Cats

I woke up with our three cats surrounding me in bed. It is not unusual for all three to sleep with my husband and I, but the feelings of needing to write about them is. I often wake with a blog going through my head, like the topic was put there by someone in my sleep. I felt my Mom this morning, she was a huge animal lover. She died in 2006 of a stroke, my siblings and I deciding to let her go because of the severity of the stroke, she would never come back to us. That is a whole other story, but the point is, I feel her presence, often. Mark and I bought the home I grew up in, well before my Mom died. She moved from this home to a house on one of the finger lakes. Her dream had been to live on the water. She lived there from 1997 to 2006, when she had the stroke in her home and never returned to it. Growing up we always had cats. My Mom let us bring home strays and she would either help find a home or they became part of our family. She was a sucker for any animal. I tell my kids stories of the baby raccoon we raised because it's Mom had been hit by a car. Or the three legged frog I saved from the freezing Winter because he was unable to hibernate. My siblings and I brought home injured birds, unwanted hamsters, dogs that were lost, we knew our Mom would help. We had a fish tank, filled with guppies or a variety of fish we won at carnivals. I owned rabbits, one of them mostly hung inside, using a litter box and sleeping next to our dog and our cats. My favorite animals were always the cats though. As a kid they provided comfort and friendship. They'd sit on my lap on a cold Winter's night or sleep next to me, when as a young child the darkness still brought fear. I loved our dogs, I would walk them and play with them, but I think I've just always been a cat person. When I was dating as a young adult, liking cats was one of my criteria for a possible life partner. I could not imagine my living my life without cats. It became a joke too, cat haters aren't my type, a guy too insecure to like a cat would not fit into my life. Mark loves cats, one of the sweetest stories he told me was about his family cat getting sick and his knowing it needed to just be put out of misery. It broke his heart to put his cat down, but it was the humane thing to do. When Mark and I got married we lived in an apartment that first year on a busy road. I hadn't meant to get a cat in the Fall after our Wedding, but we found ourselves at the local animal shelter one Saturday afternoon. There was a long haired orange tabby and a blonde tabby in one of the cages. They were kittens, litter mates and they had been born on our Wedding day, which to me seemed like a sign that they were meant to be ours. Their coloring seemed ironic too, for those of you who don't know, Mark is a strawberry blonde and I was a blonde in my youth. (my hair darkens as I age, thank goodness for hair dye) Anyway, Fred and Ethel, as we came to name them, seemed destined to be ours. I always preferred to have two cats to keep each other company and these two were perfect. The problem was the the local animal shelter, in an effort to stop producing more unwanted cats, didn't want us to adopt the both of them. They were too young to get fixed right away and basically they didn't trust us (or anyone) to get them fixed before a pregnancy happened. I'm not sure how it all conspired, but somehow Mark and I were determined to adopt both the brother and the sister. We pulled in a complete stranger to help us in the scheme. We adopted one of the cats and the stranger adopted the other for us. I think we lied saying the person was my sister and would keep one of the cats at her house until they were fixed? That was almost twenty five years ago, so the details are foggy. I do know though, it all worked out and there was never a pregnancy. Fred and Ethel were very sweet cats, living from 1989 until 2005 or so, they were loved much by Mark and I and all three of our children knew them too. Cats have always been part of our family, I know after we lost Fred and Ethel we went without for a short time, but it didn't last long. Soon we adopted Pooh and Tigger, brothers that a friend of ours found for us. Unfortunately, we lost Tigger one night, he just never came home. We searched and called for him for weeks, but we never found Tigger. Pooh seemed lonely without him, so eventually we adopted Cheddar Cheese. Cheddar and Pooh were very happy together, but one day it occurred to me that there was not a better Birthday gift for our Gwennie than a sweet baby kitten. She was turning ten, double digits for our youngest child, it seemed very significant somehow. Surprisingly, Mark agreed and I started the search for a new kitty for our family. I found one at the local shelter, the same one we had adopted Fred and Ethel from. I had actually left the building, disappointed there was not a kitten I wanted, but something told me to go back in and ask. When I described what we wanted, the employee told me they had just gotten a kitten in, so I met him. He was exactly what I hoped for! So I paid for him and asked that they keep him one more day so we could surprise Gwenn. It was fantastic, such a joyful thing to give our Gwennie a baby kitty. Gwenn named him Bubba Lee, which was ironic in many ways. Bubba had been the name we had used when I was pregnant