In Search of a Way to Tell This Story

Today is a special day for me and my son. It’s his birthday so the other post I have written will have to wait a day. I woke this morning knowing I had to write about him.

18 month old in Taiwan.

It’s really hard for me to come to grips with the idea of my child being 47 years old. In the blink of an eye he went from being a tow-headed mischief-maker to a shiny domed, salt and pepper bearded mischief-maker. Some things never change. This man who is my son, lights up any room he goes into and makes people smile. His patience is legendary. I don’t know how many false cuts he had to make on molding to get it just right, but not once did he lose his temper and walk away. Nor would he if someone else had done it.

The work just never ends

The story of his birth is one I have tried to write many times. I’m going to attempt it again with my new writing group next year. The sum of it is we almost didn’t get to keep him. He was born with Hyaline Membrane Disease, also called infant respiratory distress. As soon as he was born, they put a gas mask on me to put me to sleep. I didn’t see him for 10 days

The prognosis was grim. No oxygen right away meant likely brain damage and possible or probable death. I was a very young mother. It was beyond my scope to understand but I knew one thing for certain. If I was going to lose him, I wanted to hold him or at least see him. They threatened to tie me to my bed to keep me away.

Many hours had passed from his birth to when the doctors came to tell me how bad it was. I can promise you that if I was being told I would be tied to my bed, the drugs had long since worn off. My in-laws were called to come back to the hospital to be with me and help me cope.

After the bastards doctors left my room, I did what most mothers would do in this situation. I prayed, hard. When I got to the point of the prayer of acceptance for whatever outcome was handed me, I had the most profound spiritual experience of my life. It changed me, and my outlook. When the in-laws arrived, they thought I was nuts. All I could do was pat MIL’s hand and tell her my son would be fine. I was comforting her. I was unconcerned with the diagnosis of brain damage, though we sometimes still question that with some of his antics. I was certain death was not on that day’s agenda.

oops. Can I leave them this way? Naw.

His birth taught me many things. Our children are on loan to us to love, nurture and release. They are a gift, not a possession. At any moment we must be ready to release and trust. I know of many women who have lost children; infants or adult children. I understand their pain. That day changed me from a religious person to a deeply spiritual one.

Dancing around the molding to paint it.

He has dimples where our Angel kissed him to remind us of how much love there is in the Universe. I learn from him daily what love really looks like. He holds my hand to make sure now that I don’t fall like I did when he was young. His kindness and honesty inspire me to be a better person. He makes me the envy of many mothers on how he makes sure I know I’m loved and appreciated.

I won the lottery with both my children but today is his day and his story, told to the best of my ability in fewer words than I would like to use. I could get quite effusive here.

Happy Birthday son of mine. Let there be so many more.

Have you ever had a spiritual experience that changed you?

From my heart to yours,

Marlene Herself

In Search of My Oars

I have been absent for a while. I kind of fell out of the boat and was looking for the way to get grounded. My oars seemed to be missing so the paddling was a bit difficult. I think it started at Halloween and then the time change tossed my rhythm totally off kilter. So I decided to just wait it out and see where I landed…or not.

I’m visiting my grown son this weekend for his 46th birthday. I was obviously a child when he was born. There are so many wonderful memories of him as a child and more as an adult. I’ve been blessed to be his mother. (insert crooked smile here).

I just finished reading Texana’s Kitchen post on “How to be thankful for boys.” Her tales about her boys required a tissue or two for the memories it brought up. This woman can write, so please take a few moments for some belly laughs and a tear drop or two. She reminded me of the escapades our children venture on.

Age 2 at friends home in Taiwan

The day my son passed drivers education in high school, he forgot how to ride a bike. Ambling in the door with a very bad case of road rash and a swollen mouth, he held his closed hand out until I put mine out to receive what was in it. He handed me his front teeth. I looked at him and quietly asked if he needed to see the dentist or the doctor first. I needed to know if his mouth took the brunt or if there could be a head injury involved. We opted for the dentist. Raising a boy for me was easier than a girl in spite of the boy type activities that brought the usual injuries. My daughter was the one that created situations that made my heart stop beating for a moment or two but that’s another story. The fact that he almost didn’t survive his birth made me appreciate every day I’ve had and will have with him.

His first 10 days. Then they let me hold him.

I was taught gratitude very early in the game of parenthood. Letting go of control was also a big lesson. We are NEVER really in control. I knew he was kissed by Angels on his birthday as kindness and caring ooze from every fiber of his being. We won’t be spending Thanksgiving together but I am so grateful for each of his birthdays that I was privileged to spend with him. Now that I’ve had my son fix, I feel like I’ve found my oars again and can aim for the land of creativity once again. This will hold me till he comes to spend Christmas with his sister and I.

Have you ever lost your oars and how did you find them? Did you find girls or boys to be more fun or challenging to raise? I know I wouldn’t part with either.

From my heart to yours,
Marlene Herself