Worthless and weak

I whined about Mother Nature last night, so I guess I can do the same about God the Father this morning.

Care givers have ample experience with unanswered prayer. Prayer that the diagnosis be wrong; prayer that the condition go away; prayer for resources that don’t come; prayer to “do it right” and fix everything that needs fixin’.

OK, sometimes the prayers are answered. But the great mystery is that so much of what’s good, true and beautiful comes when we are rebuffed,

Three different times I begged the Lord to take it away. Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong. 2 Corinthians 12:8-10, NLT

So up and at another day, friends. Let’s affirm the reality together, and let the power flow…

Mother Nature, Queen B_@t_h

Nah, I don’t need to spell out the word that every white kid has adopted to self-identify as something other than every white kid (Is there a mathematical formula to express that?).

Anyway, the view from our back deck last night:

So Ma Nature comes struttin’ through here like a Kardashian in front of a camera.

You know what her histrionics can do to an internet signal? The signal upon which your kid with autism (another of Queen B’s contributions) is depending for a bit of entertainment to relax for the night?

The signal which is interrupted, sending the kid into your room with anxiety rising into rage?

The signal which, when lost, can only be explained to the kid with stuff like, “The computer is broken. Uh, until tomorrow…,” the saying of which can put you on the bad end of a person with autism’s violent meltdown?

UPDATE: A friend made contact to note that her daughter with special needs had a seizure due to the systemic disruptions caused by the storm. I was so ticked off for my sake that I neglected to mention Mother Nature’s fine contribution to those in our care.

Thanks, Mother Nature.  Thanks a bunch.

What day is it?

No, it’s not hump day, just Tuesday as I’m typing this.

For most folks Wednesday is the celebration of starting downhill toward the weekend.

But for caregivers this can work in reverse. Folks who take care of kids with special needs take our breaks on weekdays when schools and community programs are in session; the weekend provokes anxiety. And the closer it gets the higher the anxiety rises.

People with autism, like our son Joey, like structure and familiarity. Day programs in classrooms or work spaces provide precisely that. The weekend interrupts it. It is no surprise that Joey’s seizures, which are blessedly few and far between these days, tend to break through on the weekend at home. Melissa had to be in-home EMT on Saturday when Joey pitched out of a chair with an intense seizure.

And of course this was a long weekend, what with the Memorial Day holiday to further disorient and agitate both Joey and his caregivers (Melissa and me).

He did, at least, enjoy my grilled hot dogs and brats, of which he ate five. With buns.

Yeah, that hump day thing isn’t as happy for us as it is for most.

Note: I still don’t know why the video refused to embed in the post prior to this one. Well worth watching if you click on the embed code that’s spilled all over the page.

Have you seen this man?

Soooooooo…

We went to a wedding over the weekend.  All three of us – our son with autism included.

There was much in our favor.  The couple came from an extended family of friends that our son, Joey,  knows and enjoys.  The atmosphere was happy earthy rather than formal and uptight.  The weather featured a few of the rationed really-nice-days allocated to South Dakota every year.  And there was food to be downed.

As I shared earlier, the rehearsal went really well for our whole family.  And we were going back to the same place with the same folks for the wedding and reception.

Something changed.

Maybe it was the volume of the music in the reception hall.  Maybe it was the bigger crowd of people.  Whatever it was, it brought out Joey’s “best.”

5118Here’s a surveillance photo of the suspect.  Notice that the look isn’t very happy.  That little bucket was full of chex mix for snacking – he pulled it to himself, spilling some and playing tug-o-war with us as we tried to retrieve it.  Calm words about “sharing” failed.  Then he ate all the chex out of the mix and left us with just the pretzel bits.

What you might not be able to tell from this pic is that he’s not in a chair.  He’s on his knees on the floor.  We tried to coax him into a chair but that agitated him.

Then he scooted on his knees out into the middle aisle of the reception hall – just as the wedding party was set to make its entrance.

Joey’s figured out that he’s big enough to physically resist mom, so I had to hunker down on the floor and drag him just enough to clear the aisle until the wedding party made it through.

