Category: Family

One Minute Matters

The last blog I wrote told about Aaron’s difficulty in returning to his routine.  He had a very difficult three days as he adjusted to leaving the house every morning and going back to his day group.  Monday wasn’t too bad, Tuesday was awful, and Wednesday was very “iffy.”  I wrote about Tuesday……the slumped shoulders, sitting in the rocks, actually throwing some rocks, etc.  On Wednesday, I went into the building ahead of Aaron because he said he wasn’t getting out of the van.  I just got out and headed inside, and so he followed me.  He talked to Barb, who knows how to calm him, but he kept saying he wasn’t going to stay.  Barb said she would just drive Aaron in her truck over to where Bryan was working on a house, so Aaron walked outside with her, all the while saying that he was NOT staying at Paradigm.  I just stayed mostly quiet.  Aaron stood at our van, but finally went with Barb and then had a good day.  I drove away just asking God for wisdom, patience, and strength.  We ask God often for those three things when it comes to Aaron.

Later Barb and I texted.  She said Aaron was totally fine the rest of the day.  I told her that I think he is testing me, and she said that they would do everything they could to see that I passed the test.  And the staff at Paradigm truly does just that.  They know Aaron, and they know how to work with him….how to calm him……how to understand what’s behind his actions, when they can understand.  Sometimes no one can figure him out. 

Bryan and Aaron worked together all week on different house projects…..residential settings that Paradigm manages.  Aaron was quite proud of the fact that he helped Bryan put tile down on a floor, but on Thursday he brought a piece of the “tile” home and we saw that it was actually laminate flooring.  It wasn’t long before Aaron had given me a resounding whack on my rear with his little plank, and he got a good lecture from me.  I learned the next day that he had done the same to Barb.  He just never seems to get it…..rarely is able to control those impulses.

 
Anyway, he came home on Thursday all smiles as he couldn’t wait to show me what Bryan had fixed for Aaron to wear around his head as they worked.  It was fun to see Aaron smiling and so happy.  He went from his slumped shoulders on Tuesday:

 

To a face full of smiles on Thursday:

 

Today he said, “Mom, Bryan told me that I’m his number one man.”

“Oh, Aaron,” I replied.  “That is such a nice thing for Bryan to say!”

“I think it’s weird,” Aaron flatly replied……which made me laugh……which Aaron also thought was weird. 

He’s so funny.  Last night he was watching an alien movie in his room, having a blast.  But when he came downstairs and saw a sweet family scene on the movie “McFarland,” he said, “That’s weird!”  So for Bryan to call him his number one man seems weird to Aaron, but deep down I think Aaron loves it.  He just doesn’t know how to convey that sentiment like we do.

Just like he doesn’t know how to handle his frustrations over returning to real life after a month away.  Instead of sitting and having a conversation about it, he has to yell and threaten and cry and throw rocks.  Then our frustrations mount, and we have to be so careful how we handle it.  I’ll admit that it gets old.  Gary and I were talking about it last night.  We really don’t know what a “normal” life is at our age.  Other parents of children, young or adult, with behavior issues know exactly what I mean.  Yet there aren’t many great alternatives, and we do love Aaron.  God gave him to us, so we just take one day at a time.  And we are ever thankful for people, like the staff at Paradigm, who work so well with Aaron and help us on this journey.

We see progress with Aaron, but his core issues will probably always be the same.  I’ve always tried to see the humor in so many things that he says and does.  Sometimes I don’t have to look hard, for he truly is so funny so often.  On Friday, our electricity went off a couple times, so Aaron’s clock by his bed was messed up.  As I was helping him get everything ready for bed, he asked me if I would set his clock.  I told him to look at his satellite clock beside his desk and tell me the exact time so that I could get it right on his night stand clock.

“OK, Mom.  It’s 10:05,” he said.

So I punched the buttons for the hour.  Then I did the same for the minutes. 

“It’s 10:06 now, Mom!” he told me.

And wouldn’t you know, I punched just one too many and the clock said 10:07.

“Oh well,” I said.  “One minute won’t matter, Aaron.”

Who was I kidding?!  And I knew it.

He just stood there staring at his clock.  And I knew that one minute did matter.  It mattered very much to Aaron.  He can halfway brush his teeth.  He can wear the same pair of socks for days in a row, seriously, if I don’t catch him.  But one minute too fast on his clock is not tolerable.  Not at all.

“No,” he replied.  “I want it at 10:06.”

So I hurried and re-punched the buttons, but by then it was nearly 10:07.

“Wait,” Aaron said. 

And he began counting the seconds.

“48…49….50….51…” he continued.

And when he said “60!” and the time was now officially 10:07, I punched the little button very carefully, ONE time, and then all was well.  It was 10:07 on his nightstand clock and on his satellite clock.  They were synced correctly, and now Aaron could go to bed.

If only he would sync his life to ours as easily!  If we could just punch a button here and a button there, and make us all line up together in harmony…..wouldn’t that be awesome?

But I know if we did that, then we would also miss a lot along the way.  Like I told Gary last night, even in the midst of our tiredness and sometimes deep frustrations, we really can look at many amazing facets of Aaron.  We just need to remind ourselves of that on some days when no matter how many buttons we push, things just don’t line up the way we want. 

Honestly, on many days we end up syncing ourselves to Aaron.  We can pretty well predict how he’ll react to different situations, and what he’ll say.  He doesn’t sync himself to us nearly as well, but when he does it’s cause for celebration.  Like how he made it through this week and the expectations that were made of him.  It was a huge accomplishment for Aaron!

But tomorrow morning may be another story.  I need to remember that ONE minute.

48….49….50…..51…..

The Way Aaron Wants Things

Transition:  a passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another; CHANGE.  (Webster’s Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary)

From Online Asperger’s Syndrome Information and Support (O.A.S.I.S.):  Individuals with Asperger’s are easily overwhelmed by minimal change…..  MINIMIZE TRANSITIONS.

Guess what we are in the middle of with Aaron?

CHANGE!!

TRANSITION!!

And we cannot minimize this transition period.  Our motto, and Paradigm’s motto, this week is “Hang on, breathe deep, and hope and pray for the best.”

Aaron returned to his day group, Paradigm, yesterday – almost a month to the day after he entered the hospital for a week.  After returning home from the hospital, he had doctor appointments…..he had lots of healing to do……lots of strength that needed to return…..and setbacks, like his rash last week that needed to be treated.  We also took a trip to Houston over the Fourth of July, spending five fun days with Andrea and on the road.  Life was good for Aaron, especially after he started feeling better.  He loves nothing more than staying home with his computer and movies and games and television.  Throw in an occasional shopping trip, eating out or bringing in take-out, and what’s not to like?

