I lost my Dad's side of the family in my Mom and Dad's divorce. I only mentioned this to give a back side to my story. I grew up and started my family, but there was always a piece missing and that was my family. After I had Mario, I started to think about my family and I really wanted to get to know them...to call them my family.
One Memorial Day, my Dad told me that my Aunt Mary Lou had a family picnic and that I should go. On a whim, I made a casserole and a dessert, loaded the boys into the car and headed to my first Bowlin family picnic in close to fifteen years. That drive was horrible. I was so nervous. What if I didn't fit in? What if...what if.
We pulled into my Aunt Mary Lou's drive and as I got out of the car, I saw my Aunt Mary Lou. "Little Linda?" She said as she smiled in disbelief. My heart melted instantly and as we hugged, I knew I was home.
I don't know if she fully sees how much she has touched my life and made it better, but she has in so many ways. She was one of the first people to see my home after I remodeled it. I still remember her word of advice when she told me to always have a freshly cut lawn. If you have a nice lawn, nothing else matters.
When Sammy was born, she made a quilt for him. I loved this quilt for many reasons. Every time he would go into the hospital, the quilt came too. The material was perfect on his skin and it was so much more comfortable to lay on than hospital sheets. The best part was after everything would settle down and Sammy would be resting comfortably on the quilt, I would lift the corner up to see Aunt Mary Lou's handwriting "For you Sammy, I love you Aunt Mary Lou"
So on this Thanksgiving Eve, as I sit here thinking of all that I'm thankful for, I would like to make a huge gesture of gratitude to my Aunt Mary Lou. Thank you for all you do and all you all. You are aspiring and an inspiration.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
Congenital Heart Defects and Its Lessons
I never knew heart defects were really real until January 28, 2006. When I first learned that they exist, I screamed inside that they weren't fair. I cried for my baby who had them. As I sat there with a cardiologist alone, except for my four year old son who was busy with the toys in the waiting room, I cried for my son, who still was safely in my womb, for all the suffering that was coming his way when he arrived into the world.
Somehow, I learned to accept it and move on. I wonder if I could've called myself naive in the sense that I had no idea what the real situation would be. But my teachings tell me to be kind to myself, so I let it go.
I looked back at the woman I was back then almost seven years later. She was so different than me in so many ways. She was friendly and easy to get along with and she was loving, but she was unkind to herself. She didn't fully live. She accepted what people told her, whether it was right or wrong. She was closed off to herself and her world, barely living.
My experience with congenital heart defects was the worst and best thing for me. It destroyed my world as I knew it. No longer could I hide from myself, I was forced to ask for help. Many times, the door was shut on my face, but I was forced to keep looking and asking for help. It took my blinders off and forced me to see certain people in my life who hurt me more than they loved me. It forced me to see how strong and determined I really was. It forced me to see that no matter what was thrown at me, I could handle it. It forced me to find my spirituality and embrace it with all of my soul. It forced me to openly show love and to receive it.
What I learned from my love for my son is I am willing to do whatever it takes for the people I love. I learned to forgive and not judge. I learned to pray for miracles and I learned to accept them and share them with others so they in turn do the same. I learned it takes a village to raise me. I learned to laugh again. I learned gratitude. I learned peace.
Somehow, I learned to accept it and move on. I wonder if I could've called myself naive in the sense that I had no idea what the real situation would be. But my teachings tell me to be kind to myself, so I let it go.
I looked back at the woman I was back then almost seven years later. She was so different than me in so many ways. She was friendly and easy to get along with and she was loving, but she was unkind to herself. She didn't fully live. She accepted what people told her, whether it was right or wrong. She was closed off to herself and her world, barely living.
My experience with congenital heart defects was the worst and best thing for me. It destroyed my world as I knew it. No longer could I hide from myself, I was forced to ask for help. Many times, the door was shut on my face, but I was forced to keep looking and asking for help. It took my blinders off and forced me to see certain people in my life who hurt me more than they loved me. It forced me to see how strong and determined I really was. It forced me to see that no matter what was thrown at me, I could handle it. It forced me to find my spirituality and embrace it with all of my soul. It forced me to openly show love and to receive it.
