Light in the World

As my mother's world continues to turn inward on itself, as it discards awareness and interest, my son's world seems to be cracking open, unveiling interests and abilities of which I had not dared dream.

No, I am not objective. And no, I don't think it is entirely measurable in the way that we like to measure and document such things, but his world is taking a slow, but clear outward turn that I can neither deny or explain.

He seeks out his brothers for play (excellent, new, and appropriate behavior). He joins them in their games--huge stuff, folks. Really. He follows multi-step directions (e.g. "turn down the volume, LRHF.") Wow. He cleans up his messes. He uses kleenex proactively (I will sneeze soon...let me find a tissue and hold it to my nose). Words, words, words...lots of new ones, lots of understandable ones, and lots of strung-together-in-sentences ones. Tonight, I am pretty sure that he read a word on the computer screen. Finally, I couldn't tell you the last time we had to shut that damned dutch door. Seriously. And you know that I am not a happy sunrise kind of gal about this autism beast. We've established that I lean toward glowering sunsets fading into that dark, dark night, I know, but even in this autism dark, I see his little lights glowing brighter and brighter--multiplying and shining down the path.

I know these are maybe small things to you, things your children, your students, your nieces and nephews did with an ease that defined the simplicity of the task. I know. But ohhhhh, these tiny lights, these new and beautiful things are glorious glistening gifts when they come so unexpectedly.

I don't know how or why. I don't know if it makes sense. I only know that there is more light in the world

A Motherless Child

How could so much go so quickly?

My mother has left the building. She continues to sleep and wake and eat and such, but so gone--she is just so very, very gone. I can speak to her on the phone and I hear her words and she hears mine, but her words are fibs and my words are...forgotten. That quickly.

Mom, BRHB made it onto his blah blah blah team. It's a big deal.

pause. pause. PAUSE.

Uh huh.

It's a big deal. We're really proud of him. He wanted me to tell you.

Tell me what?

(repeat big deal news here)

Oh.

pause........pause.....

I'll get your father.

No, Mom. I'm telling you. It's okay. Just tell Dad for us, will you?

Oh. Okay.

pause....pause....pause....

Lah?

Yes Mom?

What did you tell me?

And there you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen.

In another time, I will tell you about the mammogram I had to have yesterday because of the oddish mark on my right breast that didn't seem to be doing much of anything and could be orange peel-y, I don't know, and also could be a rare and aggressive form of breast cancer (unlike those really passive breast cancers we keep reading about) and how I looked on my children's sleeping heads and held onto my husband's hands and how I wanted my mother so terribly in that time that I thought maybe I would finally inch my way over the edge, that edge I'm always bitching about being so close to. I am fine, the mark is nothing more than the thump of a child's head on my chest, or the itch of cheap lace--anywhere else on my body and I wouldn't have even noticed the damned thing, you know how that goes. But this time, and for how many more will I reach for that which is no longer there? I never considered that I would be mother and motherless in so brief a time.

Just a pause.

Migraines are Just Little Peeks into Crazy.

Mine are, anyway. I become "emotionally labile" (read: needy/bitchy/end-of-days predicting/turn-on-that-light-and-I-will-re-circumcise-you-with-my-pinking-shears lunatic)


Honestly.

These horrid things build up like hurricanes off Florida...takes three, maybe four days to hit the actual headache part, but in the meantime, I'm cold, nasty, achy, weepy, queasy, photosopic (??) and so forth. Lots to occupy the time. Flashing lights...halos...anxiety...by the time it hits shore, I've already terrified the kids and alienated the husband. Sorry kids. Sorry husband.

(then, of course, there's the "I know that I am now actually becoming my mentally unstable mother" moment in my own heart, so Sorry lah as well)

How can there even be episodes so horrid, so out-of-ordinary, so physically, mentally and emotionally all-encompassing without some sort of terrible diagnosis, other than the diagnosis of migraine and migraine related conditions? My gosh.

It's day umm...five of this storm. The headache hit early yesterday. Today I will keep the sunglasses on and avoid triggers. Tomorrow I will figure out how many trees I took down and whether the power is back on.

I hate cleaning up after the storm.

Is This the Circle of Life?

An old friend reminded me that, at one time, and many, many times, I would not sleep more than three or four hours a night.

True dat.

But that was dreaming deferred for parties and clubbing (???) and No-Doz fueled all-night drives to the beach and getting thrown out of bars and...anyway, you get the picture. Oh, and there were police chases. Not many, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention them. Okay, maybe three. On the outside.

But my God, that was a century ago. Am humming Annie Lennox tunes at the thought. And I was not tired. I was not a mother or a wife. I had no grey hair. Had very little hair, as I recall (think A. Lennox/Joey Heatherton hybrid sort of 'do. Pas Pretty.) I am sooooo much older now. So much mommier now. So much greyer now. And wifier, almost forgot that one. Very wifey now.

Anyway, she seemed to think that this was a circle of sorts.

I think she is full of shit.

Oh, this is really too much--

I can't remember how to edit that last post. Just staring at it dumbly. (Whaaa?) Nothing big, just some commas and junk, but I cannot remember how to do it.

Probably shouldn't be driving my five speed, don't you think?

Anyway, sorry for the errors. If sleep comes before madness I will take care of them.

I wouldn't hold my breath, tho, it could go either way.

Take This with a Grain of Ambien

So I have fallen. Way down deep in a pit of insomnia. Been three weeks...maybe five...gets fuzzy after a bit. Been through six (or maybe seven?) different sleep meds. I am Rasputin. Seriously, my poor doc says it's starting to keep her up at night.

Ummm...where was I?

Oh, so I fell asleep at 5:30 a.m. one day last week. Some nights couldn't say whether I've slept or not. I'm trying so damned hard that the line gets blurred. My eyes are on fire. My balance is shot. My muscles ache. White noise. Open windows. No clocks. Pills, Pills, Pills. Ugh. I'm embarrassed to keep "mentioning" to my doc about this--like it's some sort of character flaw. Well, I suppose it could be characterized as such if you can imagine what it does to my already-shaky mothering technique. Noises are too loud. Lights are too bright. Every person placed on this here earth pisses me off. Just because.

I cannot imagine what my kids must think. Or worse, lol, what they must say about mommy sleeping...that's an old story, no?

My doc is thinking about hospitalization. Great. And so convenient. That's in the short term just so I don't lose my mind prison-camp style. Then, a sleep study. Another convenience. (see, I'm a teensy bit pissier than usual--it's okay, I know it's true) But look--what happens if you pay the huge copay, go into the sleep study and then don't sleep? It could happen. Pretty much every freaking night of my life it happens, but I'm not paying big bucks for it. They give you sleep meds, but please not my admission of Rasputin-like resistance in this area. So do I get my money back? And also, what if I do the study and the recommendation is beyond reasonable (for me, for my life) implementation? A big machine? Or wait--less stress? Yes, okay. I will do less stress. (oh God, I will fall down and die if that is the recommendation, really--you watch and see.) Maybe some life changes? Oh yes, I would like another life please. Thank you. One without dh's work sked, one without autism, one without dementia, one without loneliness, one without depression. And may I have my career back? And my body? And my self esteem? Yes please and thank you.

Oh, so that's not what a life change is?

Damn.

Never mind. (I can't recall what what I was saying anyway.)

My God, I am so tired.