I’ll tell you what’s not to like.  Returning to the real world, to a schedule, and to Paradigm is what’s not to like…..for Aaron.

Transition….big time!

One evening I was in Aaron’s room as he got ready for bed.  I had helped with putting Mr. Snake, Mr. Skunk, and Mr. Frog in his bed.  Every bit of each stuffed animal must be just perfect, placed exactly where Aaron’s unwritten rules say they should go.  I thought I had them perfect, but they were just a tiny bit “off” and so Aaron pulled back the covers I had pulled up, and he rearranged them just the very littlest bit.

I chuckled at this.  Then Aaron said, “I want things the way I want them.”

 
No truer words were ever spoken!  This describes Aaron better than any concise statement I could have ever tried to formulate.

Aaron wants things the way he wants them.  I guess we all do, really.  But for Aaron, as with so many autistic individuals, the desire is carried to the extreme at times.  Many times, in many ways.  It’s very difficult to dissuade Aaron from wanting things the way he wants them, too.  And to accept the fact that life doesn’t always allow him to have things the way he wants them. 

Staying home has always been the way Aaron wants his life to work.  So being home for all these weeks was just the best case scenario for our Aaron.  Going back to Paradigm is the worst thing, in his mind, that could have happened.  And it happened.  It’s happening now.  And we are hanging on for the ride.

Yesterday wasn’t bad.  Aaron was a little reluctant about going, but he and I walked into Paradigm with Aaron beaming.  He loved seeing Barb and Brandy, and later seeing Bryan.  He loved his friends saying, “Hey Aaron!  We missed you!”  He loved telling them about his trip to Houston.  He loved going with Bryan to help lay tile at a Paradigm house, and eating lunch at Wendy’s.  When he came home, he told me all about his day.  He showed me his receipt from Wendy’s.  He pulled out a business card from his pocket that he had gotten at a building supply store with Bryan, and he added it to his other business cards that he has confiscated over the years.  He also pulled out of his other pocket some change that he said he found on the floor at Paradigm.  He listened to my skeptical response.  He pulled out his billfold.  Finally his pockets were empty, and he went happily about his evening.

But today…..today wasn’t good.  Aaron didn’t want to go this morning.  He made that known at home by continually telling me that he wasn’t going today.  Finally he got in the van, and he was fairly pleasant on the way to Paradigm, although still saying that he didn’t want to go.  I’ve talked to him about a special meal on Friday to celebrate his first return week to Paradigm, but he told me this morning that he didn’t care about a special meal.

It’s best when Aaron is like this to just keep my affect as low as possible.  If I react strongly, then he will react even stronger.  Trust me….I have learned this.  So the less I talk, the better.  The less I react, the better.  I may tell him I’m sorry, or that I understand, but trying to lecture or to make a point is useless.  When Aaron is in his “I want things the way I want them” mood, then it’s best to be as quiet as possible.

I pulled up to Paradigm.  Aaron crossed his arms and refused to budge.  I calmly urged him to go on in and start his day.  After a short time, he opened the door and got out, but his face was a picture of real anger.  He slammed the van door, and then walked with sloping shoulders, slowly, up the sidewalk.  He looked like the weight of the world was on his young shoulders.  Then he stopped, and sat down in the rocks beside the sidewalk.  Melinda was just going in, so she stopped and talked to Aaron.  I decided to drive away as Melinda and I waved.

I guess that she talked to Aaron awhile, and then Brandy came out to talk to him.  She sat in the rocks with him, on his level, and he cried…..a sure sign of great frustration.  They went on a drive and Aaron calmed.  Bryan came back to Paradigm to pick Aaron up and take him to help him lay tile again, I assume.  Aaron enjoys helping Bryan with house jobs.  And I’m thankful for the gentle care that the staff at Paradigm gives to Aaron.  Their understanding, and the fact that they “get” Aaron, is a great relief to us. 

I hope that Aaron’s having a good day.  I suspect that he’ll come home happy again, full of talk of his day.  I don’t know what tomorrow will hold when it comes time to walk out the door again and face another day. 

Aaron’s greatest challenge in life is to learn how to process change…..how to transition from one way to another way.  Sometimes he surprises us.  In Houston, when we would tell him of our day’s plans, he would automatically say, “No!”  No to the beach…..no to the boat ride…..no to shopping, although we totally expected that.  But it was easier for Aaron to want to stay in his comfortable world, watching his movies at Andrea’s apartment and playing with her dogs. 

Yet when he went to the beach he loved it.  He loved the boat ride.  He endured the shopping.  And of course, he loved eating out!  I’ve reminded him of how he said no to things, and then how he really enjoyed those things once he did them.  This fact seems to mean nothing to Aaron now.  His mind is closed to this idea. 

He wants things the way he wants them.

And our job is to be patient, to not give in to his wants, to not lose our cool, and to ask God for lots of wisdom. 

If only Aaron wanted things the way I want them!! 

Yeah, I laughed at that, too. 

Home From the Hospital

Friday, June 19, marked a full week that Aaron had been in the hospital for low sodium and pneumonia.  He was feeling better that morning.  He still had a wicked cough, but his fever had been gone for over 36 hours and he was generally feeling much better.  In fact, the better he felt the grouchier he became.  As he felt better, he missed home more.  He missed his life and his routine.  He was more alert and aware of how abnormal this hospital life was for him.  So the better that Aaron felt, the harder he made life for those who were caring for him.  All he could talk about that morning was going home.  He didn’t like anything that anyone tried to do for him, including me.  He tolerated his chest X-Ray, his pills, and his other morning interruptions…..barely.

I saw his doctor in the hall and told her that she better put on her very thick skin when she came to see Aaron that morning.  She just laughed, and I told her I wasn’t kidding.  Aaron was grouchy, in all caps.  GROUCHY!!  And wanting one thing…..home!  So later she came in with a huge smile, and of course Aaron told her immediately that he wanted to go home.  She told him that she had good news for him, then, because home is where she said he could go.  Then he smiled along with her, for the first time that morning, and life was good again. 

Of course, when one of the aids came in a few minutes later, Aaron looked at her and said, “I don’t need you now!”  And I made him apologize, even as she just laughed and knew that Aaron was very happy to be leaving.  He just had a very blunt way of letting that fact be known.  The Occupational Therapist came in to give Aaron a shower and try to give him some shower pointers, but he actually just showed her how he showered and didn’t really listen to much of what she said.  Physical Therapy had Aaron walk up and down the stairs one time, which he willingly endured because it was just another block to check before he headed out the door.  