What I learned from my love for my son is I am willing to do whatever it takes for the people I love. I learned to forgive and not judge. I learned to pray for miracles and I learned to accept them and share them with others so they in turn do the same. I learned it takes a village to raise me. I learned to laugh again. I learned gratitude. I learned peace.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
I am done fighting
I got Pants ready to go meet with Ms. Shuman today. He was excited that he got to go show her his new book and car. Ms. Shuman meet us in the office with two other women. They did an evaluation with him and had a long talk with me. They asked me what Pants had received in therapy and school so far. I explained my problems with finding a good therapist and the problems I have had receiving a proper diagnosis of Pants condition. They viewed videos I had made of Pants progress. The one teacher told me to start recording him every day because I was able to document and capture the Sammy that he will only show to me.
The other teacher told me that she recommended that he would benefit greatly with a one-on-one teacher. I started to tell her I thought that would be the best situation for both of us but I couldn't find it. The other teacher chimed in and told me that it wasn't fair but I had to fight for the proper care. I looked at her and quietly said I didn't want to fight anymore. I didn't anymore out loud, I was trying very hard to keep from crying. What I wanted to tell her was that I knew what she was saying. I had been fighting for six years to get the proper care for Pants. I know the battle, I've lived it. I know I am quite capable of fighting for the rest of my life, if that is what I needed to do for Pants, but I am beaten, bruised and battered and I believe enough is enough. A month and a half ago, I honestly had no idea what I was going to do, but I decided enough is enough. I said I needed help. Long gone are the visits to professionals that left me feeling alone and hopeless. I refuse to fight, I chose to receive.
I must have been too quiet for two long because the other teacher spoke up. "Okay here are your choices. You can tour a couple of nearby schools that we believe may help. We will set up the visits and I will go with you. You can continue to home school Sammy and we will bombard him with occupational and speech therapy and you can be his one-on-one. What ever you decide, I will get you the help you both need."
I started to cry at this, which made the other teacher start to cry. That instant, I felt as if they felt bad that they had to tell a mom that her child needed more help than what she could give him and that he was different.
I could only thank them because I was too busy holding it together. But I wanted to tell them
I am not crying because you told me my son was different and needed special help, I am crying because I believe you when you say you are going to help me find the help he needs.
Maybe it took six years and many life lessons, but I trully believe I am at the point where I am no longer fighting, I am only receiving.
The other teacher told me that she recommended that he would benefit greatly with a one-on-one teacher. I started to tell her I thought that would be the best situation for both of us but I couldn't find it. The other teacher chimed in and told me that it wasn't fair but I had to fight for the proper care. I looked at her and quietly said I didn't want to fight anymore. I didn't anymore out loud, I was trying very hard to keep from crying. What I wanted to tell her was that I knew what she was saying. I had been fighting for six years to get the proper care for Pants. I know the battle, I've lived it. I know I am quite capable of fighting for the rest of my life, if that is what I needed to do for Pants, but I am beaten, bruised and battered and I believe enough is enough. A month and a half ago, I honestly had no idea what I was going to do, but I decided enough is enough. I said I needed help. Long gone are the visits to professionals that left me feeling alone and hopeless. I refuse to fight, I chose to receive.
I must have been too quiet for two long because the other teacher spoke up. "Okay here are your choices. You can tour a couple of nearby schools that we believe may help. We will set up the visits and I will go with you. You can continue to home school Sammy and we will bombard him with occupational and speech therapy and you can be his one-on-one. What ever you decide, I will get you the help you both need."
I started to cry at this, which made the other teacher start to cry. That instant, I felt as if they felt bad that they had to tell a mom that her child needed more help than what she could give him and that he was different.
I could only thank them because I was too busy holding it together. But I wanted to tell them
I am not crying because you told me my son was different and needed special help, I am crying because I believe you when you say you are going to help me find the help he needs.
Maybe it took six years and many life lessons, but I trully believe I am at the point where I am no longer fighting, I am only receiving.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Death
My former EMT partner, Rusty passed on this week and I am having a difficult time dealing with it. This frustrates me because I've experienced death before and my faith and beliefs tell me that death is not really the end.
