A group home…

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My husband and I went to see a group home for our son yesterday. My head was spinning a bit as this wasn’t supposed to happen for well over another year or so. The “plan” was for Thomas to graduate from current school, Tommy and I would tour many group homes selecting only the best for our son. Don’t get me wrong the group home we saw yesterday was absolutely wonderful. It’s just not the way I envisioned us doing this. Yesterday’s visit came on the heels of a phone call in which I was being pressured to accept group home placement for Thomas in other boroughs of NYC, none of which were his home borough.

To backtrack a bit; I was talking with my bible study small group leader about wanting Thomas to be here where we live when it was time for him to go to a group home. My co-leader then gave me the phone number of the director of the agency who owns the house we visited yesterday. After the pressured phone call, I was upset and wanted to be proactive so I called the director who immediately took my call. We chatted and I explained the situation and he said he had an opening in one of his group homes. It is no coincidence that I was given the phone number when I was. God is so good. I’ve been praying that Thomas be placed here. Now we have a solid chance at that happening. Sooner than we thought but God works on His own timetable, not ours. His ways are higher than ours; that is so true.

To talk more about the group home, yes it was wonderful. Each resident has their own room, the age population is very diverse, and the staff we met takes their job very seriously. There is a nurse on staff, a psychologist and a behaviorist also on staff. The house was very clean and you could tell they didn’t just clean up that day because we were coming. I’m still praying that Thomas gets placed there as nothing is set in stone yet. God has a plan and we need to honor that plan. Faith in God is more than worship it is complete trust in Him. I’m still working on the trust part. Even though He hasn’t failed me yet. God is so good.

In The Car

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We were on
our way to Shoprite to buy some fruit and other groceries we’ve inevitably ran out of before I do the big shopping trip for the week after the weekend. The radio is on and my girls are talking and laughing with each other. All three of them, chatting it up and giggling/laughing, just getting along. It was sweet and I was so glad to be there. Be there in that moment that years ago I would have taken for granted. Lately I’m getting such great pleasure out of just “being”. And grabbing every moment for what it’s worth. I felt so privileged to be there, driving, being an active part of my girls’ lives. I loved that they were joking around with each other, I reveled in listening to Samantha being her 9 year old self holding her own against 2 older teenage sisters.

Earlier this evening I had the rare opportunity to spend time with my Daniella. She’ll be 15 at the end of this month. We had precious time alone on the way to and back from a pediatrician appointment. The appointment wasn’t anything special or serious, just a follow up. Daniella and I had a great conversation in the car. I love car conversations as you never know what can come up or what you’ll think to talk about. I love that my spirited middle daughter is just as spirited now as she was when she was younger. Except when she was younger she drove me up a wall. She’s since tamed that spirit and it’s one of her greatest assets.

Alyssa has been quite chatty about upcoming events in her life. Prom, graduation, choosing a college… We’ve yet to hear from one last college and I’ve been praying she gets into this last one. I’ve given it to the Lord, it’s in His hands and Alyssa will go to whatever school He sees fit for her to go.

Speaking of the Lord, I’m especially grateful to Him for giving me these girls. He’s truly blessed me and I know how special they are. Tonight I honestly felt like I was given the greatest gifts in my girls. Thomas is a blessing in his own right but my 3 girls are like jewels. Each one sparkles in their own way and each one is different than the other.

I’m glad to be here to enjoy them.

Being In The Now.

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The other day (my birthday) my husband and I were talking about when we were younger and dating. We began dating around age 17 but met when we were 15 years old. He asked me when did I know that I wanted to marry him. I told him I remember it vividly. We were driving on the highway towards my house (my Mom and Dad’s house). We were talking about how we were back together after a breakup fueled by teen angst. I remember feeling that this was permanent. I was going to marry this boy. We were about 18 years old at the time. This isn’t to say we dated happily ever after. There were a few more teen angst break ups along the road to engagement time. But I am glad we stayed together and eventually married. He really is my best friend.

I also asked my husband if he ever wanted to “go back” like to when we were younger say in our early 20’s. Tommy answered that only if he could know what he knows now. Smart man. I find it amusing that I can remember so well something that happened over 20 years ago yet my kids ask me if I remember something from a couple of years ago and I’m completely clueless. A couple of years ago was during my depression and I didn’t ever feel “in the moment” like I do now. Today I feel so in the present and I’m glad to be here. I’m glad I have the state of mind that I do. I didn’t realize how detached I was back then until I’m asked to remember something.