Soon the wheelchair containing happy Aaron was on the elevator, along with our cart full of a week of accumulated “stuff”, and before long we were in the van, waving goodbye to the nurses and driving away.  Going home at last!  But a stop at McDonalds was first as Aaron asked for a burger and fries on the way home.  We picked up lunch, and headed home to eat and to settle in to the life that Aaron had missed.  

Aaron was very, very weak.  He needed lots of help with walking, with stairs, and with the bathroom.  He was home, but life wasn’t going to be normal for some time.  He finally ate, and slowly we made it upstairs to his room.  He was so happy to be there at last.  He wanted to watch his new Tremors movie for real, on his DVD player instead of the portable player.  So he sat down in his chair, and he got his things around him fixed just right.  His clock next to his desk had to be positioned just so.  The items that he keeps near him on his bed were placed just right, with his stack of books on the corner of the bed.  On top of those was his notebook in which he kept his record of what movie chapter he was watching.  His pen was placed precisely on top of the notebook.  His back scratcher was set beside that pile of books.  His Gecko from Glenda was settled in front of his clock.  He looked around and checked to see that things were exactly as he wanted them as I stood behind him silently watching, and silently marveling at his precision with every item.

Then he saw a DVD that needed to be put on his shelf of DVDs.  He asked if I would put it there, so I leaned over and placed it at the end of the row.  He just stared at it, and I waited.  Nope.  It wasn’t right.  So I repositioned it several times before finally finding that he wanted it leaning a little at the top, and he wanted his special large rock to be placed near it so it wouldn’t slide out of place.  There!  It was finally according to Aaron’s specifications, and I was free to leave while he watched his DVD, content that all his things were in their perfect place as they should be.  At home.  Where he should be, and where he was so happy that at last he was there. 

Aaron spent much of that first weekend sleeping in his chair in the family room, his animal print blanket stretched over him.  He coughed a lot, and he tried to walk by himself, but it was very slow going.  He needed lots of help with everything.  Coming home was wonderful, but it didn’t mean that Aaron was well and strong right away.  For that reason, he was pretty disappointed.  He loved being home, but he wanted his old body back as much as he wanted his old life back.  Both would take awhile to return to normal, and despite our reminders and assurances, Aaron had some frustrations. 

 
“I’m just so tired of myself!” he blurted out on Saturday, overcome with frustration at his weak body.  That made us so sad, but we could only offer encouragement that every day would be better.  And it was.  He enjoyed visits from friends, including Rosa and her mother, Louise…..complete with pizza and balloons!  He enjoyed his room and his family room chair, watching Wheel of Fortune, and being with Jackson, and just everything.  And each day was better than the one before.  Each outing found him getting a little stronger, his stamina increasing slowly but surely.  After several days, he and I played Skip-Bo, with Aaron checking his watch to keep track of time, just like always.
 

Perhaps what he loved the very most, and what he had missed the very most while in the hospital, was his own comfy bed.  The first night back at home, when it was time for bed, I was helping him get everything ready.  Every blanket was perfectly placed, every wrinkle straightened out, the pillow put just in the right place, and then the sheets were pulled back so that he could place his snake and his skunk under the covers.  But now he had decided to add a new member to the mix.  He wanted to add the soft green frog that Andrea had sent him while he was still in the hospital.  So he rearranged Mr. Snake and Skunk in order to make room for Mr. Frog, stood back to observe and to rearrange, and finally he was satisfied. 

 
He climbed in his bed, after writing his “Time to Bed” in his log book, and I pulled his covers up around his face.  Then he smiled the sweetest smile in the world as he moved his legs back and forth in his wonderful bed that wasn’t a hospital bed.  He was the picture of utter contentment.  He pulled his arms from under the covers and held them up to me, so I leaned down and gave him a goodnight hug.

“Good night, Aaron,” I said as I hugged him.  I arranged the covers up around his face again, and there was that smile.  He looked at me for a few seconds.

“Mom?” he asked.  “Do you want to say good night twice?”

What a precious moment!  Of course I said yes, and so out of the covers came his outstretched arms.  I leaned down to hug him one more time, thankful that our Aaron was home in his own bed.  The hospital stay was scary.  His health was uncertain.  The outcome was unknown for days.  I had stretched my arms on this bed days earlier as I asked God to heal him.  Now here Aaron lay, smiling and hugging, wanting to say good night twice.  It was his way of telling me how very happy he was to be home.  I understood and I agreed.

I left Aaron to his dreams.  And I didn’t go to sleep until I thanked God that on this night, I got to say good night to Aaron in his own bed…..twice!

Lights On. Lights Off.

There is something laying on the floor of our garage right now.  It’s a baggie that contains some coins….some coins that Aaron needed to take to his day group today.  The bag is on the floor of the garage because Aaron put it there.  Well, he didn’t just put it there.  He threw the bag down on the floor.  He threw the bag down on the floor because he was angry.  He was angry because he didn’t want to go to Paradigm today.  He didn’t want to go to Paradigm today because of something that happened there on Friday.  He didn’t have to go yesterday because of a doctor appointment and then a fun day with me…..so he doesn’t want to go today, either.  Are you following me?

It’s how we have to follow Aaron.  Living with Aaron means living with autism, and living with autism means that we often follow Aaron as he goes down one trail, switches to another, and back tracks to the first one, but is soon off on a wild tangent, and off we go.  Living with Aaron and living with autism means that we must understand, as best we can, the things that Aaron can’t easily or sometimes ever express.  At times it’s a fascinating journey.  At times it’s a funny journey.  And at other times, it’s a very frustrating journey.  It’s really wild when all those emotions are mixed up into one ball.  Boy, can we bounce from one to the other!

Anyway, back to the bag of coins on our garage floor.  Aaron was awake a little after 5:00 this morning.  I heard him go to the bathroom, but he never went back to sleep.  He was in the kitchen watching me scramble Gary’s eggs well before 6:00.  He ate some sausage and I took his coffee to his room.  He came several times and stood behind my chair as I had my morning quiet time, sometimes talking and sometimes just staring.  He showered and took his pills.  And just under the current of his swirling mind, I knew what was there.  He didn’t want to go to Paradigm.  But when he saw that I was really going forward with our morning routine, like cleaning his glasses and handing him his wallet, he was not happy anymore.  On the way to the van, he turned and threw the bag of coins on the floor.  He left them there as we got into the van, and I am leaving them there for him to pick up when he comes home.  But he went to Paradigm, was met by the manager who rubbed his back and calmed him down (I hope), and hopefully will come home with happy stories.  And he will pick up the bag in the garage, because he needs to do that.  It’s a small lesson, but a lesson regardless.
 

