Keeping “Christ” in Christmas

14 12 2010

Today while going to pick up Patrick from school, I was tailgated by a car in the school zone. Apparently they didn’t appreciate that I refused to go faster than 20 mph. As I went to turn left, it zoomed past me, still in the school zone, I caught the “Keep Christ in Christmas” magnet on it’s rear-end. It made me laugh for two reasons: First is the complete irony of a person who claims to want to keep Christ in Christmas who cannot obey a simple law complete with a total lack of patience. I would bet good money that swearing was involved. Secondly, buying the magnet allowed someone to profit off our Lord and made you buy into the hype.

If only it were this easy to just put a magnet on your car and be done with any other obligations.

Over and over again, I hear, “It’s not a HOLIDAY tree, it is a CHRISTmas tree.” Where is there a Christmas tree in the Bible? If you have a tree up, you’ve already bought into a secular Christmas. If you buy presents for those who have no need of even one more gift, you’ve bought into a secular Christmas. If you bought a magnet that said, “Keep Christ in Christmas”, you’ve bought into a secular Christmas. I always find “what would Jesus think” a good rule. I often imagine Christ shaking his head when he hears such things, saying, “They do not know me.” I doubt He would even want to have a day of His own where we celebrate His birthday. When I read the Gospels, what I take from them is that we are to be walking the path of Christ every day, not just one day a year. We are to model His example of feeding and clothing the poor, ministering to the sick, being compassionate, being at peace, not making war, forgiving others, etc. If you think writing a check or buying a gift for someone less fortunate meets your obligation for making Christmas about Christ, you would be wrong. Christ would never phone it in. If you are yelling about putting “Christ” in Christmas, how are you spending the rest of the days of the year? Are you focused on things about yourself instead of others?

Is it wrong to participate in Christmas then if you participate in both the secular and Christian aspects of it? No. Just stop being a hypocrite about it.

If you truly want to keep the Christ in Christmas, perhaps this is a better road map for spending your Christmas season instead of arguing about a name of a tree:

1. Take time to be alone and ponder your relationship with Christ, not only at Christmas, but the relationship you have every day.

2. Read the story of Jesus’ birth and note how people responded, Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, Simeon and Anna. Remember that every other day of the year as well.

3. Praise God at Christmas and join others in celebrations of music and praise. Continue this tradition every week of the rest of the year.

4. Help those in need. Follow the example of Jesus whose heart was filled with compassion for those who were suffering.

5. Keep your “to do” list as short as possible. Limit your social obligations so there is time for reflection.

6. Use cash when you buy gifts to avoid holiday debt. Invite your relatives to support a charity instead of giving you or your family a gift.

7.  Tell others about our Savior.

8.  Remember Christ’s church (not a particular religion) around the world. Some are enduring great hardships.

9. Live like Christ every day. Be compassionate, forgiving (especially in mall parking lots, SCHOOL ZONES, harassed sales staff, other people being rude and un-Christ-like). Be sensitive to the people in your own life.

10. Be joyful.


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The Memory Tree

12 12 2010

I look forward to putting up our Christmas tree every year for two reasons. The first reason is knowing Patrick is going to love it. There is something about the twinkling of each delicate light and moving to and fro that allows him to appreciate the full spectrum of colors in a way I wish I could see. For Jeff and me, it is a yearly trip down memory lane. Our tradition is to put up our tree the Saturday or Sunday after Thanksgiving. Last year, Patrick was in his bedroom at the time. When he came into the room the next morning, the smile that crept up on his face was brighter than any star in the sky. My Christmas contentment lay within that smile. This year he became the task-master, voicing his protest if we stopped at all to take a break. We would deliberately rest just to bust his chops and listen to him protest.

Every ornament I can trace back to a loving memory. After my mother died, of all the items left to me, the six ornaments that date back to my childhood hold the most significance. Being the dysfunctional home it was, our holidays then were filled with a mixture of happiness and heartache. However, when I look at these ornaments, I choose to remember the joy. They are old and falling apart. I do not know how much longer I will be able to repair them.

The tennis racquet ornament brings to my mind memories of my first love and the Christmas we spent together here in Houston. There is the Santa & Mrs. Claus sleeping in a bed, handmade by a physician’s assistant with whom I worked; Mrs. Claus’ head is now missing.