Then he stood up and started walking around in front of the head table, which of course was when people wanted to be taking pictures of the couple and their gorgeous bridesmaids and groomsmen.

I managed to stay just calm enough to convince Joey that he didn’t have to sit if he went and stood by the windows along the wall.

The long and short of it is that Melissa and I enjoyed our friends’ wedding very much, we all had a nice dinner and drinks (several drinks in reaction to Joey) and then came home and collapsed.

Care giving is a game of home court advantage – you usually wind up losing on the road.

My picture of defiant Joey – actually the whole vibe of trying to handle him – reminded me of this recent movie scene:

 

 

Mother’s Day on the Horizon

Here are a couple of good piece by MOMS of kids (little and grown) with autism:

At The Mighty, check out 15 Things I Hear as the Parent of an Autistic Child – And My Responses.

Mothers of all children with special needs and autistic children likely hear a whole lot of different things throughout their journeys, so to make appropriate social conduct a bit clearer and more defined, below is a list of what I believe is better not to say…

donna reedAnd give a read to Shaunta Grimes’ Coffelicious blog, This is what it looks like to be a Gen-X mom with an Indigo Child who isn’t a child anymore.  (Strong language & content).

It’s so tempting to try to browbeat him into sleeping more. (I have no idea why it would work with a 23-year-old man when it didn’t work for a three-year-old baby.) I also find myself wanting to monitor his computer time, restrict him from drinking and unprotected sex, and refuse to let him get his own apartment because I can’t see how he’ll be able to manage paying his own bills.

It’s easy to forget that having autism doesn’t make him less of an adult with his own mind and the God-given right to make his own decisions. And mistakes.

Me?  I’ll try to get Joey to help me honor Melissa on Mother’s Day, all the while dealing with the reality that he expects any holiday to mean presents for him.

Hanging out alone together

We are getting our handful of gorgeous spring days here in Sioux Falls.  Soon humid heat will take over and we will wilt while the corn and weeds leap up to embrace the sun.

Last night we were guests at an outdoor wedding rehearsal.  Our son with autism enjoyed being outside in the pleasant weather.  The site had a swing set and that’s a gross motor activity that calms him.

More than that, the couple’s extended family includes a gaggle of boys around whom Joey is comfortable, in no small part because they are so friendly toward him but also understand that his reactions to them will be…uh…different.

20170505_195157I took this picture last night.  It looks like Joey is isolated in stereotypical autism.

But notice the slight turn of his head.  From his place of shady comfort on the soft grass, he’s enjoying a social moment.  He’s connected to the boys who are throwing and kicking various balls around the field to his right.

Although working to establish social connection and interaction with people with autism is vital, so is a gentle touch that finds their comfort zone.  For Joey, that’s often just on the edge of things.  He smiled on the edge of the dance floor at his brother’s wedding reception, for example.  He didn’t need to run away, but he didn’t need to dive in either.

His comfort last night – and the fact that others accepted his comfort zone – gave Joey social pleasure on his terms and allowed mom and dad to visit with friends and enjoy social time on ours.

Besides, they had a taco bar with nachos.  I mean, that’s a winner, whether or not you’re neurotypical.

Wondering about the void

Lake Minnetonka

Looking out from the club’s dinning room onto Lake Minnetonka

While Joey spent the weekend in a respite apartment (that’s respite for his caregivers, mind you, he’d rather be home with his own stuff), Melissa and I traveled to a lovely spot in Minnesota  as guests of a church with a big heart for service to others.

We spoke as a couple at a forum for Autism Awareness Month.  It was well attended by folks caring for loved ones with autism and others who have friends or extended family members living with or caring for special needs.

A number of great questions and comments came up.  I want to return to some of those here on the blog.  They’ll be in no particular order except as to when they pop back into my head.

Melissa brought up what we call “the void.”  Taking care of our son Joey for the last 23 years has blessed, warped, changed or any-number-of-other-verbed every aspect of our family life, our marriage included.