Sometimes we don’t necessarily understand what makes Aaron do certain things, but we know that these actions are set in stone.  We are fighting a losing battle to try to change them.  Like his sausage this morning.  Aaron got his own silverware because he knew that Mom wouldn’t do it correctly.  I knew what he was thinking as he reached into the drawer and pulled out his fork but also a knife and a spoon.  Who needs a spoon for eating sausage?  Aaron does.  There’s no need to make a big deal about it or try to make him put it back.  Why make it an issue?

And the family room lights.  I don’t turn them on in the morning because we’re not sitting in there and so we don’t need the lights on, right?  But every time Aaron walks through that room, headed for the kitchen, he flips the lights on.  I flip them off at the first opportunity.  He flips them back on.  Lights on.  Lights off.

This morning he walked into the kitchen.  Lights on.

I soon took his coffee upstairs.  Lights off.

He followed behind me.  Lights on.

I came back downstairs.  Lights off.

He came behind me again.  Lights on.

I carried my own things upstairs.  Lights off.

He finished taking his pills and then came upstairs.  Lights on.

Sigh.

On the days that he is home and wants to eat lunch, he will eat only if it’s 12:00 or shortly after.  He will not eat at any time before 12:00.  Not 11:48.  Not 11:55.  Not even 11:59!!!!  And if I ask him what time he wants to eat, he replies, “At the time for lunch!”  As if Mom is a little thick headed, you know.

One day recently he said, “Mom, I’m sleepy.  I think I’ll take a nap at 12:00.”

I said, mistakenly, “Well, it’s almost 12:00 now.  You could go ahead and lay down.”

“But it’s 11:53!!!” he exclaimed.  “It’s not 12:00!”

Well, of course.  Whatever was I thinking?!

Wheel of Fortune is another one.  It starts at 6:30, so Aaron has decided that he will turn the television on at 6:28.  Again, not at 6:25 or 6:26 or even 6:27.  No.  Only….ONLY……6:28.  He will stand in front of the TV, literally staring at the clock, until it is SIX…TWENTY…..EIGHT!!!! 

It actually makes Gary and me smile. 

Movie credits.  Oh yes, movie credits.  When Aaron watches a movie in his room, he watches the entire movie.  But to Aaron, the entire movie means from the moment the DVD begins until the moment the DVD is over…..completely over.  That means watching the credits…..every single bit of the credits, until there are no more credits to watch.  He stares at them intently, too. 

 
So yesterday, after Aaron’s doctor appointment and after eating lunch at Abuelo’s, we went to see San Andreas.  He saw it at the theater on Friday, but he really wanted to see it with me.  Yesterday worked out perfectly for that.  For one reason, the theater wasn’t full at all and so I wasn’t as stressed about Aaron’s noises and rubbing his hands together when he got excited.  And this is a VERY exciting movie.  We had a good time, and when the movie was over I could tell that Aaron didn’t want to get up.  Why? 

Really?  Surely you know.  The credits!!  Aaron would have gotten up if I had insisted, but I knew that watching San Andreas in the way that mattered to Aaron meant watching it to the bitter end…..which meant to the very long, last credit.  Everyone had left the theater, and the cleaning crew stood in the back waiting on us to be finished, but Aaron and I did it.  We watched every single line of every single credit for every single miniscule part of San Andreas.  Aaron put his hands on the back of the seat in front of him, enthralled at getting to watch big screen credits all the way to the end.

 
 
This is what we often do as parents of Aaron, and as we live with autism.  I entered Aaron’s world at that moment.  It was actually funny and endearing.  We left the theater laughing, and I laughed even more when Aaron bent over as he rubbed his hands together furiously, asking the ticket taker why San Andreas was “fictinous,” as Aaron says.  The stiff, unsmiling ticket taker was rather put out at this odd situation and made some curt comment, which totally didn’t faze Aaron.  That poor guy missed out on a wonderful opportunity.

I’m learning more and more to enjoy those opportunities to enter Aaron’s mind and to follow him on his paths. I am blessed to partake of Aaron’s world on most days, but there are many times when it’s hard and frustrating.  Which brings me back to the bag on the garage floor.  Hopefully, as he picks the bag up off the floor, Aaron will talk to me about what was really bothering him.  Hopefully, he will learn that he needs to correct his own wrong actions.  Until the next time he takes off down that trail of frustration, but we’ll deal with that as well.

Lights on.

Lights off.

 

 

The Pieces of a Beautiful Life

Two weeks ago, Gary and I were finishing the last leg of our drive to West Virginia as we traveled home for my mother’s funeral.  Has it just been barely over two weeks ago that she breathed her last breath?  So much has been packed into this short time that it seems like she left us much longer ago.  That’s how my mother lived her life, though.  Like my brother said at her funeral, Mom squeezed every bit of opportunity out of each day that she lived.  So much was packed into her life…..so much that will impact so many for eternity.
As Bob and Jan, and John and Jeanie, planned Mom’s funeral, they incorporated two very sweet and personal elements into the service.  Jeanie asked each of the grandchildren to write down their memories of their grandmother.  At her funeral, Jimmy read every word that had been written.  It was a very moving and sometimes humorous part of the service.  Then Jan asked each of us to bring our quilts that Mom had made us.  Each hand stitched quilt that we brought was hung over the railings at the front of the church, adding a beautiful background as we remembered our mother.
 
