On Being Lost and Wanting to Be Found

Sparrow,

It's so nice to hear your voice on the blog again. I cheered when I read about you learning the 3-D cartooning and putting your artistic skills to a new use (http://birdieandsparrow.blogspot.ca/2013/05/career-change.html) and I wanted to throw my arms around you when I read about your feelings of "mid life crisis" (http://birdieandsparrow.blogspot.ca/2013/06/um-is-this-what-they-call-mid-life.html). I love that even so far away from each other, with so little contact, and so much time apart (It's coming on a year since I blubbered all over you the day you left), we still need to reach out to each other, to be open and say "this is happening to me, please care".

You know, it's funny, but lately that's been on my mind a lot, the concept of  "this is happening to me, please care"....here's where I'm coming from...I wonder if it is all part of a mid life crisis, too:

I was at a wedding a few weekends ago, the date for the evening for an old friend. Not a date so much as when this person needs a friend to be his "plus 1", he invites me along and I do my best to be "lively accompaniment". We spent the night joking that I was his wedding "beard". On this particular night I found myself alone, for an extended period of time, while my date was with friends (I knew no one at this wedding).

Now,  I'm the kind of  person that can go into an event not knowing anyone and say "hey world, here I am. I know no one so let's chat and be friends". But, I don't do this because I'm socially secure. No! Rather, I do it  as a sort of "life saver". See, what most people don't know about me, is that I hate being in new social situations. I hate being in a crowd.  I detest not knowing anyone. Oh, I'm out in crowds all the time. I do it, and I throw myself into it but as a "fake it to make it" type protective measure. So long as I am saying "hey world, here I am, be my friend", no one knows how lost I am, how lonely and self-conscious. Does that make sense?

Well, on this night, despite being open and friendly, there I was at one point, alone at a table while everyone else seemed to disappear. The crowd thinned, my date was gone to spend time with the groom (an old friend) and, with his phone off, he was not answering my texts inquiring where he was or when he would return. To make it worse, the venue staff started cleaning around me making me feel more and more alone. Not a good feeling, to say the least. Now, before anyone judges my "date", it needs to be said that when he left, I was chatting with a wedding guest and it didn't dawn on him that I was alone. What he didn't know was that this guest left within minutes, as did seemingly everyone else, and I was literally alone for the better part of an hour.

I'd done my job of being easy going and, now, I was lost. It was cold, raining, and the mosquitoes were out. I was tired and feeling stupid and the little girl's voice in my head was whimpering, "Find me. Take me home. I'm lonely".

 It was a terrible, unfortunate feeling. For 20 years I had been in a relationship. For 20 years I lived with a man who understood that my happy-go-lucky bravado was an act and that I always need to be "found", to have an arm put around me to help me feel centered after all the pretending.  Now, there's no one to do that for me, and when the reality of that hits me, it hits hard.

Find me. I'm lost.

Just thinking about the sense of "lost" and the way I felt that night, texting Raven to have something to do and to remind myself that I'm not actually alone in the world makes me teary eyed. Raven, bless her, wanted to come get me, to take me home, and that was a beautiful feeling. Someone else at the wedding though rescued me when she found me alone and went off in search of my missing partner to let him know that his presence was needed.

The night ended with no further mishap.  My date promptly, at my request, took me home but for the rest of the night, and the next day as well, I couldn't shake the feeling of wanting to be found, of wanting someone to know, and to care. I had an overwhelming need for someone to put the kettle on and let me be a little girl without my having to speak up and admit to how I felt.

I'm proud of myself, though, Sparrow because as lost as I feel at times, I still keep going. I pick myself up, brush off my knees and keep moving forward. I recognize that I feel like a lonely little girl at times but I don't let her take over.

Hey...wait a minute...the ability to keep going and the refusal to curl up in a ball when the urge hits...that's not a crisis after all, is it?

With love,
A "Wanting to be Found but NOT in a Crisis",
Red Bird

Um, is this what they call a mid life crisis?

My Dear Red Bird

I had a weird moment the other day. The Hubster and I were in the bathroom brushing our teeth before bed and I was suddenly over come with such heart stopping sorrow as I looked and the man I love and thought 'Oh my God, you're going to turn 50. I don't want you to die, I don't want to die.' It was a sudden panic that life was moving fast. We are past the half way point statistically speaking. I almost burst into tears I was so heart broken. Of course you know the man is many years away from turning 50 and I don't know why I was struck with this sudden fear, but there it is, weird moment in the bathroom. I've had other such feelings lately, a need to get things done like never before, a feeling of it's now or never. We almost bought a sports car the other week. A beautiful little black bullet, with two tiny seats in the back for those capable of folding themselves up into tiny packages. I mean we were ready to sign the papers. What is wrong with us, we are a four person family one of whom is most definitely not capable of the bending and folding thing, my poor Aspie boy! It's also weird because I feel incredibly sad, yet also strangely content with life right now. As much as I feel it's the beginning of the end, I also feel it's the beginning of a new beginning. Mid life crisis? Oh well, at least I'm being productive. Just hope we don't lose it all together and do something crazy.... or maybe I do, it's hard to know these days!

Always yours
A slightly off kilter Sparrow

...In which "My Raven" Steps out From Her Shadows and Poses a Question...

