Death at a Gas Station

Like scattered toys, the firetrucks and ambulances were parked willy-nilly as if dropped from the hand of a careless child. We maneuvered our car in and out between them. All I wanted was a candy bar.

As I paid the yawning attendant with glazed-over eyes, I politely tried to sneak a peek at the scene unfolding out in the parking lot. Only the white pickup truck towing a trailer of lawnmowers was appropriately parked. That was the only vehicle that actually looked like someone had intended to park it that way, long and parallel to the curb. Maybe the landscapers had stopped to load up on snacks after a long day’s work. Or was a crew member already feeling poorly, and the gas station their intended point to connect with an ambulance?

Candy bar in hand, we exited the lot. There, on the sidewalk, a mound of brown flesh rose sharply from the earth — glistening and practically steaming in the heat of the setting sun. The man’s skin was pulled taut over his round belly like a too-small canvas stretched across a too-large frame. The circle of paramedics, uniformly dressed in navy, was frozen, disproportionately still — the only movement originating from a petite woman with shoulder-length, chestnut hair. Up, down, up, down. She thrust emphatically, her actions mirroring those of the surrounding pump jacks bobbing for oil. Both dipped and rose to an unheard beat. Both plunged with fervor — hoping, needing to extract.

To the right, a skinny Mexican interlaced fingers behind his head. As his arms lifted, so did his shirt, revealing a stick-thin torso — a stark juxtaposition to his rotund, motionless friend. When he turned from the scene, his eyes scanned the sky. Was he seeking a higher help or simply a much-needed distraction? Perhaps he was fighting off hot, shameful tears. I imagined his slow exhale. It seemed a fitting reaction — a young man’s feeble attempt to send despair whirling.

It had just been a typical day…until it wasn’t.

The circle of paramedics leaned farther back on their haunches, and even in our car, I sensed their deflated energy. An I.V. dangled limply from the fingertips of a lone extended arm. They had all been there a while. Long enough to insert an I.V., long enough to administer CPR. There had never even been a moment non-crucial enough to load the afflicted man on a gurney.

Still, the small woman dove with all the force she could muster — elbows locked, fingers entwined — again, and again, and again. Her efforts were admirable but futile, I suspected.

As our car pulled away, I broke off a piece of my KitKat bar and and chomped down through the flaky wafers. It was all I had really wanted.

Instantly, the sacredness of the moment collided with my profane. I closed my eyes and envisioned the man’s exposed belly. I felt in my body the resounding thud of palms pounding breaking ribs. I heard in my ears the crunch of a candy bar.

A soul had passed — departing our world like the waving heat of a mirage.

And all I could think to do was eat a candy bar.

Why I Need to Remember This…

FullSizeRenderbecause i get constantly get phone calls from school telling me he tried to stab a teacher with a pencil or that he tried to cut himself with a pencil sharpener blade or that he’s mad and can i calm him down.  because he asks me so many questions and has so many issues and arguments that by 7:00 p.m. i can’t even remember what i did earlier on in the day.  because he goes to school every day and his best friend is his teacher. because his remorse and sadness is sometimes too much for my weary heart. because every day i’m pretty sure God could have chosen someone better. because i spend all day frustrated and all night feeling guilty. because i’m at a loss for how to help my child. because in this captured moment, my heart melts, and i can set aside my fears and frustrations and simply see a human being…loving his cousin…needing desparately to be loved. and i’m pretty sure God gave him to me more for my sake than vice versa.

The Many Faces of Autism

I have wanted to publish a book for a long time… not a book with words or even illustrations.  Just a book of photographs.  I would call it, “The Many Faces of Autism.”  In this book, I would chronicle what autism in our house looks like on a day to day basis – the good, the bad and the ugly.

Most likely, I will never get around to a book of any sort.  But as it is Autism Awareness month, I’ve felt the need to do something to honor Autism, honor Grayson, and honor our journey that we’ve been on together.  I have put together a mini sampling of photographs (click on photos for descriptions).  Maybe this is something that only a mother can appreciate.  I really don’t know.

What I do know, is that sorting through these pictures has resurfaced so many emotions – sheer joy and pride, and grieving all over again at the hard reminders.  I remember the early fits and craziness, countless doctor appointments, and the constant helplessness that never left my side.  I remember peeking through the preschool window to see him pulling his hair and rocking, all of his frantic fears…plastic bags and umbrellas in the wind, the fear that someone would eat his food, touch his bellybutton, etc…etc…etc…  I remember crying the day that he ate his last Krispy Creme doughnut, knowing that a super restrictive diet was to start the next day, as we tried to heal his bleeding ulcers and bacterial gut infection.  This “diet” would kept me up until 3 a.m. trying to figure out what in the world to feed him and learning 1,000,000 new terms for allergens.  I remember never being more than 5 minutes from his school and the way my heart would race every time my phone rang.  I remember the screaming, sometimes hours on end, and feeling like death would be a welcome relief.

However, in spite of all of the heartache, what I mainly see when I take a bird’s eye view of these photographs is…GROWTH!  In the midst of the day to day fits and agitations and 50 TRILLION QUESTIONS, I can easily forget just how far he has come from the little boy that he once was.  These pictures serve as a sharp probe to remind me to count my blessings.  Sadly, I have gotten lost in my own agitation and impatience.  I have started seeing failures instead of successes, and I have forgotten how to laugh with Grayson and find compassion for him in his struggles.  I have forgotten that he is funny and sweet and smart and creative!  And in all of this forgetting, I have forgotten that although I may be tired, I am not a mean and angry, old and haggard witch (how I feel at the end of so many days).  I have forgotten that it’s ok to laugh and smile.  I have forgotten so, so much.  I have a lot of remembering to do, and quite honestly, this overwhelms me.  What if I cannot remember how to get back from where I came?  Perhaps I have never even been “there” and need to forge a new path??  But then I think of Grayson and all that he has overcome and become, what we have become together.  And I know that I can, and that I will, get where I need to go.

 Maybe this is the beauty of photographs.  They capture moments that trigger memories.  And though not immediately apparent, when viewed from afar, we are able to see that which was missed standing close up.  So, without further ado, I am happy to share, “The Many Faces of Autism…”

(Grouped into the following categories…Obsessions, Firsts, Sad Times,  Progressive Photograph-ability, Sleeping Anywhere, Crazy Moments, Precious Moments and my Favorite Notes from Grayson)