with Beau. Not knowing if Beau was a boy or a girl, we would tell people our baby was going to be named Bubba Bradley. Then there was the fact that Bubba was born on my oldest sister's Birthday and her middle name is Lee. Gwenn didn't know any of those facts when she named him. Lee is a family middle name on my side, it started with Leon for both my Mom and my Grandmother, but then was changed to Lee for my sister and my niece. Gwenn picking that name just seemed too coincidental. I felt like my Mom had something to do with our getting this kitty. He was Gwenn's pride and joy, she just loved Bubba, spending much time with him, taking a zillion pictures of him, he fit in perfectly with our family. She told me many times how special her tenth Birthday had been, to get Bubba was such a huge surprise! She had not expected a kitten at all. All our cats have been both indoor outdoor cats. I know the risks of having a cat go outside, after all, Tigger went out one day and never returned. But somehow because of Mark and I being raised with our family cats living that way, it just seems more natural to the both of us. Having Teale as a daughter cinches it, she would never understand keeping the cats inside. So we've taught our cats slowly to get used to the outdoors. Bubba was a natural outside, I never knew a more adventurous happy cat once he was outside. He loved to hunt and chase bugs and just sit outside in the warmth of the sun. He loved being high up in a tree and Gwenn loved playing with him outside. She took a beautiful picture of him in a tree that we all cherish. We lost Bubba in mid August to a car accident. It was a devastating loss for all of us. He was just ten months old when I got a call from a neighbor that he saw a cat on the side of the road. My heart sank. I had been in my gardens all morning, Bubba had been by my side, but then I went in for a shower. The call came as I got out of the shower, soaking wet, I dressed, shaking with fear. I called Mark and he headed home from work before we were even sure it was our cat on the side of the road. He knew if it was our cat, I would need him. I woke Beau and we snuck out of the house together, I needed support from my eighteen year old son and I didn't want Gwenn to know what was going on. As we approached the cat, I was sure it was our Cheddar, Bubba is a lighter blonde and this cat looked pretty orange. It wasn't until I was close that I realized it was Bubba, covered in blood, he looked a darker color in the sunlight. Devastated, I scooped him up into my arms, he was still warm, but lifeless. I couldn't believe I had to tell my Gwennie her best friend was dead. I felt like I had done this to her, I gave her this sweet kitten who she fell for, HARD and then I ripped it away. It was one of the hardest losses I have experienced. My cats have lived ripe old lives, Bubba was just a baby. I still ache to hold Bubba, to see him play with Pooh and Cheddar, to see him curled up with Gwennie. Our hearts were so broken, Gwenn and I cried for days together. Mark tried to be strong, but he too broke down many times. Teale didn't understand completely and asked for Bubba to come back endless times. Beau ached for Gwenn and I who took the loss the hardest. After a couple weeks of devastating sadness in our family I started looking on line and at shelters for a new kitten. We weren't healing, I felt like a new kitten might help us all. It wasn't going to take away the pain, but maybe it would add some joy? I finally settled on a kitten and told Gwenn I had to go somewhere. Beau was in on the surprise and kept Teale home for me. I had found a kitten on Craigslist. The owners seemed to really care about the kitten getting a good home and we seemed to hit it off well. Gwenn may have been suspicious, but her face when the kitten was placed in her arms, told me it was absolutely the right thing to do. We still missed Bubba, but this new kitten fit in perfectly too. Gwenn named her new kitty Wasabi Bobby. He's a sweet boy with lots of character like Bubba had. I can't deny I'm not the same since the loss of Bubba. I worry when our cats go outside much more than I used to, but as Mark said "Bubba died doing what he loved. We never could have kept him inside, he was meant for the outdoors." I think Bubba prepared my kids, especially Teale for a greater loss. Death is a difficult concept for children, for Teale it is really abstract. In December when we lost Mark's Mom, I told Teale that Nana was with Bubba. I think Bubba's short life taught us all much about love and sadly about loss. Our cats bring us comfort and I see my kids, especially Gwenn being much like I was as a young girl, my cats were always there for me when I thought no one else understood. Being loved by an animal is like being close to God for me. There is no conversation, but there is much connection just through a mutual love, a feeling that is indescribable. I often think of my Mom with the cats I've lost in my lifetime. I know she is taking good care of them and visa versa. The thought of our Mom's together in Heaven with all our relatives and our animals is what gets me through the sad moments. This morning I woke with the cats on my mind and this story running through my head, I don't think it was a coincidence. Miss you Mom and please, give Bubba a hug from me... 