 Dear Sparrow and the "Am I Lost" Readers:

I have a Guest Blog Entry for you today written by a woman that I affectionately call "Raven", a woman I have spoken of on several occasions in this blog. I asked Raven if she would consider writing for the blog months ago and, while she agreed to do it, she quickly realized that baring her soul wasn't as easy as she thought and it wasn't until yesterday that she let it all come pouring out and a blog piece was emailed to me.

When I read the piece, I had to pause, catch my breath and then read it again because I was moved by the raw honesty presented. You see, my Raven, while being an easily supportive, generous and loving friend, is not a woman who easily admits to her own pain. This woman listens, ad naseum, to my heartaches but rarely touches on her own. She regularly texts me just to take my emotional temperature and to remind me that she's there for me, but rarely admits to her own emotional needs.

The past few months have been physically and emotionally difficult on "My Raven"  and while watching her struggle has been painful, it has also been wondrous because it has allowed me to witness something else: the emotional evolution and growth of a dear friend...

With all of that said, I present the following:

I shall introduce myself:

I am Raven, a good friend of Red Bird. I never did meet Sparrow but I feel like I know her from all of the wonderful stories Red Bird has told me. I unlike Red Bird and Sparrow have not had to deal with the same issues with my fledgling as they have as my child is, as some say, "normal", but this does not mean there are no issues. On many occasions we have melt downs, anxiety and more but I have said to myself many times I don't know how Red Bird does it and I applaud her.

Many of the issues I have in trying to be a good parent are with myself as after the birth of my Fledgling depression came tap tap tapping at my door. The hormone changes with pregnancy brought on depression that never went away. I have discovered that depression is like an addiction, we can feed it, we can mask it, we can fight it but it never goes away - we have it for life. I have done all of the above in this battle and I have asked myself , "If I could wish for it to never be, would I?"

 I have been on the roller coaster of medication and it worked TOO well.  I no longer felt depressed but I also no longer really felt anything. I now see how this contributed to the fail of my 19 year relationship with the man who was my best friend. I saw how the medication was taking away my feelings and decided to try to fight it myself. I am by no means saying this is the best way for everyone to go. Medication is needed! I needed it at one point but went off when I felt it was no longer needed and creating more problems. I continue  riding an unmedicated roller coaster (as anyone who has dealt with depression knows, there are ups and downs).

I now have a clear understanding that this is a part of me like the nose on my face and I have no reason to be ashamed and hide it. By not hiding I have discovered I am not alone, family and friends have or are going though this. So please never be ashamed. You are not a weak person to have these lows! I felt for a time I was weak, I was weak for needing medication, I was weak for crying and screaming but no, I was just fighting and  a fighter is strong. A fighter may not win every fight but is still a fighter.

When Red bird was fighting her own battles, and her Fledgling was fighting hers as well, it made me look back and think upon my own struggles. I could relate to them both as some of these feelings they were having I have had myself. I feel great concern and empathy for her Fledgling as I can't imagine dealing with such feelings at such a young age. I went through mine in my late 20's and now 30's and have a hard time. I turn now to a question I mentioned earlier:

 If I could go back would I want to never have struggled or continue to struggle with depression?

The answer to that is hard because my battles have made me who I am. These battles at times have been for the worst and have caused great pain to myself and my family and yes, I would wish that away in a heart beat but if experiencing this changed me to the person I am today then my answer is "no".

So readers, I ask this question of you:  Would you take it away? Is there something in your life that has caused you hardship but that moulded who you are, and would you change this problem?

Ponder this to yourself, with your loved ones, or leave a comment down below. I have enjoyed sharing with you all and hope to again. This time I hope I made you think and next time I hope to make you laugh.

Best Regards,

Raven
Forever pondering weak and weary

 

Storms, Voice Overs and Grey's Anatomy

"There's an end to every storm.

 

 Once all the trees have been uprooted, once all the houses have been ripped apart, the wind will hush. The clouds will part. The rain will stop. The sky will clear in an instant.

 

 And only then, in those quiet moments after the storm, do we learn...

who was strong enough to survive it."

I'm  about to "out" myself:   I watch Grey's Anatomy.  The above is a quote I took from Meredith Grey's voice over at the end of the season 9 finale (don't worry, if you're a fan and you haven't yet seen the finale, I'm not about to give anything away with this post). I started watching Grey's Anatomy for the first time about a year ago and I started for a specific reason:

I needed to cry.

I needed an emotional outlet.

There was so much turmoil in my life and I discovered that I needed the cathartic experience that comes with watching a show that tugged at my heartstrings, that took me on an emotional roller coaster ride, leaving me breathless and wasted, but ready to take on the world because it offered me a safe outlet for my pain.

IT WORKED BEAUTIFULLY....that and swearing at the top of my lungs :-)

After watching that episode, and the tears had stopped, I was left pondering the voice over...

"And only then, in those quiet moments after the storm, do we learn...

who was strong enough to survive it."

 

I realized, in no time, that I don't agree with this quote.  Have you ever seen a broken human being? Have you ever witnessed someone go through an emotional pain so terrible that you can't fathom what it feels like? I have. Witnessing it made me understand:  Some pains are unbearable and yes, some of us survive them, but a lot of us don't and that has nothing to do with strength.  This statement,  I would argue, is a dangerous generalization.  I survived my terrible year, and the terrible years that preceeded it and, yes, I am a stubborn and tough SOB but sometimes, even tough SOB's can't weather a storm if the storm is forceful enough. Even stubborn SOB's can be left crippled and weak, and yes, sometimes they don’t survive. That's not about strength, that's about the size of the storm...easily confused but not interchangeable concepts.