I hear similar thoughts from caregivers in other situations, such as those caring for a disabled or chronically ill spouse, or grown kids caring for parents with dementia or Alzheimer’s.  Care giving takes over everything.  Some relational bonding is put on hold or evaporates, while the care giving routines become a kind of alternative glue holding people together.

Then the daily care giving goes away.  The person under care dies or is institutionalized.  In our case, Joey is on the waiting list for a group home opening.  Our dawn to dark (and sometimes in the dark) duties will move out with him.  Melissa and I will be staring at each other with a lot of “Now what?” space in between us.

Daves dad and joeAs important and immediately refreshing as we found our trip, we were urgent about getting things back to “normal” and we picked up Joey and whisked him to one of his favorite restaurants. Daves mom and joe The house might have been uncomfortably quiet as we unpacked a few bags and…

…and what?

This is ground we’ve not been over, but can see in the not-too-far distance.  We are trying to regenerate some of our couple time together, and keep up friendships, and envision things we want to do when we’re free to get on with them.

But we’re also interested in the experiences of those who’ve been over the territory, especially as couples.  Did you experience the void?  What did it do to your relationship?  How did you (plural you, y’all) come out on the other side?  Or did you?

Only human

Just caught a short, brutally honest article from the perspective of caring for a person with dementia or Alzheimer’s.

In Caregivers Are Only Human, Rick Phelps writes,

frayed rope

Image from the linked article.

Everyone loses their temper once in a while. People say things to each other that they don’t mean under far less stressful situations. Caregivers are under an incredible amount of pressure, and they are not immune to letting their emotions get the best of them. Dementia adds yet another challenge to the mix.

There are several comments at the article that are worth reading as well.

In Raising a Child With Autism, I describe an ice storm that clobbered our town a few years ago.  The aftermath of that mess serves as an image for caregiver breakdown,

Sometimes physically, but more often emotionally, caregivers sag like ice-burdened trees. We wonder if our groaning means we’re bending with the effort or if it’s the prelude to falling down.

All relationships – not just care giving situations – can take us to our limits and show us at our worst.  As author Anne Kennedy reminds us with a recurring chapter heading in her book for “angry or worn out people,” You Still Can’t Do It.

Which is why care giving or just plain ol’ family life can be the door to discovering the unearned, undeserved favor of a loving and very patient God.

Isolation

The first book signing for Raising a Child With Autism is history, but this isn’t about the book.  It is about the people who stopped to talk at the display table and others who’ve been in touch via the internet.  My prayer list keeps growing with their names and needs.

One man took a break from his job down the street from the bookstore to come in and describe his family’s unique challenges.  They care for a son with autism.

We noticed that people stopped inviting us to stuff.  I think they’re afraid of our kid.  My wife is at home alone with him more and more.  She’s really feeling isolated.

All kinds of care givers suffer in similar situations.  People don’t invite you out or you find it too much of a hassle to go.  Competent babysitters or respite providers are hard to find.  The person in your care is agitated if you go out on your own, but resists going along when invited.

Many Christians will hear a familiar Bible lesson on an upcoming Sunday in Easter season.  It begins with people in isolation,

2012-12-22_09-13-56_966When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear…

But the locked door is as powerless against what happens next as, well, our bedroom door when our son Joseph wants to bust in about something.

Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

We weren’t able to attend an Easter service.  I had to work and Melissa had to – did you guess? – be home with Joe.  Yet Easter isn’t less Easter to us, because of the one who burst the isolation of his tomb and, by his Spirit, reaches into the isolation that afflicts the human race.

There’s no easy set of “steps” to make this happen, much as I’d like to bottle and sell such a formula.  But I suppose it begins like most efforts to end isolation, with a conversation,

And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

We are blessed this Easter.  Although we couldn’t be in church, we will soon have dinner with friends who love Joey and welcome him into their home.

We are grateful to all who read what we share, who leave messages and otherwise communicate with us.  You have been part of God’s response when we’ve asked, sought and knocked – you help deliver us from isolation.

May God’s peace be always with you.