Nonetheless, I am heart broken.
There is only one thing in life that is certain and that is death and yet none of us really prepare ourselves for the inevitable. I am guilty of that. I am guilty of not dealing with the lose of a loved one and instead just pushing the thoughts and pain aside.
My beliefs tell me that death isn't really the end. I've seen death as a blessing to suffering. My Grandpa died after battling cancer for years. I remember that last time I saw him, standing in the corner of his hospital room watching him fight for every breath he took, quietly thinking, "Just let go, Grandpa. It's ok. Please stop doing this to yourself." Even though I was relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore, it took me years to get over his passing. But now, I feel him around and I know he is happy and free.
As an EMT, I learned that death comes when it wants to and when it comes, there is nothing that you are taught in a classroom to stop it. One night, my partner and I were called to a house to pick up a young man that had been drinking all night and had suffered a beating from a "friend". I guided him into the back of the ambulance and we drove off to the hospital. He looked banged up, but his vitals were fine and he didn't seem to bad. I was asking him questions and writing up my report when he grabbed my arm and told me that he was dying. It startled me for a moment so I rechecked him. He still seemed fine so I told him that it was just the alcohol talking and he was going to be fine. I wheeled him into a hospital room and left him with a couple of nurses. A few hours later, our supervisor told us that he had a brain bleed and died. I asked my partner if it was my fault, after all he told me he was dying. My partner just shook his head and said there was nothing either of us could do and I should just forget about it. I never forgot about it, but I don't beat myself up over it anymore. When it is your time, nothing will stop it.
So I have beaten myself up because I know Rusty is somewhere that is alot better than here and I know he is around, looking after all that he loved. And I accept that this was Rusty's time and it is silly of me to expect him to live forever in this world.
And I realize that my heart is broken because my relationship with Rusty as we knew it is gone. No longer will his name come up on my phone screen. No longer will we make plans of meeting for lunch. No longer will I try to hug him only for him to start yelling that we don't hug.
Death ends things as we know it but it doesn't take that person from your heart, it just changes the relationship.
Nonetheless, I am heart broken.
There is only one thing in life that is certain and that is death and yet none of us really prepare ourselves for the inevitable. I am guilty of that. I am guilty of not dealing with the lose of a loved one and instead just pushing the thoughts and pain aside.
My beliefs tell me that death isn't really the end. I've seen death as a blessing to suffering. My Grandpa died after battling cancer for years. I remember that last time I saw him, standing in the corner of his hospital room watching him fight for every breath he took, quietly thinking, "Just let go, Grandpa. It's ok. Please stop doing this to yourself." Even though I was relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore, it took me years to get over his passing. But now, I feel him around and I know he is happy and free.
As an EMT, I learned that death comes when it wants to and when it comes, there is nothing that you are taught in a classroom to stop it. One night, my partner and I were called to a house to pick up a young man that had been drinking all night and had suffered a beating from a "friend". I guided him into the back of the ambulance and we drove off to the hospital. He looked banged up, but his vitals were fine and he didn't seem to bad. I was asking him questions and writing up my report when he grabbed my arm and told me that he was dying. It startled me for a moment so I rechecked him. He still seemed fine so I told him that it was just the alcohol talking and he was going to be fine. I wheeled him into a hospital room and left him with a couple of nurses. A few hours later, our supervisor told us that he had a brain bleed and died. I asked my partner if it was my fault, after all he told me he was dying. My partner just shook his head and said there was nothing either of us could do and I should just forget about it. I never forgot about it, but I don't beat myself up over it anymore. When it is your time, nothing will stop it.
So I have beaten myself up because I know Rusty is somewhere that is alot better than here and I know he is around, looking after all that he loved. And I accept that this was Rusty's time and it is silly of me to expect him to live forever in this world.
And I realize that my heart is broken because my relationship with Rusty as we knew it is gone. No longer will his name come up on my phone screen. No longer will we make plans of meeting for lunch. No longer will I try to hug him only for him to start yelling that we don't hug.
Death ends things as we know it but it doesn't take that person from your heart, it just changes the relationship.
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