There are the many ornaments I gathered in the first days of my first apartment. I found a wonderful company called Cracker Box who makes kits for these homemade ornaments with beads and lace and pins. For two years, one each year, I made these works of art. Their instructions were hysterical, injecting the personality of those who wrote them.

Before getting married I joined a Disney ornament-of-the-month club. There is Minnie, Mickey, Pinocchio, Donald Duck, and several others from that period of my life. Pinocchio’s nose has broken off. Received as a wedding gift is a Lenox ornament of 2 doves kissing and labeled as “first Christmas.”

We moved on to our Star Trek ornament collectible obsession. It was then we began our golden retriever ornament collection. After Patrick was born, we added a “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament. Three ornaments are a result of my trip to Disneyworld in Florida in the late 1990’s with some friends. I have an ornament or two from an overnight trip to Kemah, Texas. During our 2001 trip to Vancouver, BC, I picked up an awesome golden retriever ornament on skis and with goggles on from a store in Whistler (where the 2010 Winter Olympics were held).

I remember each ornament given to us as a gift and by whom. I think of those people with affection as we are hanging them.

Adorning our tree, too, are the handmade ornaments Patrick has made since he was a toddler.

Last year, MGM put out a Stargate SG-1 ornament (that I got half-price the bargain shopper I am). I was gravely disappointed to find our local Carlton Cards went out of business as I checked for this year’s prospective Stargate ornament.

Once done, we sit back and marvel at our memory tree, a symbolic diary of our lives.

The symbolic diary of our lives

What do you do with your tree? Do you have a theme? Fresh or artificial? Clear lights or multicolored lights? Blinking or steady?


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Princess and the Pea

11 12 2010

“Kidney stones themselves don’t hurt.” I had to suppress my laughter. My urologist truly does not appreciate what life is like as Princess and the Pea. Welcome to MY kingdom. Expect the unexpected.

In this kingdom, I once slit my finger open on some glass of a picture frame and some of the glass got into it. The ER physician said, “There, got it.” I said, “No, there’s more.” The blood pressure reading would suggest that I was correct. I asked him to please keep digging; I didn’t mind waiting as others triaged in, but this really, really hurt. He dug and poked and scraped a good 45 minutes until he found that very microscopic piece. He said, “Got it?” I said, “Yes, thank you.” The pain vanished, the wound was stitched and I went along my way to continue to rule over my lands.

I have weird autoimmune stuff and fibromyalgia developed after a bad car accident. I tend to be chronically, systemically inflamed. Things have improved greatly since 2005 when things came crashing to a head, landing me in the hospital for 5 days. Lifestyle changes were made. I have explored alternative medicine practices that some would consider on the fringe. Some have worked; the others have been expelled from the kingdom.

I’m pretty sure the kidney stones developed as a side effect of a medication I was taking for another problem; we did a scan before I was placed on the medication and I was free of stones.

It all started on 9/17 when a piece of a larger kidney stone (the mother pod) came off and decided to pull a Free Willy. That landed me in the ER and 3 days later in the urologist’s office where I demanded something be done immediately because I needed my life returned to my version of normal. I am ruler of the kingdom! Attend to me! I actually passed this stone in his office (exit, stage right).

Apparently I had two stones. The one in the lower pole of my left kidney measured 7 mm x 9 mm; the right one was in the upper pole, a mere seedling at 3 mm. At this point, I could not feel the right one at all. Surgery was scheduled for 10/1. The plan was to insert a scope, pull out what we thought was a stone obstructing (but it turned out to be something else; the stone the ER told me about had already passed), go up into the kidney and zap it with laser. Afterwards a stent would be placed with the idea of keeping the ureter open so the stone material could pass. Going into the surgery, I had images in my head of the pig lizard on GalaxyQuest. I wondered if the laser would be similar to the mining laser used to free Liara in Mass Effect. The stent will be forever renamed the coils from hell. They are banished from the kingdom.

Confidence was high that the stone was “shattered.” On followup, it appeared it was still 6 mm. I had to wait the appropriate amount of time to allow my body to pass what it was going to pass. My chronic inflammatory response kicked in. I have affectionately called the area under the left breast to my waist from the middle of my stomach around to the spine the “stone zone.” It can no longer be touched without pain. I’ve begun to get a right-sided stone zone as well. I wonder if this is a boxer feels after kidney punches? If so, why do people box?