I don’t like staying in a remembrance of the past. It was really nice a couple of weeks ago when we got together with old friends from years ago/high school. It was nice to reminisce but it was equally as nice to talk about our lives now, our kids now, us as a whole now; to be in the present with people from the past.

I’m so thankful to be a part of the “now”.

I used to think…

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Before I had my son I used to think kids who weren’t talking were never read to or talked to by their care givers, I used to think people who yelled at their kids were monsters and didn’t deserve their kids. I used to think having a child in a special ed class was a terrible “label” and it would follow that child where ever he/she may go and not with good consequences.
I used to think having a son who was labeled mentally retarded was the worst thing ever. So much so that I badgered a developmental pediatrician who wrote that in an evaluation report to also add an addendum that I as the child’s mother vehemently disagreed with his findings.

I used to think a lot of things. Used to. Then life hit with an impact. I had a son who was speech impaired for seemingly no reason when he was a toddler. I tried to read to him as well as you could read to a busy and disinterested toddler. I am a “yeller” or I was anyway. And I know I’m in good company because a lot if not most of my mom friends were yellers too. My son started receiving special education services when he was 3 years old. I swallowed my pride and accepted their “label”, little did I know that such a label is not a bad thing but a ticket to other services he was entitled to such as Physical therapy and occupational therapy. Today I encourage any labels “they” want to put on my son as it doesn’t change who he is to me, because with those labels now comes placement beyond the board of education. My son’s time being educated and cared for by the board of ed is coming to an end as of next year when he turns 21. New labels may be more appropriate for him as an adult.

I used to think depression was a state of mind and that one should just snap out of it or look around at all they have that is good in their life. I now know depression is a real chemical imbalance in one’s brain and there is no “snapping out” of it. You simply can not. Depression clouds all your thinking and makes you feel worthless no matter what riches you possess whether it be a terrific family or terrific wealth.

I used to think God was a mystical father figure only interested in us on Sunday mornings. I used to think Jesus was the son of God who died upon a cross; period. I now know with all my being that God is real; period. He is with us all the time and not just on Sundays. And that Jesus died for my sins and yours. I know now that His grace is sufficient. Jesus’ life and death and resurrection is the best example of love that I know. And I humble myself to follow him the best that I can.

Easter 2016

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Bunnies, chocolate, jelly beans, those darn delicious Cabury mini eggs…all things that spark recognition of the Easter holiday. But what about the “real” meaning of Easter? By real I mean seriously the real reason we celebrate. Jesus Christ was risen from the dead that Sunday morning and what a glorious day that must have been. I can only imagine how the apostles felt to see their Jesus again after a crucifixion fit for a criminal. How He was stripped of his clothing and beaten, given a literal crown of thorns. Jesus then took upon himself all the sins of the world. I love Romans 5:8, “You are loved more than you will ever know by someone who died to know you” So powerful.

It wasn’t too long ago that I brushed off the real meaning of Easter. It was just another “holiday” to get through. We (meaning my husband and kids and I) didn’t go to church. We didn’t really have a home church. I tried to go back to the Episcopalian church I grew up in but they offered nothing for my kids, no Sunday school, no bible study, no kids activities. And to be honest I finally left “the church” I was feeling frustrated and empty. I went back when I was pregnant with Samantha to the Episcopalian church but I felt empty when I arrived home afterwards. So after Samantha was baptized as a baby I stopped going. I did what I felt I had to do to ensure she would be “safe” if God forbid something happened to her, that she would go to heaven because she was baptized. I didn’t know that that was so far from enough.

I didn’t know we had to accept Christ as our Savior to be saved. I know all about Jesus I thought. Yes I knew of him but I didn’t have a relationship with Him I didn’t truly know him and wasn’t thankful for what He did for me. My kids didn’t know enough about Jesus to accept him as their Savior. It was only when we started going to our now home church about 8 years ago did my kids become exposed to the wonderful Gospel. The good news. That Jesus died for our sins and we were saved once we opened our hearts to Him and accepted the free gift of grace. I was baptized again this time by my choice on June 27, 2011. In front of the whole congregation I publicly let it be known that I am now a follower of Jesus Christ. It was wonderful and something I wholeheartedly recommend to any Christian; be baptized (again).

So Easter has come and gone. We celebrated our Lord’s resurrection with joy. And what a joyous reason to celebrate.