My daughter is here after the storm, but only because we forced her to be.  Left on her own, her storm would not have been weathered and, should she have been taken from me, it is a guess as to whether or not I would have had the strength to continue.  Some storms can’t be weathered. Some storms take us and bash us and we are never the same.

I challenge you to think twice about pain, about strength and about survival and if you do, remember that pain is not meted out in "fair" doses, rationed out by what can be handled.  Always know that  not "getting back up" after being knocked down is not a sign of weakness but, perhaps, an indicator of the gravity of your trauma.


I challenge you to say no to thoughtless, pointless gross generalizations like the following that make people feel shame for buckling under extreme duress:

.

...and say no to well penned voice overs, as well, for often, they sound pretty but hold no real substance. Now, put the kettle on, get a box of Kleenex, fire up an episode, and have a good cry

Love Always,

A "Grey's Anatomy Watching" Red Bird

Career Change

Well my dear friend, I think things are pretty much back to normal. We are back in sync with west coast time, the apartment has managed to lend itself well to the four of us without feeling crowded and I am nearing the end of a cold that hit me fast and hard and has left me with a strained neck and shoulder as I awkwardly piled up pillows in an attempt to sleep without having to reach for a tissue every five minutes. Ah, such is life!

With everything in it's place and running smoothly, I have had time to think about my next step on this funky road I travel and well, a career change is in order. I am going to try my hand at modelling.

Okay, I'll give you a moment to mop up the coffee I know just sprayed right out your nose and mouth. Obviously I don't mean that type of modelling, I mean 3D modelling for gaming purposes. Okay, another moment to mop up more coffee is probably needed here, after all we both know I am not gifted in the technology department. But I am an artist and it's about time I dragged myself into the 21st century. I now have words like Blender, Unity, polygons and meshes in my vocab and more importantly, I know and understand what they all mean! Impressed? I'm beside myself with giddy pride as I rotate, scale, translate and LMB the heck out of our desktop. My trusty team of geeks (aka the Boy and the Man) are watching mouths agog as I create a game character who I will animate, somewhere around Chapter 8.

This is of course all down to the Boy. We have in the back of our minds the thought that University may not be for him with all it's social hurdles and processing challenges. He is at home in the world of computers and it appears gifted at this gaming thing. At present he is designing a game with people from Australia and Romania and has plans for a gaming empire. We see ourselves as his champions and guides, so I had better get myself up to date, can't champion the kid if I have no idea what I'm talking about. The added bonus being a new skill for me and a possible income in the future. When you open yourself up to new possibilities great things can happen. Let's see if this is one of those times. Heck, I've said it out loud now, so I can't fail, that would be too embarrassing.

Always yours
your newly geeky friend
Sparrow

Sparrow's return

Well my dear friend, I am back in Canada. You have been so patient with me while I shut myself off for 10 weeks as I knew you would. I didn't intend on disappearing altogether during this time, it just happened. I had no desire to open my laptop. No need to check emails or follow my usual blogs. No craving for contact. I was happy being a daughter and a mother, reconnecting with my parents face to face rather than over Skype or the phone line. Spending time with family.
 After recovering from the initial shock of my Mum's diagnosis and the stress of hopping on a plane and leaving the boy's behind, I have been struggling with another emotion which took me rather by surprise. Jealousy. I found myself resenting the fact that my parents live so close to my sister now. That she can pop round whenever she wants and that their world now revolves around my niece. I know, and I'm deeply embarrassed. I'm jealous of my four year old niece! I have to assume that it's all related to the fact that my parents mortality has been aggressively thrust in my face and reminded me that what I once took for granted is fast running out. Time. My sister is banking hours of it, memories to always have in her back pocket in the future when she needs them. I didn't want to share my precious minutes with her or my niece, I didn't want my memories to be about what my niece did, I wanted them to be about me and my parents. Inside I was stamping my feet and having a tantrum and I fear perhaps, a little outside too. Ten weeks seems like a long time, but it flew by all too fast and I feel like I haven't done enough for them. My Mum is undergoing chemotherapy and I'm not there to tell her how beautiful she looks when she loses her hair, her biggest fear in this battle she is in. Or to support my Dad when the love of his life is suffering and he doesn't know what to do. This is his battle too. I have never felt so far away and totally useless.

Thank you dear heart for letting me hide away these last few months, but life keeps moving forward so I am back and running along side you once more.
Always yours
Sparrow

The Year that Began With a Phone Call That Broke My Heart

Tomorrow is May 1^st.

May 1^st begins a countdown for me.

It's a countdown towards the end.

It’s about to be the end of the hardest year of my life and the countdown is on.

Saturday May the 12th, 2012 started like any other Saturday of that year. I was at work.  I worked as a Manager of a retail store and I worked every Saturday.  I was with my Assistant Manager who was in the back of the store helping a customer while I was at the cash  running a sale when the phone rang. As I passed the customer the debit machine, I took that opportunity to answer the phone, mostly because the ringing was aggravating a headache that had started just a little while before. It was my Ex.  I heard his voice, the concern in it, and it registered that there was something wrong but for some reason I couldn't quite understand what he was telling me. All I knew, despite my lack of understanding, was that I had to use my "I’m okay” voice in front of the customer I was serving.  I can see now, what I couldn't see then; I was in shock. My youngest, my Fledgling, had been admitted to the local children’s hospital in an emergency Mental Health crisis. 