During this time, my army (my antibodies) thought there was still a foreign invader in the land and I developed an infection. Say what you will about the horrors of kidney stones: I’ve gone down one full dress size. No pain, no gain.

With the infection cleared, I was now free to embark on another vacation destination of my choice. How about ESWL (extracorporeal shock-wave lithotripsy)? I’ve heard the place is seismic. Despite the effort and passage of some debris, the radiologist declared the left kidney stone to be still 6 mm. When it comes to patience with my son with autism, I have an abundance. With all other things in my life, not so much.

I’m now scheduled for the 3rd surgery on the left one, the 1st surgery on the right one coming up on December 21st.

I was confused about the use of the word “shattered.” The visual picture that comes to my mind is the Death Star in Star Wars. Apparently not. It is more like Patrick removing his wrapping paper from his presents (see An Autism Christmas).

This kidney stone is taking on the characteristics of its host (me): Obstinate, determined, likes to dwell in deep, dark places, loves the water (it must be a Pisces), sedentary. It must also like video games because the left side plays Pong with my kidney every day. This could be a new Syfy horror flick with a Saw-like twist in which it drives the host completely insane to the point that the host wants to open their own kidney just to remove it. Then, the stone is absorbed by whoever discovers the dead body, torturing its next victim. Where is Neo (from the Matrix) when you need him?

All my alternative medicine approaches to this pain have failed me. In the entire 11 years I have had fibromyalgia, there was only one time when I wanted to cut my legs off and the shower made me wince in pain. There was only one time when the doctor had to put me on 2 weeks of around-the-clock pain medication to break the pain cycle and that actually worked. When I delivered Patrick, from the time my contractions were about 8 minutes apart until the time I delivered him was a full 29 hours without drugs. Even after my car accident when I was in physical therapy for 4 months, daily for 6 weeks, I dealt pretty well with the pain. Here are some things that we have tried:

BodyTalk: Combines the wisdom of advanced yoga and advaitic philosophy, the insights of modern physics and mathematics, the energy dynamics of acupuncture, the clinical findings of applied kinesiology and western medical expertise. I’ve asked the kidney stone for its agenda. I’ve asked the kidney stone what it needs to expel peacefully from my body. Apparently I keep getting the answering machine.

Visualization: I’ve tried different images: The Death Star from Star Wars; shooting the Reaper-Human hybrid final boss in the XBox game Mass Effect 2 on insanity level. I’ve tried to think peaceful thoughts, but all I get is “get the hell out of me” pictures. I’ll have to work on some peaceful thoughts. I thought about the birthing process, but no, that would not work. After I had Patrick, I told Jeff he would have to have more babies with another woman because I was not going through THAT again.

Changing the pH: Lemonade (without sugar). Has not worked to make the stone any smaller yet.

Postural change: Drinking water about 30 minutes prior and then laying with my head/neck on a bed, my body on pillows so that my head/neck are lower than the rest of my body. Repeated several times a day. Perhaps I need to go bungee-jumping. One of my friends said their friend passed a stone after going on a rollercoaster. The doctor recommended jumping jacks, but I’ll have to get a better sports bra.

Craniosacral therapy, visceral manipulation, myofascial release, energy work, Psych-K–the list goes on.

So I turn to you, my readers, my knights in shining armor: Do you have any other ideas the Princess could try to get some relief? I’m ready to abdicate the throne here.


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An Autism Christmas

9 12 2010

An Autism Christmas

For families with kids with autism, Christmas is a challenging time. Many children with autism have co-existing diagnoses, like sensory integration disorder. This is a neurological disorder that was first studied in-depth by A. Jean Ayres, Ph.D., OTR. Dr. Ayres describes sensory integration as the ability to organize sensory information for use by the brain. An individual with sensory integration dysfunction would therefore have an inability to organize sensory information as it comes in through the senses. To give you an example, many children with autism who can speak will tell you that fluorescent lights hurt their heads. They can actually hear the noise made by these lights and it causes pain within their bodies. One of Patrick’s responses to this disorder was that certain noises he would hear would make him dry heave and eventually throw up. We noticed this response with changing the plastic bag in the garbage can, lawnmowers, leaf blowers, etc.

