Why am I here again?

The Kind of Change that Makes my Job Difficult

I received a letter today that made me very sad. It began:

Dear Friends,

I write to tell you I am retiring from medical practice this summer to begin full-time teaching at the University of Texas at Dallas. . . .

Ainsley's pediatric neurologist is leaving his practice to continue his "writing and clinical research". This is a brilliant man, and we were fortunate to find him at a time when we needed straight answers and a reliable diagnosis. The consolation to losing such a great physician for my child is that his research will help millions, possibly including my own family.

In the last 16 or so years since I left graduate school, I have met hundreds of medical professionals. Some were terribly incompetent to the point of being dangerous. Most were average or better. Only a few have made me feel completely confident their ability to make accurate diagnoses and recommend reasonable treatments or perform procedures that would be beneficial. This man ranks at the top of that list.

Another consolation is that he was able to identify my daughter's autism at an early age so that our family could pursue therapies that would help her long before she enters kindergarten. My hope is that she will go to school in the fall not needing any modifications to her curriculum. I am grateful we had the opportunity to get a solid start with his help.

Antithesis

Yesterday, Steve and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. The last eight years have been a roller coaster ride ... never a dull moment. It's a good thing I like roller coasters.

We decided to recognize the day simply. No gifts, just dinner and time together. We went to a restaurant we've been wanting to try ever since we moved here, a Brazilian steak house called Rafain Churrascaria. This is NOT a restaurant for Ian. It could be one for Ainsley when she is a little more consistent in using appropriate dining utensils. The place is dripping with meat! Delicious, juicy, cooked-to-perfection animal flesh.

Periodically through the meal we would comment on how much my father would love the place. The wine list reads like a novel with labels from around the world. We each tried a different Brazilian wine, both were excellent and paired well with each course. The salad bar, obviously, is self-serve and boasts everything EXCEPT traditional salad. Artichokes, olives, huge blocks of cheese, roasted red peppers, steamed asparagus, and a few things I didn't recognize. For the main course: meat, and lots of it! Servers bring huge skewers of beef, pork, sausage, and lamb cooked sixteen different ways to your table and offer petite slices of each. It's perfect! I only sampled five, but Steve did his best to try as many as he could. I was saving room for dessert, which included too many choices on a bar at the front of the restaurant. Ian and Ainsley would have camped out there, had we chosen to bring them. That will NOT be happening any time soon.

Steve and I both awoke this morning later than usual and commented that we still felt full from last night's dinner. I am not sure that is a good thing, unless we spend the day working out. Steve can if he wants to. I am going to relax and enjoy my last Friday of peace and quiet until August 29th - the first Friday of the school year. [sigh]

We rarely take time to recognize we are a couple. With two challenging kids, it just isn't possible as often as is truly necessary to make a marriage work, which is probably one of the reasons so many couples in our situation end up divorced. Another reason is lack of communication. We are guilty of that, too. Surprisingly though, it only takes a couple of hours of NOT discussing the kids to recognize that a good relationship doesn't erode just because difficult times hit. The strength that kept us going when we were poor graduate students keeps us working hard to make our family successful. I don't always see that, especially when I am really stressed out; but it's nice to know I can always rely on that invisible force that brought us together to begin with.

Food for Thought

Ian has decided to become a vegetarian. A couple of days ago he set his foot firmly on the floor and said he was no longer going to eat meat. Then he read aloud an imaginary letter from the President, claiming George W. Bush said he didn't have to eat it ever again. I suppose I should have taken the opportunity to share my feelings about the current administration, but instead decided to focus on one major issue at a time. Politics can wait for another day.

I wondered aloud if Ian was going to expand his food choices to include more fruits and vegetables. After all, how can one be a vegetarian if he does not eat plants? Currently, Ian likes apples, bananas, edamame beans, corn, peas, French fried potatoes, and he will tolerate broccoli if it has ketchup on it. He likes tomato based spaghetti sauce, but he will not eat tomatoes. Therefore, in our house ketchup and spaghetti sauce are vegetables. He won't eat eggs. He is lactose intolerant and must drink soy milk. He likes only colby-jack cheese that is marbled - and he will not eat colby or jack cheese by themselves.

This is going to be interesting.

The grocery store was a pleasant surprise today. There was a vast assortment of veggie burgers and meatless chicken nuggets. I bought one of everything. Then I thought he might be willing to try black bean burritos. It isn't very likely, but at least I can present it to him and see what happens. If he doesn't like his options, there is always pb&j.

Did I mention he isn't much a vegetable eater?

This of course is compounded by the fact that he LOVES bread, pancakes, pasta, rice, sugary cereals, Fiber One bars, potato chips, popcorn, and pretzels. He would live on simple carbs if I weren't looking. Fortunately, most carbs in this house are brown or whole grain of some sort, but even then he cannot live on these alone. Hypoglycemia is always an issue that he forgets.

I just hope I can convince him to like tofu.

None of this should be a surprise. We have two nieces and a nephew who gave up a carnivorous lifestyle several years ago, and they seem to be doing fine. Knowing that does not help me relax about this new adventure. In fact, ever since Ian made his announcement, my right eyelid has been twitching. I need a nap.

If I tell Ian that boogers are meat, maybe he'll stop picking his nose. Hmmmmmm.... it might work, you never know.

Reaching for a Hand to Hold

I had just walked in the door when the phone started to ring. Quickly unloading the dry cleaning and placing the pharmacy bag on the bathroom counter, I looked at the caller ID to see if this was a sales call or someone worth talking to. The name was familiar to me, although we had never been formally introduced; so I answered.

"Carla," she said, "this is [lovely female name]. I am [boy's name]'s mother. I've been wanting to call you for some time now. Is this a good time to talk?"

Realizing this was the mother of a boy Ian has had several altercations with this year, I agreed it would be a good idea for us to communicate candidly. We acknowledged that our boys have had a difficult year together, and she said although she did not know the details, that she is aware that Ian has some challenges. Her son, as it turns out, has similar ones. In a conversation that lasted quite some time, we came to understand each other very well. We found ourselves saying, "Yep, I know exactly what you mean" many times.

It took so much courage for her to call me, to reach out in a situation that could have easily gone very badly. But she took the chance that I would understand her situation and her child and want to work together to make things better for the boys. I am so touched by this woman's compassion. Her strength is much greater than she probably realizes. Although we both admitted we are exhausted and heartbroken so much of the time, to be able to connect with someone who experiences what we live each day made me stand a little taller. The burden was not as heavy as it had been when I walked through the door - not counting the forty pounds of dry cleaning that was in my arms.

After I hung up the phone, it occurred to me that I had been angry with her son earlier in the year for creating stress at school for Ian. My solution for Ian at the time was to stay away from the boy until they had cooled off and could be around each other without pushing each other's buttons. I had no idea that Ian's reaction to some of these incidents had caused her son just as much worry. And I felt terrible that I had not even thought to call her to find out if we were missing a piece of the puzzle.

Our very special children are not always able to tell us the whole story, even when we think we have heard all that is necessary to assign blame. Sometimes, blame isn't necessary. Thoughtful consideration of the circumstances, actions and reactions can lead us to a completely different place than we thought we were going. I like where this situation is taking us.