Winter

"I get a little warm in my heart when I think of winter
I put my hands in my father's glove
I run off where the drifts get deeper

I hear a voice you must learn to stand up
For yourself cause I can't always be around

He says when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast."

Winter ~ Tori Amos

My whole life I have played this childish game with myself. The "I wish it was last week at this time so I would be able to*insert great moment in my life here* game"

For example, I found myself saying today, " I wish it was last week at this time so I would be picking my father up from the airport tomorrow."

I just can't help to play my silly game and wish that I could go back and rewind time. Just once. Please ?!? Oh hell, if I am wishing for something, I might as well wish big and request for the last twenty years of my life back so I can have one re-do.

So what would I change if my wish were granted?

Thats just it, I don't think I would change a damn thing. I would just not take anything for granted. I would enjoy every single moment spent with my father. Looking back on things, it seems as though my childhood went by so fast. Thinking about the responsibilies that come with having a family, I just want to rewind to the time where I can be a care-free child again, while someone takes care of me. It just seems so much easier. Maybe that's why life happens in the chronological order it does, so that we start off as care-free children, taking things for granted, so that when we are adults we will cherish every moment spent with family members.

Sometimes I feel homesick. I cherish when I get the rare opportunity to have a visit from my father, the longing is fulfilled for a short period of time, only to have the homesick feeling be exacerbated once he goes back to his home.

The reality of my game is that this week is over and tomorrow my father will go back home. Go back to his home, while I stay at my home.

The reality is that a genie is not going to come out of a bottle and grant me a rewind of my life.

The reality is that I do have responsibilities, a family, and my own home.

The reality is that I have the moments from this week engrained into my memory and will be able to rewind those back as many times as I wish. And since I am an adult, there is no way in hell I will take these memories for granted.

Pretty Good Year

"Tears on the sleeve of a man
don't want to be a boy today
heard the eternal footman
bought himself a bike to race
and Greg he writes letters and burns his CDs
they say you were something in those formative years
hold onto nothing as fast as you can
well still pretty good year

Maybe a bright sandy beach
is gonna bring you back
maybe not so now you're off
you're gonna see America
well let me tell you something about America
pretty good year
some things are melting now
well what's it gonna take till my baby's alright"

~Tori Amos; Pretty Good Year

February 21, 2011 will forever be a day ingrained into my motherly being. When I look back at that day, it was such an ambivalent day: I was just so happy to know what was “wrong.” Yet, I was faced with the fear of knowing what the future had in store for my sweet baby boy. The process had not even evolved and I was exhausted already. Tired from being forced to fight doctors, insurance companies, the counties early intervention program, as well as facing the fact that parenting, for me at least would involve being my child’s only advocate.

It was like a double edged sword trying to force his doctors to get my child the help he needed, as a mother I knew something was wrong. Yet, there still was a piece of me that did not want to know. Denial was such bliss. I guess the pressure of worrying about his speech was more than I could bare. So I fought, fought for the help he needed. He was two years old and could not even say ten words. D-Day (Diagnosis Day): The day the speech pathologist sat me down and said in the most tactful way possible, “I believe your son has a neurological disorder that is very controversial. It is called Childhood Apraxia of Speech.” Controversial. Ha! How naive I was then. Obviously, I think back to this day quite often. As I sat in the small toddler chair as she broached the subject as smooth as possible, in hopes that I would not have a severe meltdown. The room started spinning and all I wanted to do was run. I imagined myself running down the highway, in the deep dark woods, anywhere in that little chair. Then I dreamed of the day the doctors first put my sweet child in my arms. I thought about the first moment I spoke to him when the nurse put him in my arms, “I am your mommy; I will be the best mommy forever. I promise.” As I kissed his darling, unblemished cheek I went into warrior mommy mode from that moment on. The moment I held my child in my arms for the first time, I changed from a girl to a woman.

Before D-day, I thought it would be a short term process. Carson would just go to speech therapy and they would magically cure him. I thought his speech disorder was curable within months. Foolishly, denial was bliss until the truth surfaced. I did what any parent would do, I went home and googled CAS. The conclusion: My child might never be able to talk and we had a long, hard road ahead of us.

After D-day, I have gone through every emotion a woman goes through when faced with the disability of a child: mourning the loss of having the perfect child. Please do not get me wrong: I love my son with every little single fiber of being inside, but watching him struggle is the most heartbreaking experience. I have rollercoastered through the typical model of grief : denial, fear, guilt, anger, and the one I still can’t seem to come to grips with; acceptance.

Denial: Oh god all I can say is that it has taken me almost a year to come to terms with the diagnosis

Anger, oh God! I am so angry sometimes. I keep asking myself why my child? As I watch the struggle as he tries to speak. He tries so hard and nothing comes out in the correct way. My anger gives way to a fear that is unspeakable. I just wonder if he will ever be okay. I wonder if I will ever be okay? Nights of crying myself to sleep. I find myself wondering what he really has to say and what kind of person this will make him grow up to be. Will he be introverted and keep his thoughts and feelings to himself because that’s how he started? Will he ever be ‘normal’?

Guilt is such a tough one: I blame myself, I often think back to my horrible birthing experience and wonder if I am less of woman because I was unable to give birth naturally and maybe this is what caused his CAS. Why am I unable to teach him how to speak myself, like most mother’s do? I feel so inadequate at times when I cannot figure out what he is trying to communicate to me in vowel only sounds.

I am depressed, severely depressed. Even writing this down makes me so sad that this is probably the first time I have admitted to myself that I am in reference to this subject. Sometimes at night when I am up by myself crying, I pick him up and hold him in my arms and just cry while he sleeps.