We had finally hit rock bottom and our daughter had been rushed by ambulance to the hospital where she had been admitted for psychiatric care.

My Ex’s voice nearly broke me. We were both exhausted by a difficult few months with our sick young lady but neither of us were prepared for just how bad the situation was. 

I’ll never forget that phone call. 

I'll never forget going through the motions of “normal” as I somehow managed to finish up the transaction I was going through at the cash register.

I’ll never forget my co-worker's face as I told her I was leaving and what had just happened. 

I’ll never forget walking calmly to the back room, taking a seat in private and shaking uncontrollably for a few minutes before I packed up my belongings and let myself out the back door, walking to the car as if nothing had happened.

I drove myself to the hospital that Saturday afternoon, May the 12th, 2012 and the only thing to give away my racing emotions was my shaking. I couldn’t stop. I was, at this point, exhausted. I had been working through my child’s current mental health crisis for months, watching her become more and more despondent, hating school, going from sad to hateful and abusive.

I remember getting to the hospital.

I remember my Ex's face.

I remember Fledgling's look of terror and, yet, defiance, wanting so much to be a little girl and let Mommy take care of her but so lost to her condition that she couldn’t give in. 

I remember, especially, my oldest daughter, broken and holding my hand to be strong for me when her baby sister was at her sickest moment and being admitted to what would become a month long stay in a Psychiatric Unit. Even thinking abut it now, my stomach turns and I feel nauseous with the overwhelming emotion that was that day.

We sat by our Fledgling for a month watching her fight, and scream, and let it all out. We cried and hoped things would get better, which they did, with time, only to repeatedly unravel. At the end of our month we brought our daughter home but not before we added a beautiful bird house Fledgling made to the hospital’s Butterfly Garden. We had after all, left something  important behind-our innocence as a family. It was necessary,  to all of us, that we leave something positive behind. 

Something tangible. 

Something to say that for a period of time, we were there. 

This happened to us. 

Don’t forget us.

Somehow I thought things would get better when we got home but they didn’t. Oh, we had our good days but mostly we had bad days. It took us months to stabilize that little girl, going from medication to medication, from potential diagnosis to potential diagnosis, working with a psychiatrist on an out-patient basis and even having to bring our daughter back to the hospital months later. Eventually, we hit the right medications at the right doses and our beautiful little lady started to feel like herself again - to come back to the world.

Still, we all have scars.

Since that day, May 12^th, 2012, I’ve been on a countdown.

I don't know how many times I’ve said to myself:

"Let it be over."  "Let it be over."  "Let it be over."

The thing is that, for my child and this family, it will never be over. Never. She will never shake her mental health issues but I can hope that by fighting for her, by getting her medical attention and by showing her my strength, she will survive herself.

But I’m on a countdown. 

I need this year to end.

The year that began with a phone call that broke my heart

Will you countdown with me?

Red Bird

Happy Birthday to Me...

Darling Sparrow,

As you know, it happened. You know because you sent me an early morning text to mark the occasion;  I celebrated my birthday. I'm now, at 42, officially "in" my 40's. I didn't think I would be bothered by the idea but I find myself thinking about it a lot, not about what age means to me or about what it is doing to me physically, per say, but about how I have spent my time in those years that I was becoming 42. Am I pleased with how I spent my time? Do I like who I  became in that time? Are my accomplishments sufficient?

If I were to plot my life from the point when I graduated high school to the present, for example, would there be enough on that timeline to make me proud and display it here for all to see? Would I look at that timeline and know that if I died tomorrow, I would do so having accomplished or done enough in my life?

How did I spend my time? I became a mother at a young age, just after leaving high school. I worked part time, for the most part, in order to put myself through University while raising a young child. I married and, then, with the birth of my second child, I continued to work part time, mostly at night while my girls were asleep so that I could stay home and be the parent that I wanted to be. I didn't have a glamorous career. I didn't make glamorous friends and I rarely, if ever, travelled. I never did (at least not yet) succeed in owning the "off the grid" rural home that I always imagined I would own though the Ex and I certainly did our research with the intention of making that happen. Rather, we moved from one suburban property to another making a comfortable suburban life for ourselves and our children.

Reading that actually makes me a little depressed. What did I do with my time and my intelligence?  Despite the fact that I mastered in skipping class and smoking in the washroom in high school, it was apparent, to anyone who took time to look beyond my bad girl bravado, that I was of above average intelligence, and it didn't take long for that intelligence to shine once I made my way out of the stifling confines of the public school system and into University. I managed to graduate Magna Cum Laude while raising a young child but then, what did I do?  I became Mom.  Shouldn't a woman with above average intelligence have become more? Shouldn't her timeline be punctuated with career milestones and achievements?