Something really stood out to me as I listened to the grandchildren’s memories being read.  It’s the same thing that I noticed during her visitation at the funeral home the night before her funeral.  That night, we stood in line for nearly three hours as person after person hugged us and told us of what our mother had meant to them.  Most of their stories were fairly simple.  It wasn’t that Mom had done earth shattering acts of great note.  She wasn’t interviewed by the newspapers, seen on television, or given big awards for her acts of kindness.
So what did people talk to us about as they shared my mother’s impact on their lives?  It was her service to them, her love, expressed in so many ways.  It was meals she cooked, her home she opened to so many, stockings she knitted, clothes she sewed, miniature roses she delivered in Cracker Barrel syrup bottles, boiled custard that she cooked because a friend loved it, sending out missionary prayer letters, making dozens of quilts for others, and so much more.
It was her great sense of humor….her ability to lighten any situation with an attitude of light heartedness that was often amazing.  It was her word fitly spoken to so many, especially to those who had messed up and made poor decisions.  She comforted without judging, and extended help where others might have looked the other way.  Story after story we have heard since Mom died.  What a balm to our hurting hearts!
The grandchildren’s memories were more of the same, on a more personal level.  Again, what is striking is that no one mentioned my mother’s education or her job.  Not that this isn’t important, because it certainly was a great accomplishment for her to have a Master’s degree and to have a supervisory position with the State Board of Education.  Yet with all of her educational goals that she met and with her very responsible job, my mother maintained our home and our family in an incredible way.
It was, again, the seemingly small acts that all the grandchildren remembered the most.  Guess what was mentioned most often by her grandchildren?  It was the Cheerios that she kept in the coffee table drawer in the living room.  So many of them talked about that memory and of how much fun it was to go to their house, pull out that drawer as a little child, and eat as many Cheerios as they wanted.  Other memories were of the toys, the laughter, sitting on the front porch, all the play time in the yard, her cooking, gardening, sewing, and her unconditional love.  It was how she filled her home with joy and filled their lives with personal touches for each grandchild.
In her memories of her grandmother, Andrea wrote, “I remember how she patiently showed me how she pinned her fabric together in preparation to sew her gorgeous quilts by hand.”  As I sat in the church during mother’s funeral service, I looked at the quilts that we had hung on those railings.  Each one is full of hundreds of fabric pieces, placed together in ways that make a gorgeous design.  When you step back and look at the finished project, you see how each piece combines to make a perfectly beautiful work of art.
So it is with the life that Mom lived.  Each act of love that was remembered and many that have been forgotten, have all fit together to produce a beautiful life.  It’s the handiwork of God in our mother’s life that has blessed and profited so many of us over the 88 years that she lived.  Her life was a pattern that I want to follow.  A pattern of service and kindness that means more to people that any public acclaim ever will or could produce.
Like she so often sang:
          I’d rather have Jesus than men’s applause.
          I’d rather be faithful to His dear cause.
          I’d rather have Jesus than world wide things
          I’d rather be true to His holy name.
 
I’ll be learning lessons from the design of my mother’s life for the rest of mine, I’m sure.

Keeps Me Singing

It was probably over 55 years ago that a soloist with a beautiful voice went to sing in a revival service in the little town of Oakvale, West Virginia.  She sang the hymn “I’d Rather Have Jesus,” and then she sat down to listen to the sermon preached by Jimmie Jones.  Her heart was disturbed as she listened to the gospel being preached that night.  She thought of the song she had just sung, and of the words that came out of her mouth in such a perfect performance…..words that she knew she didn’t really mean.  For it was just that – a performance.  She sang beautifully, but she sang a lie.  She knew that she didn’t really know Jesus, and that she didn’t really mean it when she sang about wanting Jesus more than anything this world affords. 
 
This woman was my mother, and that night changed her life and the life of our family.  She went home and urged my dad to go with her to listen to Jimmie Jones preach.  Mom didn’t know that my dad had already trusted Christ as his Savior.  It wasn’t long before my mother made the same decision.  She bowed her head and confessed her sin, and asked Jesus to be Lord of her life.  God changed my parents tremendously.  They raised their five children to know and serve the Lord, and they left us a spiritual heritage that has more value than anything this world affords.  And “I’d Rather Have Jesus” became my mother’s signature song…..one we heard her sing many, many times over the years.  One she sang with honesty for the rest of her life because of the work that God had done in her heart.
Last week we said goodbye to my mother for the final time on this earth.  We had really lost her a long time ago to the horrible ravages of Alzheimer’s.  She no longer had her memories, her personality, or any of her other faculties.  But even Alzheimer’s cannot take the Lord away.  He has promised to always be with us, and He always keeps His promises.  We saw evidences of His presence with Mom as she struggled in various ways.  What sweet comfort it brought to know that deep in her heart and her mind, God was ministering to her in ways that we could not. 
Two weeks ago, on the day before the call went out to family that mother was dying, we saw a profound picture of God’s grace in her little body and in her heart.  Jan and her daughter, Bethany, had gone to spend some time with Mom in the care home where she lived.  Mom was sitting in the commons area, her head down and her eyes closed, unresponsive to the voices and the noises around her.  Suddenly, on the television that was playing, a man started singing “Amazing Grace.”  Bethany looked down at her grandmother and saw that her lips were moving.  Surprised at this, she and Jan leaned down and put their ears to Mom’s moving lips.  Here is what they heard coming from my unresponsive mother:
         
         
         
         
My mother was singing!  Jan and Bethany wouldn’t have believed it had they not heard it for themselves.  She was clearly singing this beautiful old hymn.  She was singing about Jesus, whom she was soon to meet.  God’s prompting, God’s presence, was there with Mom in that room.  Jan and Bethany joined her in singing, and then Bethany said, “I love you.”  Mom clearly said, “I love you” to Bethany, her eyes still closed.  Then Jan said, “I love you, Mom.”  And Mom said, “I love you” to Jan as well. 
Those were the last words that my mother spoke.  The next day the family got the call that she was dying, and on Monday, May 4, my mother met Jesus.  Jesus, the sweetest name she knew.  Jesus, who filled her every longing.  Jesus, who kept her “singing as I go.”  Singing as she got ready to go to heaven. 
Like my brother, John, said at her funeral…..how appropriate that Mom’s walk with the Lord began with a song many years ago.  And her life with the Lord ended with a song…..a song that surprised us all, but was such a gift of grace and hope from God. 
A gift and an example that we will always, always cherish. 
 

In The Blink of An Eye

I’m thinking of my dad today for some very special reasons.  It’s been 6 ½ years since he went to heaven after fighting cancer for 8 years.  Dad was the one of the godliest men I have ever known.  He was so kind, selfless, and loving.  He was firm in his faith, never wavering through all the ups and downs of life, including his two bouts with cancer which finally took his life.  Yet despite his strong faith and his deep trust in the Lord, Dad seemed to have a great fear of death. 

None of us looks forward to dying, so on many levels we could understand his dread.  As he weakened and the end was coming nearer, he still seemed to struggle more and more with his uncertainties.  Finally one evening my brother John spent some time alone with Dad, talking to Dad about what was on his heart.  It was during this conversation that John was able to gently lead Dad to really express his concerns about dying.  One of Dad’s biggest issues was that he wondered what he would say to Jesus when he first saw Him.  We all just smiled and shook our heads when we heard that.  There he was again, not worried about his own pain but instead concerned about what he would say to his Lord.  And how like Dad that was!  He was always the ultimate planner and organizer, so for him to face this uncertain encounter with no plan or idea of what it would be like was very hard for him to handle.  Plus it very much showed his humility as he felt completely unworthy to stand before Jesus. 