Our Dreams are Similar

Many years ago I wrote a letter to the editor about my daughter Teale. I was worn, she was in a rough stage and my family was doing their best to get through the crisis. Her behavior was more explosive than usual and her sleep was off too. We were barely keeping our heads above water and desperately needed a break. Our being in public with her was a double edged sword, often getting her out of our house was helpful, but it was also very risky. We not only try to protect Teale from the cruelness we may encounter in public, but we also try to protect Beau, Gwenn and ourselves too. Then there are my personal feelings about not wanting friends, family and the public to have to deal with the Hell we deal with on a regular basis. There are many feelings I have when it comes to raising Teale in this world. I often want to protect her and protect my family from the cruel comments we have encountered when we are in the community with her. Staying home can be easier because no one else sees what we live. At home, no one sees the embarrassing moments, the huge rages, the rude behavior. I believe dealing with other people's feelings is probably my biggest challenge. At this point, I'm pretty confident in my role as Teale's Mom. My skin has gotten thicker with all we've lived. But that is NOT the only thing that has happened to me. I'm not just damaged from being Teale's Mom, I'm also improved. I believe I have learned to love deeper, I believe I have learned strength and resilience, among many other positive qualities. I know I laugh much and what might bring another person to their knees, just makes me stand taller. I believe I truly appreciate the little things more than I did before Teale. But the thing that stands out far above the rest, are the friends we have made along the way. We have had so many people put in our lives who we would not have had any reason to meet without Teale being in our family. I think about the teachers, therapists, doctors and families of other special needs people. Many of these people are such integrated parts of my heart now, I could never imagine life without them in it. I think we have taught much about special needs by our just living a normal life with Teale. By our not letting the risks of "what could go wrong" ruin our trying. Sure we have been burned many times.  There have been several events that we knew before we went, that we should not put ourselves in the situation. We've also been wrong, we've gone somewhere with confidence or with fear and she has surprised us in a good or a bad way. Unfortunately our generation is still getting used to the special needs population being a participating part of society. I believe it will get easier for families like ours eventually. I believe because we refuse to keep our special families in isolation, like past generations did, complete acceptance will someday happen. For the families who are challenging this change. For the people who accept, love and respect my daughter and all people, I too have a dream, much like a great man who knew segregation was wrong. 

Miscarriage

 I often feel his presence. I know it is not something everyone believes, but I do. Yesterday I had a strong day of feeling him close. When I woke in the middle of the night I knew "he" was their. I always felt like it was a boy, the baby I miscarried in the late fall of 1997. A picture I found yesterday of Mark, Beau and I together stirred much emotion about him. The picture was taken on Thanksgiving at our house in 1997.  Mark and I had planed to announce our second pregnancy to the family on Thanksgiving Day, instead it was a day of sadness and pushing through the pain. I had miscarried just days earlier, changing my joy to sorrow in an instant. I had not even told people I was pregnant yet, so to then tell them I had miscarried. In the picture Mark and I have smiles on our faces, but it was the beginning of months of sadness for me. I remember Mark trying to pull me out of my grief, but nothing really helped. I couldn't shake the loss and with the winter being tough for me anyway, the loss just made it worse. Last night I woke and he was with me, I could feel him, it's not something I can describe well, but I knew it was him. I still miss him all these years later. I still wonder what our family would have been like with him in it. I still think about my son Beau, having a brother and what that would have been like for him. I still picture a face, I never saw. Miscarriage is an unspoken grief that we are forced to move on from. Many don't get the pain of it or that it never leaves you completely. I didn't bury a baby, so to many it is unreal, but for me, he is here, near me, waiting...I still miss him all these years later. 