We were ill-prepared for his second Christmas morning (when he had just turned 12 months of age on December 17) when we had him try to open a Christmas present. Apparently the sound of the tearing paper had the same effect for him. I’m thinking this is NOT normal. Kids do not throw up opening their presents. I added that to the list of “weird things about Patrick” that I had begun gathering.

That Christmas it was more of a curiosity for me, as he had not yet been diagnosed with autism. The scientist in me wanted to see if I could correlate a direct relationship between the two items by running several trials to see if we could reproduce that at different times and settings. There indeed was a direct correlation.

When the third Christmas came around, he was age 24 months. To see it happening again brought grief to my Christmas as we had gotten the autism diagnosis 6 months prior. By the fifth Christmas morning, my heart could no longer bear the pain Christmas morning brought. My husband and I decided that on Christmas Eve after Patrick was in bed, we would open our gifts to each other and that others gave us so when Christmas morning came, we would no longer associate it with a grieving heart.

As we worked with him on overcoming his sensory obstacles, we would try one present. He would tear it once; we would put it away and come back to it later. For many years, we practice this same ritual. Eventually he could tolerate the noise, but the look on his face said “chore” versus “joy.”

Three years ago, things suddenly changed for him. We were opening a gift on Christmas Eve and he looked curious about it all. We asked him if he wanted to open some presents with us. He gave us a huge smile and sad down with us. He would rip the paper and act like he was startled and would begin to laugh hysterically and clap his hands. He had recently begun to like the feeling of an adrenaline rush and loved being scared and startled. The tearing of the paper scared him, he experienced a rush of adrenaline, and he liked that. WHO CARED? My child was opening up a present and enjoying it.

Patrick opens his present one piece at a time

We allowed him to open up every single gift that evening, and then Christmas morning, he got to do it all over again (because we rewrapped everything). This year, the number of gifts under the tree is less, but that won’t stop us. We will be wrapping up old toys, put current clothes in boxes, just so we can experience the magic for which we yearned almost a decade. Christmas is about miracles, big and small. This time it was the simple act of opening up a gift about which others do not think twice.

Patrick finally unwraps it.

Find the joy of ripping off the paper of each one of your gifts this year, one tear at a time.


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Matthew’s Christmas Snow

7 12 2010

Matthew’s Christmas Snow

I was told I was going to have great difficulty getting pregnant. Once my husband and I were married we started trying to have a baby right away. I was surprised when it didn’t seem to take that long; however, my baby had died secondary to complications of triploidy in utero in my 2nd trimester in August of 1993. One day I went for my regular doctor’s appointment and they couldn’t find a heartbeat. I had no signs that I had miscarried so it was quite a shock. On the autopsy, they determined he was male. We named him Matthew Joseph (Matthew because it meant God’s gift, and Joseph because that was Jeff’s dad’s middle name). In just a matter of 5 years previous to this, both of my parents died, along with my grandmother and several other relatives. This grief shattered my soul; a piece of me died with him. I had called my church for spiritual guidance regarding customary funeral rites for a baby that was not baptized, or a baptism could be arranged, but no one returned my call; I felt abandoned.

Although soured on organized religion after this, I still had a great faith. I often spoke to Matthew, asking him if he could just send me a sign to let me know he was okay and he could hear me. Of course I knew he was in heaven, but there is other level of you that wishes you could have a conversation with them. I never even had the opportunity to hold him because he was not whole. I remember just touching my lower abdomen, and said goodbye, as a tear fell from my eye as they put my under anesthesia.

We planned to go home to New York that Christmas. In the early part of December, Jeff and I talked about snow and how lovely it would be to see it. Jeff reminded me that Long Island rarely got snow. And without thinking I said to him, “Matthew said he would make it snow.” I have no idea why that came out of my mouth. But inside me, I just knew it was true. Jeff gave me “the look” but didn’t try to dissuade me too much, only to say, “Don’t get your hopes up.” I looked at him with an unshakeable faith:  It. Would. Snow.

Early Christmas Eve day, his family gathered and opened gifts. Seeing the children opening their packages was heart-wrenching to me. I had to excuse myself quietly to the bathroom multiple times. The whole week the weather person said it was going to snow, then it wasn’t going to snow, then it was going to snow, and the final word was that definitely no snow. Still I looked at Jeff and said, “Matthew said it would snow.” He remained quiet, knowing how much my heart was aching. I think he was preparing himself for the emotional mess that ultimately was to come when it didn’t snow.