Something else that was heavy on my Dad’s heart was the fact that he would be leaving my mother.  They had been inseparable during the 22 years of retirement they had enjoyed together.  Then when dad was put in a hospital bed, Mom slept in their bed right beside him and they held hands through the rails.  Dad knew that Mom was really showing the signs of Alzheimer’s in ways that we hadn’t seen.  He kept trying to find ways to tell us about it without Mom hearing him because he was so worried about what she would do when he was gone, and he wouldn’t be there to help her.  Part of his letting go was hearing our words of assurance that Mom would be cared for and that he didn’t need to worry about her.

But it wasn’t just that Dad was burdened about leaving Mom alone.  It was also that he was very concerned, almost fearful, of him being without her in heaven.  He was so close to her, so dependent on her in many ways, that the thought of being without her……even in heaven…..was nearly unbearable to him.  So on the night that John talked to Dad, he told Dad to remember that God said a thousand years to Him is but a day.  John said, “Dad, I really believe that when you go to heaven it’s going to be like you blink a couple times and then Mom will be right there with you.”

I don’t know that anything comforted Dad more than those words and that thought.  Later that night, as Mom and I sat with him in their family room, he very softly and slowly shared that thought with us…..and he sweetly smiled as he said it.  His soft, gentle smile….full of the hope that the separation from his Beth wouldn’t be so long after all.  We all know it was that night when Dad felt released to go on to heaven.  He knew that everything would be all right, and that Mom would join him in the blink of an eye.  Several days later he left this earth for heaven.

I’m thinking of my Dad today, and definitely my mom, for another very special reason.  Today my mother also left this earth for heaven.  She and Dad are finally together, whole and healthy at last!  I can’t imagine the joy they’re both experiencing right now to be with Jesus, and to be together for eternity.  Jan told me that Mom opened her eyes, eyes that had been shut for days.  It was as if she saw something.  Then she closed her mouth, closed her eyes, and was gone.  Did she see heaven?  Did she see Dad, grinning from ear to ear?  Did she see her Savior?  What precious and awesome thoughts those are!   

So while we cry at having to say goodbye to our last parent, we can’t help but smile and be so happy for her and for Dad.  Oh my goodness, I would love to have seen that reunion!  Someday we’ll join them there, and we’ll have so much joy and so much fun.  But until then, while we will sometimes weep and we will often miss them both, we can smile at God’s sweet goodness and rejoice over the certain hope we have of life together in heaven.  
 

Hey Mom, you and Dad have a great time up there! 

When we all get there, I do hope the Lord lets us sing “Oh, It Rained, Rained, Rained” again, just to torment dad. 

We’ll all see you in a couple blinks of an eye.    

Spilled Water

Today Aaron had a dentist appointment to have his teeth cleaned.  He was happy about it, not because he likes having his teeth cleaned but because he knows that afterwards it means we hit the Pizza Hut buffet down the road from the dentist’s office.  Aaron and I happily walked into Pizza Hut, only to find one very busy server working hard to keep up with a rapidly filling restaurant.

We waited a long time while this poor overworked server was on the phone before she was able to break free.  She told us just to go ahead and pick a seat, but asked us first what we would like to drink.  Aaron quickly told her that he wanted water WITH lemon…..because Holly, who had just taken care of him during our trip to Houston, put lemon in her water. 

“Mom!” Aaron had said to me earlier this morning.  “Do you know what Holly puts in her water?”  Then he proceeded to tell me how Holly put lemon in her water.  “Can I put lemon in my water when we eat at Pizza Hut?” he asked.  And I told him that he could.

So when the busy server asked for our drink order before we seated ourselves, Aaron jumped on it and made sure that his water would have a piece of lemon.  When we sat down, and our waters came, Aaron said, “Holly squished her lemon and poured the juice out.  Will you do that to mine?”  So I squished his lemon and he watched me pour the lemon juice out into his water.  He was happy.

We walked over to the buffet line, where the salad in the large bowl at the salad bar was nearly gone, and there was no pizza left on the pizza side.  Poor busy server!  We were able to fix small salads…..Aaron’s with way too much dressing before I could wrangle the dressing ladle from him.  Soon we were able to get some pizza, too, and we sat there eating and chatting.

I looked up at one point to see that five Amish young women had come in and were waiting to be seated.  With them they had two small children.  They were such refreshing and lovely young women, I thought.  I watched as others stared at them, and I hoped I wasn’t doing the same.  It must be hard sometimes to always stand out as being different.  Finally they were shown to the seats right behind Aaron and me.  I pretty well knew what would happen when they walked past us. 

“Mom,” Aaron said.  “They have on hats.” 

“Yes,” I answered.  “That’s part of their religious beliefs.  And don’t stare or point.”

“I was watching her,” he continued.  “You’d say I was staring?”

Again I just cautioned Aaron not to boldly stare, so he continued eating.  Finally, we got up for one more trip to the buffet, and as Aaron was getting out of his side of the booth his arm knocked over his nearly full glass of water.  His water with all the squished out lemon juice went all over the table and down onto my side of the booth.  Thankfully I had already stood up, so I didn’t get wet.
 

Aaron apologized profusely, so I told him it was fine…..and told him not to be so loud…..and he reached his arm up to me.  I leaned down as he still sat there and he gave me a big hug.  The older man in the booth beside us stared even more than he had already been staring.  And as I turned to see what kind of mess we had, I made eye contact with one of the young Amish women.  She looked quickly away, but I knew she was watching us and probably wondering.  I knew that I felt the way she must often feel.

For the rest of our meal, I sat with Aaron on his dry side of the booth.  Our poor harried server never did make it over to clean up the mess, and that was fine.  I felt really sorry for her.  Besides, this gave Aaron and me a chance to sit close together.  He leaned his head on my shoulder, so happy that Mom wasn’t angry and that all was well.  I knew he felt so badly about what had happened, but I assured him that it was fine. 

He was very happy that I offered him my water, but I took my straw out so he wouldn’t get my cold.  He quickly grabbed his straw that was laying on the table in the mess of spilled water, ice, and soggy napkins.  He was content as he ate his pizza, not minding that the server never made it over to clean our table.  While he ate, he sang songs from Phantom of the Opera…..quietly……and he drank every drop of my water.

 
I was now facing the Amish women as I sat beside Aaron.  One of the young women that was facing me was pregnant.  I looked up at one point and our eyes met, and we both smiled at each other.  I wondered what she was thinking.  I wondered if she wondered about Aaron.  Wondered if she wondered what my life is like, just the way I wonder what her life is like. 