I would be depressed, I think, If I didn't stumble upon this quote recently:

“Most people don't grow up. Most people age. They find parking spaces, honor their credit cards, get married, have children, and call that maturity. What that is, is aging.”
― Maya Angelou 

What did I do with my time in those 42 years I was allotted? I grew up. I moved from emotional immaturity to emotional awareness. I thought long and hard about what was important to me(my family)and I found a way to make that central to my life(working part time at night). I moved away from the snivelling, self centered, jealousy laden emotions of my 20's and became a self sufficient, face adversity straight on, confident woman that I am now, in my 40's. I learned that I am not my car, or my house, or my income. I looked my marriage straight on and despite the comfort it afforded me, I walked away from it knowing that it was the right thing to do. I learned that I could love others, love myself and be a good friend.

I'm growing up.

I'm maturing. 

I'm becoming.

I'm proud of who I am and how my life has progressed despite its lack of glamour and prestige. Tonight, when I settle in on the couch with Fledgling, a cup of tea, a brownie(peanut butter chocolate, freshly made today)and an episode of "Bones" which Fledgling loves, I will look around my little house, and my little daughter, and our tiny dog and I will feel proud. I'm 42 and I have so much to show for it. I have 42 years of maturing under my belt and I am going to work hard to be proud of my accomplishments and my timeline.

Hello 42. Nice to meet you. What shall we do with ourselves before I have to give you over to 43?

“In terms of days and moments lived, you’ll never again be as young as you are right now, so spend this day, the youth of your future, in a way that deflects regret. Invest in yourself. Have some fun. Do something important. Love somebody extra. In one sense, you’re just a kid, but a kid with enough years on her to know that every day is priceless.”
― Victoria Moran

The next birthday we celebrate is yours, Sparrow, and, since it is a milestone, I say we should have a Skype date and drink a gin and tonic in each other's honour. 

Love always, a 42 year old Red Bird 

50 Shades of Grey

Dear Readers,

I'm addressing this post to everyone and not just, as usual, to my beautiful Sparrow because this topic is something that concerns us all.

Shades of Grey

We, my friends, live in a world of grey. Nothing, absolutely nothing is black or white. How we perceive ourselves and our realities is a hot topic for philosophers and is, unarguably, a jumbled mess of truths that muddies white and lightens black. We live in a grey zone of "mostly true". Sometimes we're happy, sometimes we're sad, but we aren't necessarily one or the other; we can simultaneously be both one and the other.

I suffer from Chronic Sorrow and, yet, as Sparrow likes to say to me in personal conversations, she thinks that I am one of the happiest people she's ever met. I still suffer from Chronic Sorrow. Happiness and sorrow are partners that follow me through life, but "happy" is the predominate choice. I've learned that I can smile even if I was crying the day before and that my smile affects me and the people around me. My smile saves me - It keeps me from drowning. I don't have to be sad all the time even though I often am. I don't have to be happy all the time even though I often am. I am a woman living in a world of grey. I'm not defined by absolutes and, while I don't particularly like grey as a shade, I LOVE IT AS A STATE OF BEING.

Sparrow, you picked your smile up off of the floor and you passed it around, like a gift, to people around you as you mentioned in your last posting and not only were they affected by it but, so too, were you. Your whole evening changed because someone had the courage to remind you that you live in a state of grey. You can choose from the shades in your life and come up with lighter or darker ones but it doesn't have to be all or nothing, black or white.

It doesn't sound like a good thing, living in a state of grey, does it, so call it whatever you want...just as long as you remind yourself that as a healthy human being (I am working on the assumption that you are not suffering from some form of mental illness or neurological disorder that renders you incapable of mood choice)you do not have to live in extremes. You can choose to wear a smile, you can spend a day crying, or a week even, and still be someone who can choose to smile when you're ready.

I send you all love, hugs and, most importantly, you should know I'm wearing a smile (a goofy, dorky one) and I'm directing it at all of you

<3 Red Bird

PS, interestingly, as children with Apserger's Syndrome, both my daughter and Sparrow's son do, almost unwaveringly, live in a black and white world and this is something I hope to touch on in the future

A quick story

Hello My friend.

Today has been a difficult day full of anxiety and moods. I am tired and fed up with not really knowing what to do. Is this a good technique or am I making things worse. Is this one of those things I'm supposed to be a hard ass about or is this something we accommodate? Oh how I miss Dr.C! So many things I don't yet have the answers to, but today I did learn one thing. I apparently wear this tension for all to see on my face. Here's my story.
I popped out this evening, around 6pm to grab some groceries for dinner. It was dark and late and I was just trying to get from A to B as quickly as possible when a man stepped out from an alley way and yelled at me as I flew by.

'Excuse me miss, hey miss, is this yours?'

I of course kept going, but then he yelled;

'Miss, I think you dropped something. Yeah, this is yours isn't it?'

So I turned to look, just in case I had dropped something. He's pointing at the pavement, yelling 'you dropped this, it's yours isn't it', but there's nothing there. So now my thought is that he's trying to get me to come closer so he can drag me into the alley and mug me. However just as I turn to march swiftly on, he yells.

'Yeah, that's your smile down there isn't it Miss?'

I turn around and he's standing there beaming at me and he had me. A smile spread across my face.

'Oh good, you found it' and with that he walks off.