And acceptance: Will I Ever accept his diagnosis? Of course I will. I will not give up hope for his future. I promised him that when I first held him in my sweet arms. Not everyday is full of sorrow. We have improvements. On my 26^th birthday, he told me, “eee ovve ooo ommy.” Best. Present. Ever. However, there are days when I want to scream or still run to that highway or woods. Days when I am in a store and a child innocently asks her mother, “What is that little boy saying? Why is he talking like a baby.” The mother responds ignorantly in a whisper but still loud enough for the words to pierce my heart with a thorn, “ Don’t stare, honey, that boy is mentally handicapped and we need to treat him differently.”

Set Fire to the Third Bar

"I'm miles from where you are
I lay down on the cold ground
I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms"

````````When I was a little girl my dad used to bring me home a present every night when he came home from work. I used to sit in the foyer on the steps and wait for him every evening in anticipation of him coming home. Needless to say, I was a daddy's girl. His present was usually something really small like a piece of gum, a flower, or even a bag of candy. The minute he opened the door, I used to jump into his arms from the foyer stairs and give him a big kiss on the cheek. It was the best part of my day.

The last time I saw my therapist, he told me to start grieving my father's death. No, my dad doesn't have cancer or any other scary terminal illness. He is an alcoholic who is slowly killing himself and not caring who he hurts in the process. My father lied to me today and told me he wasn't drinking. He was obviously drunk. I always know when he is drinking. He is a different person and acts different. He has had pancreatitis, which can be deadly to an alcoholic if he keeps drinking. He has tried detox, AA daily, and outpatient treatment. Nothing seems to be working, because he still continues to drink. I have almost lost hope, but there is this little piece of me that just can't seem to let go.

For the last three years that I have been going to see my therapist, he has never once been wrong. I have always listened to everything he has said. This is the one time I don't want to listen and stay in denial. However, its not in my best benefit to stay in denial. Its so hard to sit back and watch someone kill themselves. How am I going to have the strength to bury my father before I even got to know him as an adult? How am I going to bury my father before he gets to know my children, his grandchildren? I can't believe that he is choosing a bottle of alcohol over his children, grandchildren, and wife.

I wish I was a time traveler, so I could rewind time and jump into his arms from the stairs 20 years ago and tell him that this was something he was going to be facing soon. I would ask him to keep all of his presents and just give me one big present : To never pick up that first drink that could lead him down this destructive, deathly path.

Float On

"I backed my car into a cop car the other day
Well he just drove off, sometimes life's ok

And we'll all float on OK"

Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands
Good news will work its way to all them plans
We both got fired on exactly the same day
Well, we'll float on, good news is on the way."

-----Well at 26 weeks pregnant, I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. At first, it was a big let down. My whole life I have been a sugar fanatic and sweet eater. Sometimes eating sweets for meals. Needless to say, I was devastated. I have never had a weight problem or anything because I have always had a very active lifestyle. Up until now, I have never had to diet or even tried to diet. I had bouts with an eating disorder when I was younger, but I don't even consider that dieting because that was just "not eating." I have never eaten healthy in my life. I have always eaten one good meal a day. Never three. I have been very lucky to live almost 25 years of life and not worry about diet, exercise, or weight. In fact, I have never owned a scale. Maybe my lack of diet and exercise is what led me up to this point? Who knows?

So now I am forced to eat six healthy meals a day. At first, it was like a culture shock. Eating the kind of food wasn't a big deal because I don't mind healthy food. The culture shock was going from eating one meal a day to eating six. At first my blood sugars were too low, and I had to go to the nutritionist to find out why and she said I was not eating enough. I almost fell on the floor. My first thought was I cannot stuff anymore food in this stomach. Now, I am too full to even think about sweets or a piece of cake. I do splurge and have a No Sugar Added Klondike bar every night before bed. I feel wonderful, less tired. I am actually pregnant and loosing weight. My OB says that is fine that I am loosing fat, and the baby is getting plenty of nutrients. Most importantly, because of the diet, my sugars are now under control and in the range of where they should be. This means no insulin, yet. I am so happy that I am able to control it and not have to have insulin. As long as the baby is healthy, I am happy.

I have to prick myself with a needle four times a day and test my sugars. In the morning before I eat anything and than two hours after each meal. My fingers are so sore from the poking and prodding, but the doctor says I will eventually build up scar tissue and it will not hurt anymore. I have had one time where I didn't think I could poke myself. The second day I was starting this, I was unable to get blood because I was poking in the right places. I kept having to poke myself over and over again. I finally turned to Andrew and said, "I can't do this." He grabbed the thing out of my hand and said, " You have to! You have no choice, and poked me in the right spot."

The best part about this whole thing happening: Its a blessing in disguise. I really could not go on eating the way I was. I will now be in better shape to loose all the baby weight after I deliver and be one hot mama. Sometimes things work out for the best and we "Float On with bad news that turns into good news."

Fast Car

"You see, my old man's got a problem,
Lives with the bottle, that's the way it is
He says his body's too old for workin',
I say his body's too young to look like his

You got a fast car,
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision,
Leave tonight or live an' die this way."

All I can seem to think about today is my father. My father, my hero, my advisor, the business owner, the millionaire, the most successful person I know. Everything my father has ever strived for in his life he has achieved. But, you see, my father has a problem. He, despite all of his accomplishments, is human and for the last few years has let his love for the bottle spiral completely out of control. After many bouts of confrontation, denial on his part, begging, AA meetings, relapses, and one hospital stay from alcohol induced pancreatitis, he has agreed to enter a detox center and rehab.

He has exaggerated, lied, and bluffed so many times, I don't know if he will really go or even stay. Only tomorrow and time will tell.

I have hope. I can't loose hope, he is my father. I am a piece of him.

He has to beat this disease that is plaguing him, or it is going to put him into his grave. its just so hard to sit back and watch.