Aaron and I finally went up to the register to pay.  I had to run after Aaron at one point because he walked rapidly over to the buffet.  He was just ready to reach in with his bare fingers and grab some bread sticks for the road before I was able to stop him.  Oh Aaron!  You know better! 

Aaron and his messes that he makes!  In the short time that we’ve been home from Houston, we’ve had several of those messes to deal with and try to correct.  They may be physical……like me on my knees cleaning up certain spills and missed aims, if you know what I mean.  Or they may be messes created by his behaviors.

That’s why I was on the phone this morning with Bryan, one of the Paradigm staff that takes Aaron with him to work on houses.  Aaron loves working with Bryan, but on Monday Aaron had a meltdown at Paradigm and was mean to Bryan.  I wondered what Bryan would say when we talked, but he was amazing.  He really loves Aaron.   He really understands Aaron, as much as any of us can understand him.  And he knows that all he can do…..all any of us can do…..is clean up the mess and move forward.

Sometimes we have to sit in the mess awhile, like Aaron and I today in our watered down booth.  Sometimes there are no quick fixes or easy solutions.  Aaron sees the mess and the havoc it creates, but it’s important for him to know that he is still loved in the midst of it.  He is still cared for despite it all.  He felt bad about the water today, and he usually feels badly about the outbursts he has.  Yet he can’t always stop it when he’s upset, any more than he could stop the water that spilled so suddenly today. 

The damage is done, but I can still sit closely enough for him to put his head on my shoulder, and know that he is forgiven and loved.    Believe me, sometimes I want to run to another room….another house….another state!  But that’s not the solution, for Aaron or for me. 

We stay in it because we are all Aaron has.  God gave him to us for a reason, messes and all.  And we do love that big, crazy guy. 

Spilled water and all.

The Slow Train

Imagine that every day when you drive away from your home to run errands or to go to work, you must cross a train track.  Imagine that every single time you come to that train track, there is a train on it, traveling ever so slowly.  You must wait on that train to pass before you can cross the track and continue on your way.  Then when you drive home later, the same thing happens.  Any time you try to cross that train track, no matter the time of day or how many times you have to drive over that track in a day, the same thing happens.  Over and over again, you must stop and wait on that train to slowly pass.  You begin to dread it and you find yourself very irritated about this slow moving train.  Some days you handle it better than others, but eventually on a bad day, you find yourself saying, “I hate that train!!” 

 
This is how I sometimes feel about autism.  Not Aaron, mind you…..but autism itself.  I love Aaron so much.  I love how unique he is…..how he views the world while opening up his view to me……all the many, many lessons he has taught me over the years as I have lived with him….all the times that he has made me laugh at the funny things he says. 

But some days it’s like running into that slow train every day.  On those days, if I’m tired or troubled, it can be especially difficult to remain upbeat or to see the fun in Aaron’s way of living in his world.  That’s because his way of living in his world usually involves me to some degree, and often that involvement causes me to stop what I’m doing and do what he wants…..or demands.  Just like that slow train that impedes my day, at times Aaron’s rigid routine makes me stop what I am doing while I meet his needs.

For instance, his bedtime routine at night.  At night, when I am more tired.  He absolutely does not want to go to his room to get things situated unless I go with him.  He wants me to help get his blanket on the bed just right, close his blinds, set his clothes out for the next day, and say goodnight in his room near his door…..not out in the hall or on the right side of his bed, but in his room near his door on the left side of the bed. 

If I am on the computer he will come to stand behind me and he will hover.  He is waiting for me to come up to his room for the bedtime ritual.  If I tell him to go on and brush his teeth and take his pills, he will do that and then return to stand behind me and hover some more.  I just know that he will not go to bed unless I stop what I am doing and go with him.  There’s that slow train, every day the same.

Or getting his coffee in the mornings.  When Aaron comes down to the kitchen, he wants his coffee.  I don’t mind that at all, unless he’s demanding.  But he will linger as he waits for the coffee to finish perking, if I’m making fresh, and he will linger as he waits for me to pour the coffee.  And he really wants me to carry it upstairs right away.  The other morning he was hovering, wanting me to pour his coffee.  I poured his cups of coffee and went back to what I was doing.  I always carry his coffee up to his room because he is so shaky that he spills it.  So he stood there, hovering, waiting for me to carry his coffee upstairs. 

“Are you carrying my coffee to my room?” he asked.  I told him that I would get it in a minute.  He walked in the living room, but soon was back in the kitchen…..hovering again. 

“Are you getting my coffee?” he asked again.  So I told him to go on upstairs and take his shower, and I would bring his coffee up while he showered.  This didn’t suit him at all. 

“Mom!” he said with impatience.  “Aren’t you getting my coffee?”  He started walking away, but I knew we weren’t done….and I knew I would need to carry his coffee upstairs now.

This made me very irritated on this particular morning.  I rinsed my soapy hands off under the running water at the sink.  And thinking he couldn’t hear me, I muttered, “I hate autism!”

But Aaron did hear me.  He heard my careless remark, and he did not like it…..not one bit.  Since that morning I have had to do some damage control.  I’ve explained to Aaron several times what I meant when I said those words, assuring him that I did not mean that I hate him.  I reminded him that Granddaddy died of cancer, and that I hate cancer.  I told him that Grandmother has Alzheimer’s and that I hate Alzheimer’s.  I’ve explained that I hate his seizures.

Explaining to him why I sometimes hate his autism has been a little trickier.  I’ve talked to Aaron about how sometimes life for him is very stressful because of his autism and how it makes some situations difficult for him to handle.  Aaron really doesn’t want to go into great detail about those things, though.  And I don’t either, because I don’t want him to feel that I think his life is bad or hard.  I wish I could take back that moment, and that I hadn’t said those words in my frustration.  Yet on the other hand, at least it’s opened up some conversation between us and enabled me to talk openly to him in a way I don’t normally do. 

Aaron and I were watching a movie on Saturday night, one that he had looked forward to watching with me.  Suddenly he turned to me and said that he was having a dream, and then went into a big seizure.  Gary and I stayed with him, and when he was able we went upstairs to his room so he could go to bed.  The movie would wait until another night.  I got his bed covers all ready while he brushed his teeth.  His head was hurting from the seizure, and he was slow and weak.

Despite how he felt, though, he went about his bedtime routine as he normally does.  I watched him carefully place his stuffed snake and skunk in the bed, under the covers, just right…..and then pull the covers up just to a certain point.  I watched him open his notebook and record the time he was going to bed, so meticulously.  I watched him make sure that his back scratcher and other items were on his desk where they belong….that his clock light was dimmed…..that his glasses were just where he always leaves them beside his watch that he was sure to remove from his arm. 