People watching and being in the city

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I’m on my way to Manhattan this morning. I’m on the ferry and I’m people watching. I love to people watch, usually the subway has more interesting people to watch mostly because it’s a more diverse population than the morning ferry. On the ferry are mainly people going to work with the occasional college student here and there. The afternoon ferry is interesting because of the number of tourists. I love to tourist watch too.

I was in the city yesterday for work and I still can’t believe the location I’m at. Literally right across from the Empire State Building. It’s amazing and you never grow tired of craning your neck to see the top. I love it. I’m in the city today for an appointment with my therapist. I’ve “graduated” to every two weeks as opposed to every week. I’m okay with the new arrangement. Honestly there are weeks that I go and I have literally nothing going on to talk about, I’m just not ready to let it go completely. We discuss my small group bible study and some challenges that have come up. It’s good to have Nancy’s perspective and insight. So I am glad that I still see her.

I received a phone call from Thomas’ social worker yesterday. It seems a couple of agencies are interested in Thomas for group home placement. When Thomas is 21 next year he’ll go to live in a group home, this is the plan. However these agencies represent group homes in the Bronx, Brooklyn and Queens. Umm….No. We want him here where we live. And thank God his social worker feels the same way. She’s in complete agreement with us and already told me she will also advocate for Thomas to be placed here where we live. So I’m praying for there to be a space available when the time comes.

Tommy and I will pick up Thomas on Friday morning so he can spend Easter with us. I’m looking forward to seeing him. We speak often on the phone but it’s not the same. He’s really looking forward to coming home so I’m hoping it all goes smooth and anxiety free for him and us.

Happy Easter!

I’m Not Religious…

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I went out with friends last night. We had a great time and caught up with people we haven’t seen in too long. It was nice, really nice to see friends whose lives are now completely different than yours. These were friends whose lives were intertwined with ours for many years. Friends from high school and a little beyond high school. Then we all chose our paths and find ourselves in different lives than we originally started out.

A very good friend of mine was asking questions about Thomas and our decision to have Thomas live at a residential school. It will be 5 years this summer that Thomas has lived away from home. My friend wasn’t being disrespectful in the least he was asking from a place of caring and love. He said he couldn’t fathom the life Tommy and I were living before Thomas went to residential. He also couldn’t imagine him in our shoes. That meant a lot to me. Honestly I can’t imagine anyone going through what we went through. Police cars pulling up with the ambulance I called to help me with my out of control son. The memories are still fresh and perhaps in time could become dull~maybe… I don’t know. Like I said it’s almost 5 years and I’ve only recently this past year come out of the depression I was thrown into as a result of living in that manner. I’m glad my friend feels comfortable enough with me to ask those questions and I’m glad I was able to have that honest conversation with him.

It wasn’t all deep serious conversation believe me there were plenty of laughs and remembering a lot of good times we all had together. Silly things we did when we were younger and the people who we hung out with. The jobs we have now and where we’re all working.

At some point late in the night I was sitting with one of my dear friends and he asked me when did I become so religious? I stammered in answering him. “I’m not religious” I answered. What I desperately wanted to say was “I’m not religious I have a relationship”. But perhaps because it was so late I couldn’t get the words out. I was pretty taken aback by that question and I can totally understand why he asked me that. I wasn’t saved back in high school. I mean I believed in our Lord Jesus Christ and I knew he died for me but I didn’t “get it”. I didn’t get that He was my Savior and I desperately needed a Savior. I’ve been saved for about 8 years now. It’s been 8 years since I’ve begun my walk with the Lord and accepted Him as my Savior. At that time in the night (or early morning) I didn’t know how to explain all that to my friend. I wish I could go back and answer him the way I *should* have. But God orchestrates everything and it’s no accident I was asked that question and in retrospect it’s also no accident that I answered the way that I did. Only God knows what is in my heart.

I’m so glad we went out last night and were able to get together with such great people. To reminisce and also see each other in the here and now. To see how some of us have changed in certain ways and how some of us haven’t changed at all; the way we talk and the way we don’t talk anymore. I look forward to getting together again.

Birthdays and Being an Adult.

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I have a birthday quickly approaching in a little over 2 weeks. It’s not a momentous or milestone birthday, I’ll be 46. And for the record I’m okay with that. I say that now. I don’t know how I’ll feel staring at the big 5-0. I don’t feel 46 years old, although I’m not sure what 46 years old is supposed to feel like. I don’t know what any age is supposed to feel like I can only reflect on what I felt like at certain ages through the years.