I hate to think what I must have looked like to prompt him to that performance. He must have only seen me for a split second as I passed by. I'm a teeth clencher and grinder, I know that's where I hold my tension, but I had no idea it was that bad!
Anyway, Birdie, he made my day. As soon as that smile spread across my face, I felt better. I felt lighter and more able to cope. I carried that goofy smile all the way to the grocery store, with a few chuckles thrown in along the way. I smiled at every person I passed. I engaged with the other customers in the crowded veggie section, making eye contact and beaming away. Perhaps I lifted a cloud or two for them after a hard day, I don't know, but it taught me a lesson about letting go and smiling more. I can't control things around here, I can only do my best, and now we will end our day smiling in celebration that we made it through another one, happy and healthy. The rest will fall into place.

Here's to all the new smiles that have been appearing in your life lately from our beautiful Fledgling.
Always Yours
Sparrow

Labels

Hello Dear Friend

It was so nice to see your beautiful face over Skype this morning. I'm sorry I could do no more than a perfect impression of Einstein. My hair seems to like the dragged through a hedge backwards look. Well that was weird, I wrote backwoods before correcting it. Seems like my brain was playing word association with 'hedge' without me knowing. Crazy how that mass of neurons functions!
I've been wanting to post a reply to your previous post 'Welcome Asperger's'. I think the issue of labeling is such a difficult topic for anyone either dealing with mental health or not. It's a bit like the medication debate, everyone has an opinion. Sadly a lot of those opinions come from a shamefully uneducated viewpoint.
I find it fascinating the declarations people make about topics they obviously know so little.
I have to tell you Red Bird that we are having a really hard time with this right now. So far an official label has not been necessary for the boy. We have adapted our situation to make things work. However we are getting to a point where it may become essential. If he is to succeed in University we will need accommodations for him. Only a label will open those doors. But what then. What happens post University when he's looking for a job and more importantly benefits. When they are young a label is such a positive thing, it opens so many doors from financial support to school accommodations to therapies. What happens to that label when they are older and it potentially becomes a burden rather than a help. Really, he is what he is, if he's not autistic then he's just weird, and I think we would rather him known as autistic, but still, we worry. Although the world is becoming much more open and accepting of children like ours thanks to people like Bill Gates, a highly visible and wildly successful Aspie, there are still many closed minded people out there who will never understand. Case in point a person who refuses to believe our son's disability because he's far to intelligent to be autistic. Instead they prefer to believe he's faking it. I think that say's more about them than him, but really, faking it? Of course the biggest benefit for attaching a label is the peace of mind our children seem to get from knowing where they fit. You said it so well this morning, how important this is for children like ours who need things well defined, who only function well when things can be classified and are predictable. The only social group from all the activities we tried, from swimming to soccer to hip hop to tennis, that the boy ever attended willingly, week after week without the usual anxiety and stress, was 'Yoga for Teens with Aspergers'. It wasn't the yoga, it was knowing he couldn't make a social mistake in that class. It was the relief that everyone else was like him and he could just be himself. He wasn't expected to act in a certain way, a way that he had no clue how to do. He didn't need to talk or pretend to make eye contact. He didn't have to participate if he didn't feel like it. He could roll his mat out in the far corner, away from everyone else and just be.
You made this point in your post so well my friend, but I wanted to say it too, because it's one of the biggest gifts we can give our children,  peace of mind. To feel okay with who they are, to know that although they  don't belong to the majority, they do belong to a group of the most incredible people. In that group, they are 'normal' or to use a better word than that dreadful term, they simply fit, they are home. When you told me of Fledglings diagnosis it was the first thing that sprang to mind for me. The relief she must have felt. I could picture her shoulders rising as this burden of who or what she was, was lifted from her and now she could move forward.
I'm so happy for you that as a family you have been able to welcome Aspergers in and fully embraced it. I know what a long journey this has been for you all. I also want to thank you. Each person who stands proud and says, yes my child has...... makes it that much better for all our children's futures. Futures where prejudice is a rarity, not a normalcy.

Always yours
Sparrow

The Journey, A Poem by Mary Oliver

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.

~ Mary Oliver ~

(Dream Work)

Dear Asperger's: Welcome, We've Been Waiting For You...

Sparrow,

I read your post about your lad and the trials and tribulations of needing to get a haircut and I sighed in recognition of the emotions that you must go through over, what seems to us, the insignificant  details of life. To our children, though, and to children on the Autism Spectrum in general, these things aren’t simple; getting a haircut, going out into society in general with its plethora of sounds, sights, colours, and smells, can be a sensory overload that can throw a child into a literal panic. I wonder what people, who don’t know about Autism, or Autism Spectrum, think when they read our postings about our kids. Do they think we’ve gone off of the deep end or can they actually commiserate?

Your most recent posting, "Haircut"(http://birdieandsparrow.blogspot.ca/2013/01/haircut.html), received a beautiful comment from a reader empathizing with you on this issue and encouraging you forward and I was deeply moved by it and the fact that this person could be so feeling, but it made me wonder how many others really understand what it is like to have children like ours. If they don’t, they must read postings like yours, or the one I wrote about Chronic  Sorrow(http://birdieandsparrow.blogspot.ca/2013/01/uncontrollable-weeping-and-chronic.html), and think we are over dramatic. Heck, they must wonder why we even feel the need to blog, altogether. For anyone that is interested, here is a link with information pertaining to Asperger’s Syndrome and Autism Spectrum Disorder:  http://kidshealth.org/parent/medical/brain/asperger.html

On our end, we always knew that our youngest was “different” somehow. Her drummer tapped out a beat unlike most and we recognized, from a very early age, that the world, through her eyes, was unlike anything we could experience. We started the process of diagnosing her when she was only 6 and, while many a possible label was thrown our way, it wasn’t until yesterday, January 22 2013, that the official label came through: Asperger’s Syndrome.