His routines are his life.  Even when he feels terrible after a big seizure, he still maintains his definition of normalcy and routine.  I do admire him for that.  He’s so determined despite how his body works against him.  So strong even though he’s weak at times like this. 

Yes, I do hate autism and how it has altered Aaron’s life in huge ways.  It has also altered my life in huge ways.  But I do need to be careful not to let my anger at autism be a cause for hurting Aaron’s heart.  I think he understands my statement from the other morning.  I still wish I hadn’t said it.  Lesson learned, I hope. 

That train will be on that track every single day.  I can’t change its path or its inconvenience in my life.  But I can change my attitude, and when I feel like muttering useless words I need to pray instead……count to 10 or to 100……go sit in the flower bed with Aaron for some mulch therapy……clap a few times like Aaron does to relieve my tension…..whistle or whoop out loud with Aaron…..

Poor Gary.  I don’t know if he could handle two of us in the house.

 

Headed Down Pity Path

I’ve been trying to decide how to write this blog post….or if I even should write it.  Yes, I think I should.  But how to do it in a way that doesn’t make Aaron look “bad” or make me look selfish.  Yet the truth is, Aaron isn’t bad but I am sometimes selfish.  I’m human and I get tired, but I also have to acknowledge where my roots often rest…..and that’s sometimes in soil that grows some undesirable attitudes. 

Tuesday night saw Aaron having four large seizures, so I was up four times with him.  I did sleep some between the episodes, which I often am not able to do, but still I was tired that morning.  I stayed up after Aaron’s last early seizure, and later I did the usual clean-up.  I stayed close to him as he lay on the couch for the rest of the morning, waiting to see if he had another seizure.  I had the laundry going and was able to do some other things while I sat there at the kitchen table.  I was on Psalm 18 that morning in my study time, which was perfect for me.  My favorite verse is there….verse 29.  “For by You I can run upon a troop; and by my God I can leap over a wall.” 

I felt very thankful as I sat there.  God seemed to be prompting me to focus on thankfulness.  I was thankful that Aaron was for the moment seizure free, warm, and safe.  Thankful that this wasn’t the day I was to take Nora to an important doctor appointment.  Thankful that my washing machine and dryer were just steps away, convenient and functioning.  Thankful that Aaron’s seizures aren’t far worse, as so many of our friends experience with their children.  Thankful that I don’t have to work, because it would be nearly impossible for me to do so.  Thankful for coffee.  Very thankful for coffee!

Later, Aaron woke up and he struggled to get off the couch.  After a few minutes, as he sat with me at the kitchen table, he told me that his arm was hurting.  I think he sprained it during one of the seizures.  Soon I asked him if he would want to eat, and we figured out together that some Cream of Chicken soup would hit the spot.  He was worried, though, that with his right arm hurting he would not be able to lift the soup spoon to his mouth.  Therefore, I demonstrated to him how he could eat by bending close over the bowl.  Aaron sometimes doesn’t like us to use our hands to demonstrate some action.  Don’t ask me why, but sometimes it irritates him.  So when I bent over to show him how he could eat, he snapped at me.  “You don’t have to show me how to do it by going like this….” he said with irritation as he copied my movement. 

It was as if he had thrown cold water in my face.  I knew that he was feeling terrible…..I knew that he has never liked physical demonstrations like this……I knew that his autism makes him very blunt…..but I also knew at that moment that I felt very hurt.  I just looked at him, and he knew very well that I was not happy.  I didn’t say a word, but got up and fixed his soup.  I got him all settled there at the table so he could eat, and I coldly told him that I was going upstairs to take my shower. 

For some time, my thoughts were headed down Pity Path.  How could Aaron treat me so rudely after all I’ve done for him?  It was very easy to rehash all of my sacrifices for Aaron, and very easy to nurse my hurt.  I was mostly silent toward him as the afternoon wore on around us.  He seemed to be fine, watching a movie, so I slipped down to Dillon’s to run an errand I had hoped to run that morning, but couldn’t because of Aaron’s seizures…..how I had to sit with him and didn’t get to accomplish what I wanted when I wanted……how my day was interrupted and my schedule trashed…..

See how it went with my thoughts?  Where was the thankfulness I had experienced earlier?  Where was my, “…..with God I can leap over a wall?”  I’ll tell you where it was.  It was buried under my self-centered thoughts, my tired body and mind, and my feelings of being very unappreciated by my son.  I had some major adjusting to do over the next hours, and some soul searching, as well. 

We all have many moments of feeling just as I did on Tuesday afternoon.   As a parent, spouse, sibling, friend, worker on the job, volunteer at church…..no matter where we are…..we will get our feelings hurt.  And as the mother of a special needs child who also has autism, it’s easy to be hurt a lot.  Aaron doesn’t have filters or feelings like we do.  He must be reminded over and over to be kind, to think of other’s feelings, to react in a nice way instead of a blunt or harsh way, and on and on.  He is very self-centered, and this is a huge reason why it doesn’t work if I am that way, too. 

I think it was important for me, personally, at that moment to step back and remove myself from Aaron and the situation.  The danger I faced, though, was in nursing my hurt instead of focusing on what God would do.  What I allow my thoughts to focus upon will determine my attitude, and will even determine whether I sin in the situation or grow in it.  To be hurt was normal.  To let my roots sink into the hurt as I planted myself in it would not be beneficial or right. 

Christ gave up a lot for me.  How often do I react to Him with unthankfulness or pride?  He didn’t hold on to his position as God’s Son, but emptied Himself of all that and became sin for me.  That’s the best example I can follow as I experience the hurt and the tiredness of being a special needs Mom….or any of the other many roles I have in this life.  It can’t be about me, or I will be continually frustrated.  It must be about honoring Christ, and caring for Aaron.

Understanding how Aaron feels after seizures…..understanding his autistic way of viewing the world….is very necessary, as well.  So is training him and reminding him of his actions, and how they can hurt or help others. 

Understanding how I feel after Aaron’s seizures…..understanding my sometimes selfish way of viewing the world…..is also very necessary.  Both must be recognized and dealt with before being allowed to get out of hand. 

Well, back to my verse in Psalm 18.  I didn’t exactly leap over that wall with God.  He more or less had to lift and shove me over it.  I wanted to sit at the base of the wall and lick my wounds, but He wouldn’t let me.  I’m glad for that!  Glad that He is patient and persistent with me.  Glad that He shows me His love.

Just like we have to be with Aaron.  It won’t be the last time, either.  For me or Aaron, either one.