Sometimes I’m amused when I’m making dinner thinking of how “adult” I am. Like here I am married, raising kids, running a household; how adult it all is. And when did that happen? Being an “adult”. Legally I know when I turned 18 I was an adult. The only thing I really remember being at 18 is feeling free. I was about to graduate high school, had a great boyfriend, a part time job and I was driving and had my own car. Life was sweet. No “adult” responsibilities in sight. So I can hardly say I personally was an adult at age 18. Nor did I act very adult, IMO anyway.

I think the defining moment in my life was when I was 24. I graduated college as a nurse and finally for the first time had a “real” job, making real money. However I was still living at home. When I did move out I remember feeling so grown up and responsible. Paying for our own wedding and getting married was another grown up step then quickly becoming parents to Thomas with all his issues was a great kick in the old adult pants.

So I guess for me being an adult was a process of steps, I was fortunate that I didn’t have adulthood thrust upon me at an early age. When I look back it was God’s plan for me to take all those steps to finally get to the point where I was prepared to be Thomas’ mother. I was never known to keep my opinion to myself, but advocating for my baby and being bold to respected medical professionals wasn’t something I was well versed in but I had to learn quick and I did.

I look at my oldest daughter about to legally become an adult this summer. Her 18th birthday is shortly after she graduates high school. I know I won’t see her as an adult even though she’s very responsible and like me at that age she is driving her own car, has a great boyfriend and a part time job. I’ll ask her if she feels like an adult. I look forward to her answer.

Broken

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I was listening to the radio this morning (I listen to a local Christian station called THE STAR 99.1). One of the dj’s, a woman was talking about her husband watching a you-tube video of a dad with a son who has Down Syndrome. The dad was saying over and over how his son is not broken. The dj and her husband are parents of a young girl with Down Syndrome.

The statement of “He’s not broken” referring to that dad’s son really hit me hard and had me almost in tears. I thought of my Thomas and do I think he’s “broken”? It makes me pause here, writing this. My answer would be that right now knowing what we know about Thomas, that he does have brain damage caused either in-utero or during birth (we’ll never know); no he is not “broken”. I didn’t always think that though.

When he was younger I did think he was broken. I went from doctor to doctor, specialist to specialist, in search of someone who could “fix” him. Searching for the right person with the right combination of either therapy or medications or both to make Thomas “right”. Little did I know that there was no fixing him. He was never broken. Just different. But different in a way no doctor could put their finger on until Thomas was 12 years old. When this prestigious, very expensive neurologist at Cornell University interviewed me for Thomas’ history and then thoroughly examined him; told us what we never expected to hear; Thomas was brain damaged. He wouldn’t get any worse but he wouldn’t get any better either. Imagine being punched in the stomach. That’s what it felt like to hear that after all those years of searching and hoping.

I used to think I’d give anything for Thomas to be like a “typical” child. But who am I wanting that for? Me or him? He only knows what it’s like to be Thomas. And if I were able to change who he is, who’s to say he’d be as wonderful of a person as he is now?

That word,”broken” really challenged me today. Really

Life and looking back

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I’ve been trying since this morning to write this post. I started a couple of times on my phone while on the ferry but for whatever reason my phone won’t “save” the post, so that was a waste of time. Then I tried again on the way home on the ferry, then on the bus. Again with my phone not saving anything. What the heck man!

So now I’m home with freshly dyed hair waiting for dinner to be ready. Here I am. I’ve been thinking about life these days and how I’m so glad to be a part of it. I have my relationship with the Lord, a great husband and a job I really like and lest I forget my 4 kids that always keep me on my toes. Especially Samantha these days. If it’s not one it’s another. But that’s okay.

I think back to this time last year. I wasn’t doing too well depression wise and it was at this time my doctor tried one other medication. He hit the nail on the head and I’ve been feeling well ever since. I don’t ever want to go back to where I was. Last week during bible study we were discussing times when we’ve felt abandoned by God. I know when I was in the depths of my depression I felt like God had just left me there to flounder. I know now this isn’t true, He’s never left me, He hadn’t moved, I had. The depression makes you feel isolated and worthless. I kept praying for God to guide my doctor, to guide his decisions that God being the Great Physician and Healer could certainly guide anyone here on earth. And He did. He’s been orchestrating my recovery all this time. I’ll never know why it took the time and med trials it did, or who knows someday I could know and everything will make perfect sense. Until then I’ll keep trusting the Lord and know that He never wastes a hurt.