There it is - High Functioning Asperger’s Syndrome(the high functioning aspect refers to her higher than average intelligence level). We are no longer “potentially” on the Autism Spectrum with a “potential” disorder. My daughter has Asperger’s Syndrome.  If you imagine a line drawn horizontally across a page, much like a historical timeline, we have a definitive spot now marked with a great big red dot. It’s further down the line from Classic Autism but it shares many of the same traits and quirks and it is that big red dot which allows my daughter to see herself, and her needs, in a concrete, “this is me” kinda way. And, for those that don’t believe in “labelling” a child, let me say this:  try to walk through the world knowing that the world, as others experience it, is so vastly, grossly, monumentally, different than the way you experience it that you think there must be something wrong with you, and then tell me that a label doesn’t matter.  A simple label truly does have the power to not only explain your behaviours, but also to help you understand and forgive yourself for them, and to appreciate them. The label is just a word, sure, I get that, but it allows a child to say:  “That’s Why!”.  It allows parents to say: “Now I get it!”.  It gives, to a degree, a guideline of how to proceed and a chance to start again, with understanding.  Never underestimate the need to “understand” and to be understood. My child couldn’t be happier to finally know, “This is who I am, this is why, and this places me in a group of people that I understand and who will understand me”.

Asperger’s Syndrome, I welcome you to my world as a label, but you don’t phase me because you have, technically, been in my life for almost 13 years via my Kidlet. You have challenged us but this family has met you head on. You have introduced us to beauty, and to heartache, you have dragged me kicking and screaming into a world of Chronic Sorrow but also into one of stunning happiness. I welcome you as an official label and we, as a family, will banish the preconceived prejudices that such a label brings with it and we will continue to love our Kidlet, respect her, and marvel in her as we always have. I just wish, Asperger’s Syndrome, I just wish that you didn’t make my little lady THAT intelligent cause she rolls her eyes at me, way, way, way, too many times a day!!!!! Actually, I take that back, BRING IT ON!

Love Always,
Mother of an "Aspie Girl"
Red Bird

Haircut

Dearest Red Bird

When will I learn? Today has been a day of handling things all wrong, but really I'm lost and wouldn't know how to handle it right anyway. It was a typical day all in all, where autism put itself front and center and neither I nor the boy knew what the heck was going on. Haircuts. Today and the last three to four weeks have been dominated by the impossible task of getting a haircut. Google Asperger's and haircuts and you will be greeted by a host of blogs and articles on the difficulties of having your haircut when dealing with autism and in partnership sensory processing difficulties. I've read all the articles and know all the issues, from smell to sound, to balance to touch to social awkwardness and anxiety. What I don't know however is why it's so hard for MY boy. Without that knowledge, I don't know which problem to tackle or how to tackle it. As you know, I have a child who finds it almost impossible to express a feeling, who, when faced with a question, recoils as in pain and can only manage a mumbled 'I don't know'. A question for him or rather the expectation of an answer, is equivalent to us being bombarded by questions from a group of people all up in our faces shouting at once. It's confusing and stressful. So here I am, unable to find a solution to make having his hair cut easier.

We have been prepping him for weeks, he doesn't do well with unplanned events. We go over the importance of having his hair cut. Both the Hubster and I went for haircuts in a show of solidarity and setting a positive example. We were straight talking no nonsense parents today, not making a big deal about going and then we begged, threatened, bribed and finally gave up. What else do you do when your child is curled up on the floor having a panic attack? You would think we would have figured this out by now, this has been a problem for a long time, but I am no nearer to figuring out how to overcome his difficulty. The worst part is that there is in actual fact an easy solution.I cut his hair at home. No social anxiety, reduced sensory overload, and time. So now I have guilt to add to the list of emotions, why am I being so 'evil' as he would put it, when doing it myself would be so easy. Well, because you know as well as I do that at the forefront of our minds is the future, preparing them for independent living.

I'm exhausted Red Bird and I'll confess to weeping this evening. Why does it always have to be this hard? A month of ground work for one hair cut, watching your child panic and shake in fear, begging you not to make him go. We have made so many positive strides forward lately, but it only takes something as simple as this to remind me with no uncertainty, that we are on the spectrum and will always be on the spectrum. I'm also reminded that for me this is an inconvenience, a frustration and a feeling of sorrow for his distress, but for him it is a daily struggle even on the good days. Perhaps I should just cut his hair at home, why add to his stress. Of course being a good parent means being cruel to be kind. It is something I will never get used to. We will deal with it however, he will get a hair cut eventually and we will draw a line under all the bad and put it away until next time, that's all I can do. It doesn't get easier for him, each haircut is a new experience it doesn't matter that he survived the last one, we reset the clock and start back at the beginning; prepping, begging (from both sides) and finally overcoming.

What is it they say about being a parent, you have to pick your battles? What do you do when your battles are about basic life skills? Essential life skills? The everyday things that others pick up naturally? What's that? You pick up an extra bottle of wine that week. Excellent advice my friend!