His sisters had gone out to their friends’ houses. We were sitting in the den in the early evening. The den was connected to the garage. The four of us sat there, watching something Christmas-related on TV. We heard the garage door open, expecting to see one of his sisters walk through the garage door to the den. We waited…and waited. His parents wondered what was keeping whoever it was that just pulled up. I walked to the window to see if maybe they were outside. Instead I saw it was snowing.

I gasped. “IT’S SNOWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

If it had only been me who heard the noise of the supposed garage door opener, I might chalk it up to wishful thinking. Jeff’s parents heard it, too. Had we not heard that noise, I would have missed the snow. None of his sisters had come home.

Without a coat and without shoes, I ran out of the back of the house and let the snowflakes fall on my face, and I whispered, “Thank you, my baby. I love you. Merry Christmas.” I looked at Jeff and said, “Now do you believe?” He burst out in tears, happiness mixed with grief.

It seemed to be letting up and I yelled, “Keep it coming. We’ll be right back.” I told Jeff we needed to go get our coats on to come out here to fully enjoy the moment. All of a sudden, it started snowing more heavily.

If anyone has seen a large-flake snowfall, the snowflakes seem to silently hit the ground. There is a sense of peace, awe and beauty surrounding nature’s majesty. Even the air is different, soft, like a whisper.

Jeff’s parents watched us thinking we had absolutely lost our minds.

We went inside, bundled up, put on shoes and proceeded to go for a walk around the pond. We had a good talk, a good cry, and a good laugh. Our spirits were renewed.

Midnight Mass had never been more beautiful to me than that night. Matthew gave us one of the best Christmas presents we had ever received. Regardless of the circumstances of his death, he was my child and his life was significant for the short amount of time I had the privilege to carry him. I will always be his mother. The boundary between life and death can never change that. He will never be forgotten. His spirit remains with us…always.


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Life Without Regrets

30 11 2010

Ever since I was 17 when I walked out of an abusive foster home after my foster mother attempted to choke me, I made a pact with myself that I would never look back. I was now finally the captain of my fate and could decide my own destiny. Whatever the consequences, good or bad, they would be experiences from which to learn and grow.

As I was driving today, I realized that next year would be the 30th anniversary of that life-altering decision. Have I honored that commitment?

Everything that has happened along the way, all the way back to the time I was born, has made me the person I am today. I would not be human if I didn’t admit that it would have been nice to have gone through life without some of the horrendous situations, like the abuse I experienced as a child. But even those situations had positive side effects. Let me give you an example. If I had not been eventually abandoned by my mother, I would not have been placed in a foster home. Had I not been placed in the foster home, I would have never met my friend, Patty. If I never met my friend, Patty, I would have never met my future husband now of 18 years. Although you cannot imagine it at the time it is happening to you, good can come from evil. You can overcome tragic circumstances and have a happy and fulfilling life if you are willing to put in the hard work to change behaviors, stop the cycle of abuse, and commit to finding out what is “normal” when you’ve lived such a dysfunctional life. It truly is a matter of choice.

Having said that, there are a few things that still make my regret list:
1. Having come from a place in my heart of good intentions, my actions hurt a friend. Although she has forgiven me, I have not been able to forgive myself.
2. Helping someone I barely knew get home, a decision that had consequences I still deal with today even after therapy.
3. Hitting a few off-key notes at my vocal recital at Hamman Hall at Rice University. I know, it sounds like a silly one, but I never sang in public again.
4. Watching “Man of the Year” starring Robin Williams. I will never get that time back.

With the exception of that movie, the good news is that I still have time to fix the others.

The second part of living a life without regret is not having a long bucket list. While I have a variety of things I consider just “wishes”, there is only one item currently on my bucket list: I would like to go swimming with dolphins in the wild. After watching “The Cove” I could not in good conscience swim with dolphins in captivity, so I must venture to the open sea to fulfill this wish. I’ll have to remember to bring plenty of Dramamine.