The Unknown Fears

Yesterday my 18 year old son, Beau asked me "How long is Teale expected to live?" He warned me before asking the question that it was a "deep question." I was not shocked though. Mark and I have had this discussion much. The fear of losing Teale has been part of my heart since long before she was born. I had miscarried before my pregnancy with Teale, so from the moment I found out I was pregnant again, fear and joy combined. We got the news of her condition in the second trimester of my pregnancy. Her stomach was open and she would need extensive surgery to close it after birth. The possibility of the pregnancy not making it to full term was presented to us. After her traumatic birth, where she didn't have a pulse for over seven minutes, fear crept in again. Then there was the surgery to get her through, infection was a huge concern. We didn't know how her system would respond to all the trauma. There was always the fear of losing her. Teale is strong and she fought for life and we brought her home after two months of recovery in the NICU. There was much to be thankful for, but the challenges were far from over. Diagnosis after diagnosis would be dumped on Teale, one by one over the course of many years. One of the scariest would be when her seizures started. As an eight month old infant, seizures would be confirmed.  We were on our tenth year Wedding Anniversary family trip to Cape Cod when we first saw the strange behavior. Teale's head would do a rhythmic movement over and over again and we knew a new challenge was starting. Soon after getting home from that trip we would get confirmation of Infantile Spasms and daily shots of ACTH would be ordered. Teale's seizures were practically constant and very disconcerting. Stopping them would be the first step, but the possibility of seizures always being part of her life was very high. We would win this round, the Infantile Spasms would be cured, not without many struggles, but cured. It would be Spring of 2003 that our fear would come back full force. A night we could have lost Teale had I not followed my gut and gotten out of bed to check on an unfamiliar noise. I had been cozy in bed with our new infant Gwenn, nursing her before going to sleep. Beau and Teale were both fast asleep, Mark next to me, reading in bed. We had new neighbors next door and their dogs, unfamiliar with the new home, were barking. In between the barking I heard something, but Mark couldn't hear it. I was being prodded to go check it out, even though I was so comfortable with Gwenn snuggled into me on one side, Mark on my other. The nagging finally got to me and I went to check on Teale. She was having a Grand Mal seizure, her first, so we had no emergency medications in the house to stop it. Screaming for Mark to come, Teale was a horrid shade of grey, vomit on her, she had aspirated it. Her bladder and bowels had given way, my baby girl was soaked in bodily fluids and the seizure was still very strong. We called 911 and Mark directed me to run to the neighbors house for support, we would both need to go to the hospital and someone would need to stay with Gwenn and Beau. The ambulance finally arrived and Teale continued to seize on the way to the hospital and as the doctors worked on her. We would call our paster, scared we would lose Teale that night. It was a night that changed me, fear of losing Teale has never left me since. She would make it through and miraculously we would bring her home alive and with no further brain damage. But Mark and I would never sleep as peacefully again. Her seizure had lasted over an hour and a half, the doctors would immediately diagnose her with Comprehensive Epilepsy and we would see a specialist. Brain surgery would be discussed, many medications would be tried. There would be many more scary nights with middle of the night seizures of great lengths. Teale's seizures are always nocturnal, there is something about her sleep cycle that turns her seizures on. Ambulances would rush us to the hospital several times over years before we would finally stabilize Teale on medications, stopping her seizures. Teale hasn't had a full Grand Mal in years now. You would think my fear would be gone, but it's there, it's always there. Mornings she sleeps in later than her usual, I think I missed a seizure in the night and I struggle to open her bedroom door. Nights she sleeps at her beloved special needs overnight camp, I worry I'll get a call that she didn't wake up in the morning. Nights she sleeps at respite, I hope that she is being carefully watched. Every night we put her to bed, I wonder if the seizures will come back? So when Beau asked me yesterday his very difficult question, I was honest. I just don't know, the fear never leaves me...

