Tag Archives: love

Annuals and Perennials 

 

Every year it comes, the dreaded annual. 
Living with a child with disabilities, the grief comes in waves. No matter how long you live in acceptance, milestones come that usher in fresh reminders of what your child cannot do, and the grief floods in again.  Another child’s success, a failed outting, the annual doctor’s visit.  
Savannah’s annual visits are my downfall. Every year I am reminded not only of how far away she is from her peers, but how far away she is from where she used to be. There is a review of skills she may have lost or that she is having trouble regaining. Annuals are a reminder of what is not blooming. 
This year Savannah is thirteen. Thirteen is a whole new level of development. The teen years have begun, and my teen still can’t bathe herself. But this year, there are things my child can do. 
In the past twelve months (really just the past six), Savannah has gone to the theatre for the first time; she is getting 80’s-100’s on modified AR tests; she is following directions; she is controlling her anxiety; she has pet, more than once, both dogs and cats; she can type her first name without help; she will spontaneously use her AAC device to communicate; she has eaten in more restaurants; she helps with the dishes; she is wearing eye shadow and lipgloss.  
The doctor sat there stunned at my words of new things and lost skills that Savannah is now able to do. Moreso, the doctor was stunned by Savannah. She teased the nurse and listened to the doctor. She showed the doctor her eyes and nose and mouth and ears. She remained engaged. It was obvious that Savannah was blooming. 
Savannah is blooming. 
Five years ago, and every year before, Savannah’s weight remained in the 10th percentile. Five years ago, Savannah wore a 7 slim.  Four years ago, I could hardly squeeze her into a size 18. Medications had created an insatiable, obsessive hunger. Her weight had grown dangerously into the 95th percentile. Food had to be measured and proportioned.  It was hidden in the basement in tubs and re-measured and re-stocked in the pantry each night. Calories were calculated in a notebook every day, every meal, every snack. Sneakers were bought for walking, which turned into running. And now, after four years, the calorie notebooks are being thrown away and new running shoes have been bought. Savannah is officially in the 55th percentile. We will keep the healthy lifestyle, but we will no longer struggle. No longer worry. No longer obsess over food. The days of food rationing are over. 
This year the dreaded annual was a celebration. This year, it was a perennial. 
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Let the Joy Begin

Joy 2015

It has started, and this year it is already so much more. More joy.  More dresses.  More excitment.  Joy Prom is seven weeks away.

Our church, the creator and host of Joy Prom, has dresses and tuxes at no cost for the honored guests. So, on a joyful Tuesday evening, Savannah and I met up with Ms B and Ms D.  Ms B is the large-hearted woman who co-ordinates not only Joy Prom but the special needs ministry at our church, and Ms D is Savannah’s personal angel who makes personalized lessons every Sunday just for Savannah to learn the greatness of God. They are our blessings.

We arrived at the church for Savannah’s personal fitting. Like some upscale store catering to a movie star, dresses were brought in and shoes were laid out and accessories were bountiful and pop-tarts and VeggieTales were there on demand.

For over an hour, Savannah was Joan Crawford, Grace Kelly, Betty Davis. She tried on purple dresses, black dresses, pink dresses of one shade and then another, Dresses with sequences. Dresses with layers. Dresses with many colours. The child with sensory issues wore bracelettes and rings. Eventually, she settled on an off-red, one-strapped dress with flowing scarf, accented by silver sparkly three-inch heels. Her first pair of heels. She chose, out of all of the shoes showered at her feet, her first pair of heels. I took my little girl to try on dresses and an hour later left with a beautiful excited young lady.

Savannah left that evening with a new dress, a purse, jewelry and of course shoes. More importantly, she left happy, confident and feeling both beautiful and loved.

Seven weeks before prom: let the Joy begin.


Never Beloved

Through his vanity, he clings to her.

Her strawberry lips kindly smile through him,

Flirting with his power, not seeing him.

Never worthy.

Leaving her dancing amidst lustful beasts,

His sovereign limbs collapse in his weary throne.

With blind blue eyes, he watches her lack of loyalty.

Never blinking.

Offering up a beer to him, I kneel

Before his feet. With quivering lips, I

Sacrifice myself to him humbly.

Never breathing.

His burning ears almost hear, but instead

I vaguely echo, as he drowns in her reflection.

My offering is casually dismissed.

Never touched.

I fade from him, having failed my god.  Broken and

With trembling fingers, I fondle a cold trigger.

The barrel screams, and I fall silent.

Never heard.

Billie Jean Grey


Alone. Confused. Abandoned

Alone. Confused. Abandoned.

I’d beg you not to leave,

But that would only hold you back.

I’d tell you to run to her a thousand times,

If you’d be happy.

I’d sit and bask in the joy you’d have,

Yet I’d hate myself forever.

So go, my love,

Spread your wings and fly.

I will smile, with slow tears.

Alone. Confused. Abandoned.

Billie Jean Grey


Samuel, the Good Samaritan

 I’m a simple man, really.  Army Specialist.  I’ve served in the Army about three years now.  My mom lives close to the base, next town over.  My dad died when I was young.  He was a cop after his Army years.  The church helped my mom raise me.  Now I do what I can to give back.  Fundraisers, camp, monthly tithe.  I believe there is always someone in need.  Even if the need seems small, it isn’t to the one who is lacking.  Jesus said, “I came not to be served, but to serve,” and I believe we’d all do better to live by that. There are three things I live by.  Three things that define me:  God, family and country. . . and Dr. Pepper.  I guess that’s four.


Rieff, the Master

The greatest force is love.  Money.  Power.  They may seem dominant, but it is the love of money and power that actually motivate. Love is the one thing that can truly drive a man mad or keep him sane.  A prime example is Hamlet and Ophelia.  The love for his father drives him mad. His sanity returns only with each Ophelian visit. Like the great Dane, my Lady is my love. My hidden strength.  I am creating a haven for her.  Her own sanctuary.  When it is perfected, and only then, I will bring her there.  Until that time, I watch her. Her cautious movements. Her studious eyes. Her auburn flowing hair.  In silence, I love her from a distance. I feel her burning in my chest. Stealing my strength with each breath.  I watch her read alone. Eat alone. Shower alone. When the time is right, I will steal her away from her loneliness. I will give her a new world. Her own world. And then she will be mine. To borrow from the eager Hamlet, “Till then, sit still, my soul.”


Billie Jean, the Player

Everything in life is a game.  Figure out the game, learn the rules and win.  A brilliant professor told me that once.  So my goal is to win.  I suppose I should say, Bon and mine’s goal.  Bonnie’s my best friend. To Bon and I, winning looks the same:  great guy, marriage, kids. Bon and I know each other probably better than we know ourselves. We keep each other from our own stupidities. We’re family really.  Not like that ridiculous one I was born into.  My mother is a Doris Day clone, masking her misery and judging everyone by her Doris Day-standards.  Flaws being found when appearances aren’t perfect.  My father has always been perfectly happy with every woman who has turned his fancy.  A connoisseur of female pleasure.  Family.  But we are not doomed to become them.  I have Bon.  I know the rules.  I will win.  After all, life is just a game of Risk.


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