None of us knows when our lives will be over. Live your life in the moment without regrets for the past. You cannot overly worry about the future either. If you find yourself saying, “if only” or “what if” too often every day, you cannot focus on the pleasures and sorrows of the here and now. Although I thought I knew this lesson well, having my son with severe autism (and other disabilities) only deepened my understanding of what that truly meant. In order to build a bridge to reach him, I had to be present with him. I would sometimes spend hours with him in our playroom we built just for him to make some sort of connection. There were times he appeared catatonic and would only briefly look up and around. I had to make myself his favorite toy in the room. I noticed that if I was looking up at the clock or worrying in my head about all the things I had to get done in the house, he would be less responsive to me. Somehow, he knew. There was no faking out this child. It took a long time, but we built that bridge. I repeated to him verbally quite often that if he felt that his world was safer for him that I was going to be totally 100% okay with that. I was not trying to fix him; I was sending him an invitation. He eventually RSVP’d a “yes” response.

Yes, he has challenges. Yes, life will not be easy for him as he ages. Yes, there have been many sacrifices that this diagnosis came with, including my health. He has been my greatest blessing and my life teacher. How many parents can say they still find magic in their kids making eye contact with them 15 years after they were born? How many parents pull their hair out during the teenage years when their children start rebelling, yet I would give my life just to have 24 hours to have a real conversation with him. I learned to never take anything for granted. To live my life as free as possible of regret one minute at a time.


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Adam Lambert Forms Neural Connections

18 09 2010

I was a huge American Idol fan, doing blogs on Fox 26 Houston after each show, predicting during their first auditions that Adam Lambert and Danny Gokey would make it all the way to the final 5 in the competition.  With American Idol, one does not have to win in order to be successful; alternatively winning does not guarantee success.  Adam had left his mark on Season 8 and Idol could never measure up again.  The Idol tour did not include a Houston-area visit, and I could not get to Dallas because of Patrick. 

Anyone who has been following my blogs since 2007 there also knows of my intense battles with my son’s school district.  We decided to pull him out of the public school and put him in a costly private setting with an anticipated costly legal battle ahead.  The day we made this decision was the day tickets went on sale for Adam’s Houston concert.  My husband and I agreed that this was a sacrifice we would gladly make for the sake of our son.  All our financial resources were being put into the private placement and the legal process against the district.  It was a difficult choice because there were so few opportunities in our life for fun, fun away from the daily struggles of raising a child with multiple disabilities.  Every day I would visit the site and say, “But I want to go.”  However, when Patrick was coming home having made leaps in his developmental process and a calming of his behaviors, I knew we made the right choice.  There was still this longing in my soul to go see Adam perform. 

I decided to put it out there to the universe. If I was meant to have these tickets, they would somehow get to me.  I put a note on Facebook that if anyone heard of any contests being run that next week, to please let me know, because I was feeling lucky. 

A friend, knowing that I had one of the worst years of my life, seeing how much progress Patrick was making in his new school and wanting to do something out of genuine love, decided to play fairy godmother.  She did not know too much about Adam, but she was impressed with his interview on Oprah.  She wanted us to take Patrick. 

“Take Patrick.”  That was something I would have never considered before, especially during the last year when his behaviors increased because staff was not trained properly in the school district.  In 15 days at this private facility, Patrick had dramatically changed.  We really loved this idea.  The school was excited as well.

The day of the concert, I called Hobby Center to see what their procedures were for carrying backpacks were (Patrick’s seizure medication in there), and if I needed a doctor’s note.  I also asked about photography policies.  I shared with Cori Stevenson at Hobby Center that I was 50% excited and 50% petrified because I just did not know what to expect with him and that we were planning for every contingency.  She gave us some information that we previously did not know:  Alison Iraheta was opening for Adam and would be on for 35 minutes starting at 8:00.  Then there would a 30-minute intermission.  Adam was scheduled to sing for about 75 minutes starting at about 9:05.  Based on that information, we planned to show up at 8:20 which would allow Patrick to hear Alison’s music from the muffled sounds of the lobby area so I could see how he might react. 

My friend came to the door with the tickets about 10 minutes later and I tried to hold it together, but when I saw she also included money for us to buy some mementos, I just lost it and cried that we had just had a bad year and ever since Patrick has been going to this school all these wonderful things have been happening in our lives.  

When we arrived at Hobby Center at 8:20, Cori came up to the door as we were getting our tickets out.  She informed me Karolina would be available to help us.  She instructed us on where the EMT was located should there be a need.  Karolina would also check in on us throughout the night.  They worked like a well-oiled machine.  We got up to the gallery level and Karolina was there to greet us.  Patrick wiggled into her heart as he does so many.  He was rocking back and forth to the music coming from the hall, so we were hopeful. 