Worry

There are times in our lives that all we do is worry. We "keep our head down and plug through the crisis," as my friend recently said. But our minds spin and worry takes over. I've been in many crisis in my life. Not only with my daughter Teale, although those are the ones that have ripped my heart the most, but also with extended family and friends. I've seen siblings abuse drugs and alcohol, I've seen mental illness among family members, I've witnessed divorces and suicides, aging parents and young spouses of friends die. Life is not all peaches and cream, that I know well. I've walked next to friends and family in pain and I've tried to hold their hands and be their sounding boards. To me, this is an honor, to support a person you love through a crisis is what friendship is. I've been on the receiving end too, people I didn't even know understood and they carried my family through many times of great dispair. I've grown with these experiences, I've learned about love in a deeper way. I've learned about my God and how much I need that relationship, in the bad, but also in the good too. There are many worries in my life, they can engulf me, if I let them. Mark and I take life on as it hits us, a crisis may be a time to learn a new lesson or get stronger in our faith or bring someone new into our life who we need. I am somewhat idealistic. I believe in fate and that things happen for a reason. I believe we meet people and learn lessons we need to learn. I believe that Beau, Teale and Gwenn picked us because we needed them. Worry overcomes us all at times of crisis, but I work hard at letting it go and believing "it's all for a reason."

Destiny or Choice?

Do you ever wonder what you could have been, had life not gotten in your way?
Do you ever wonder where you might have been, had life not taken you where you are?
Do you ever wonder with who you would have been, had life not thrown you the people you have?
Is it fate or is in luck that makes our lives become what they are?
Do we choose our path or is it chosen?
Do we make our life or do we just live and it happens?
Can you change your destiny?
Would you, if you could?

Migraines

I've gotten them since the fourth grade. A year that struggle is all I remember. I had a teacher I feared, she was strict, a yeller who easily snapped and seemed to hate me. My family had fallen apart. My Mom hurt and I could see the pain and fear in her eyes as she began a new life, without my Father. My oldest sister graduated from college and on that same day my Dad got remarried to the woman he had left my Mom for.
Fourth grade was the year I look at in elementary school as the year I'd most like to forget. The migraines started and because my teacher seemed to dislike me, all I remember was her accusing me of faking my pain to try and get out of work. The pain was intense, the nausea would overcome me, I couldn't contain my tears and would often melt into a puddle. My Mom had suffered migraines, she knew it was real. She worried and tried to get me medical help. I missed much school and fell behind in the lessons, fearing the wrath of my teacher more. The stress of trying to catch up would just give me more migraines. It was a vicious cycle, I just couldn't win.
I often wish I could embrace that fourth grade me and tell her it was going to be ok. I wish I could tell her that one teacher's opinion, one person, should not be allowed to kill another person's spirit. I wish I could tell her that in the end, fourth grade was not that important. I mostly wish I could tell her she was a good person.
It was the year it all began, a lifetime ago, that still sticks out as a year I couldn't find peace or compassion in my fourth grade classroom. I struggled and I hurt, my life seemingly falling apart, but to this teacher I was just lazy. I was a problem she could fix with her strictness. I often wondered if she herself had not known love or compassion?  Was her unkindness because she had been treated the same? I remember the day I finally shared my sadness over my parents splitting, the finality of my Dad remarrying. I remember nothing but her icy stare and the accusations of me making excuses why I was so far behind in the work. She thought I was making excuses, but in truth I just needed understanding. I was a confused kid, who felt alone in her pain, who thought no one lived in my world of a family torn apart by divorce.
I wonder now if she knew how much she scared me, how deeply fearful of going to school I had become. The power she had over me still makes me pause. How did no one see that she was killing my spirit or did they? Did she just have others convinced I was just a bad egg and not a child struggling?
She changed me, all good and bad circumstances we live, change us. We take the lessons in and learn from them. We may not recognize those lessons at the time, we may stuff the understanding deep into our self conscious, but we change.
For me that year taught me more than I could possibly understand as a young, fourth grade girl. The way she made me feel, I would remember forever and I would treat children completely differently than she treated me. I would love and feel compassion because of her. I would look at children, knowing they were good. I would not jump to mistrust and doubt when a child's spirit was in my hands.
The migraines continue to this day and I still think of her when I get one. My heart still skips a little faster with with fear when I think of fourth grade.
I learned that the way we see people is only a small part of their depth. I learned there is always another side of the story. I learned to seek the truth and not jump to my own conclusions. I learned that children are good first and foremost and that they deserve our love, our understanding and our compassion.
I learned the saying "you will get more bees with honey than with vinegar" to be true, because in fifth grade I found a teacher who understood and that year my work greatly improved.