Always Yours
Sparrow

Sorrow and being a Roundy in a world full of Squarys

My dear Red Bird.

In some ways I am relieved. To have a name for this feeling, I know, has in itself offered you some kind of relief too. It is the saddest thing I have ever heard of however, chronic sorrow, like a shadow that on the sunniest days is at it's strongest showing you life isn't 'normal' and on the darkest days it gets to sit back and watch, after all they are your dark days and the darkness is taking care of business. I followed your link and read all the info and it struck me that the biggest suggested cause for chronic sorrow was the realization that your child wasn't 'normal', that they don't fit in with all the other children who by all accounts are 'normal' and that perhaps this is some failing on the part of the parent. So here we are again back at the 'normal' thing. Of course my dear friend, we both know there is no such thing as normal. There is the majority, but I would argue that we have become confused between majority rule, and majority right. Just because the majority agree doesn't make the minorities views any less valid.
When I was little I had a book by Roger Hargreaves called 'I'm a Roundy. You're a Squary'. It had the most profound impact on my life. I've mentioned before in this blog that I was always very different from my family and for the longest time I always thought that there was something wrong with me. Reading this funny little book opened my eyes to the fact that I was just different and different doesn't mean wrong. It took walking away from 'normal' for me to see just how abnormal 'normal' is. I grieve over the years wasted in the school system. Not because I am anti-school, but because it isn't good enough, never will be, never has been, not for my boy and his weird and wonderful brain!  So why did we settle? When we talked over Christmas you mentioned how things were a bit easier this year with Fledgeling because you had kept it low key; she got to stay in her jammies all day.  This really struck me. Why do we try and act a certain way (dress up for Christmas for example) when it may cause negativity, I mean we all do it, always terrified of anarchy I suppose.
We walked away from normal, we let our 'different' child show us the way and he taught us how he needs the world to spin to thrive. We released him of all standard obligations, school, activities, social relationships and watched and listened. We have seen him relax (he rarely chews gum anymore, although his bedding is often holey!) gain confidence in his strengths and socially excel. We went for Dim Sum with our friend and neighbour, a Chinatown native who treated us to the full Dim Sum experience in one of the oldest restaurants in the oldest Chinatown in Canada. The Boy joined in the conversation, asked questions and actually seemed relaxed. This was not possible when we lived life 'normally'. The world expected him to fit a certain mould and it all but crushed him.
My point, I think, is to embrace what you can in your quirky life with Fledgling. Don't feel the need to make yourselves fit into the world, make your world fit around you. If you need a day to run around the forest screaming together, run around the forest and scream. If you need a day to connect and have fun because she's happy and you're happy, play hookie from school and do what you need to do. It's hard sometimes to remember that there are many ways to reach your destination, we are programmed to believe that we must all travel the same road. This feeling of loss and sorrow, guilt and hesitation, I will argue comes from this pressure we put on ourselves to be 'normal'. We try to 'fix' them, not because we want them to change but because we desperately want to take away their pain and hardship, but we can't dear Birdie, and we know that really. The difficult days just are and we have to plow through them more regularly than we want but I challenge you to face each of them with a bag of silver linings by your side and always be on the look out for a moment to hook one on. Writing down all the positives, all the accomplishments, all the times you laugh  and reminding yourself of those moments often, while drawing a line under the bad. They have happened and are over, you are done with them. This reminds me of something that happened today, oh and many times before. While struggling with a writing assignment, all I heard from the Boy was 'I can't write well, I'm bad at writing' and I thought how many times have you heard that in your life, how many times has a teacher or a friend told you that you aren't good enough at A, B or C. How many times do we file a complaint, or badmouth a business or whine at the tardiness of a delivery compared to telling someone they did a great job. A human quality to focus on the negative, a shame we've forgotten how to distinguish between when it helps and when it hinders.
As for the guilt, well, let's be honest, our children are a full time job. If they are not directly needing our attention, we are planning and researching the next step, always trying to be one step ahead of the 'game'. I am rarely on my own, the Boy is always by my side, I mean come on, really, he's almost 15, when is this going to end? That doesn't mean I don't love him, I refuse to feel guilty for needing him to just let go every now and then. I think that's perfectly healthy. I suspect there are times when he wishes I would just back off too as I'm sure Fledgling does with you. So no, no guilt Red Bird, these feeling are healthy and must be addressed or we are useless.
As for regret, well I could tell you there are many things I regret, but what use does that do me? I do not own a time machine, I only have control over the present, I can't change what's past. So the only thing we can do is make every moment count. I suck at this by the way, big time, procrastination being my middle name, but it is a philosophy I'm trying hard to live by. When you feel fatigued and sorrowful, angry or at a loss, acknowledge it and deal with it. As you know from your Farm Boy incident, you can't keep emotion under lock and key. It will find a way out and when it does it will burst out right in the middle of a grocery store, just to teach you a lesson!
I hope dear heart that knowing what it is you feel and why you performed such a wonderful one woman show of 'Madness at the Grocery Store', you have found a little peace. I know my extremely long winded over simplistic ramble above is more theory than practicality, but we can only try and muddle together our own rule books to help guide us through our very individual lives, perhaps we should call it 'The Ever Flexible Unrule Book for living with the Most Extraordinary Children'. Doing the best you can is ALWAYS good enough, don't ever think otherwise.

Always Yours
Sparrow