This is Karolina

As the people filed out to go to the restroom and buy concert merchandise, we walked in and sat down in our wonderful seats.  Patrick just took it all in. 

Patrick takes it all in.

He loved the Hobby Center’s ceiling of stars. 

The ceiling at Hobby Center

The noise gradually became louder and louder, which was perfect to acclimatize him to the sound.  The crowd was filled with such wonderful diversity.  Love was palpable in the air, like the warmth and beauty of the sunrise. 

"Not sure about the screaming fans."

Everyone was standing up, so Patrick did, too.  Although he did have his hands on his ears, he was smiling, laughing and rocking back and forth (dancing!).  The roar of the crowd when Adam took the stage at this sold-out show was deafening.  Patrick was appropriately mimicking the crowd.  There were no bad seats at Hobby Center; our seats I felt were perfect for us. 

Adam appears onstage.

Adam Lambert in Houston

We checked him often to make sure he wasn’t having a seizure, especially during some of the laser lighting, which happened to be some of Patrick’s favorite parts. 

Patrick's favorite: The laser lights.

It wasn’t until Adam sang “Aftermath” that it all hit me and I found myself crying.  For 70 minutes, Patrick blended in with the crowd.  No one stared at him for being different.  No one even glanced his way.  I looked over at him and thought, “Wow, this is what it feels like to have a neurotypical kid!”  For those of you who have followed me over the years, you know that my first child, Matthew, died, so Patrick is my only living child.  I did not know what life without autism was until then.  It was one of life’s perfect moments and one I will always treasure.  It makes the difficult times with autism easier to manage.  It was such a gift. 

“Anytime anybody pulls you down, anytime anybody says you’re not allowed, just remember you are not alone, in the aftermath.” 

It summed up my first half of the year with the difficulties with the school district.  Although I sometimes felt alone on this journey, in the aftermath, I rediscovered that support.  

“Gonna tell you, you’ll be alright, in the aftermath.” 

And he was.  He was thriving, accomplishing more in 15 days there than 6 years in the school district. And we were having this perfect moment. 

He was very quiet on the drive home.  However, while rounding the corner of the street that led to our home, Patrick yelled out, “I’m home.”  I did some double-checking with Jeff that he heard that, too.  As we pulled in the driveway, he said it yet again.  One of the miracles that has occurred with Patrick is that he has become more verbal.  They send lists home every day of things they hear him say and our list at home is increasing as well. 

The week of Adam’s concert, Patrick was having an adjustment period as we were weaning him off his behavior medications.  He also had been dealing with a lot of change–the previous week, his father had gone away for a week on a family emergency, and his teacher was off on her honeymoon.  He was still doing well, but there was some lack of focus issues occurring. 

He had a fantastic day the day after the concert.  These were some of the comments that came home in his home log:

“He came in with a mission! 🙂  He charged straight to his cubby and even prompted ME to get the home log so he could put his backpack away.”  During his yoga, he demonstrated peer imitation of some movements.  He had much lower vocal stereotypy in the morning.  She also wrote, “Patrick was saying “hi” (vocally) to peers as they come out the jumper and were going back in.  Also dancing to music with his hands down.”  For the first time, he almost went into the jumper.  He motioned for his teacher to go first, but she insisted he had to go first and then she would follow.  He wasn’t quite ready to do that, but he was so close. 

I wrote back:  “Adam Lambert forms new brain connections.  I just LOVE this idea.”  We joked that maybe it should be a required field trip for all the kids next time he is in town if the concert had this kind of effect.  Knowing Adam, he would embrace having a bunch of kids with autism come visit him.  His message is about love, about being true to yourself, not being ashamed of it.  During the concert he talked about everything in your life needing to be connected by the love in your heart.  It was an all-inclusive love-fest that I highly recommend to everyone. 

I want to send my thanks to my friend for her amazing generosity, to Cori Stevenson and Karolina at Hobby Center for helping to make my son’s first rock concert a roaring success, to Adam’s fans who did not even know the magic they were helping to weave that night, and to the Adam Lambert fans who have enjoyed hearing about this tale of love.


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