Writings

So we have been living at Mag Mell for 5 months.

Ex husband has sold Tir na NOg and I am waiting on the money he still owes me.

Mag Mell is a nice place.  I have been complimented on what a nice house we have moved to.

Every compliment, I have smiled but in my head, I have said “But it’s not Tir na NOg.”

That’s right it isn’t. It will never be.

That chapter is over. Finished. Finito.

It’s been an odd time of feeling home here, yet feeling detatched. The things that centred me at Tir na NOg are not here. One thing I loved so much was the trees and how they ‘spoke’ to me. To stand and look at the sea and be at peace.

I am not excited about where I live. Not like I was at Tir na NOg. That place still holds such a magical feel for me.

For the last few days, we have been visited by tuis. There are two beautiful kowhai trees that hang over from the neighbours. It is FULL of beautiful yellow flowers. Tuis LOVE kowhai flowers and drink their nectar. Tuis also have a distinct sound. They sit outside our kitchen window in the trees, singing ALL day.

Over the last couple of days, I have come to realise how pretty it is. Mother Nature talking to me.  The tui sound is very kiwi, and as I feel so ‘Irish’, it is a bit odd, yet I find myself enjoying it.

Today as I listened, the thought struck me, I have been so busy looking back, I haven’t stopped to look at the now.

There is beauty here, and no, not like the beauty of Tir na NOg, but a beauty nevertheless.

I think it’s time to stop comparing. I have done nothing but compare since I have moved here and found here seriously lacking. In doing so, I have missed the beauty that IS here.

I have grieved for so long, and I know grief is a process, but I think it is time for me to be more open to the beauty that IS our new life.

WGO has started dance lessons.

She has her special dance shoes, and she lines up with 6 other little girls and the music starts and her face lights up as she concentrates on the teacher and copies the moves. And in that half hour, I experience such joy as I watch her dance across the floor.

She is very studious at home as SHE now has something that needs practice like her big brothers. When it is practice time here, she now has something to do and shows me proudly how she has remembered what has been done in ‘dance class’.

Younger son has a drum teacher.

The guy is the drummer in a local Blues/Jazz band and is enthusiastic and positive.  Younger son struggles to focus sometimes and follow what is being said and I love the patience and gentleness his teacher shows, all the while being encouraging while instructing my ‘mini Phil Collins’ on his grooves. I have sat in on a few lessons and enjoy what *I* am learning too. There is alot more to drumming than hitting a stick on a snare drum, and my younger son who has always moved and struggles to sit still has found an outlet to move yet be disciplined at the same time.

Older son has a piano teacher.

A really, really GOOD piano teacher. A teacher with a number of years of incredible experiences, the list and awards read like a novelette. A very accomplished tutor and composer in her own right. Her teaching style is very similar to the way we approach homeschooling. She insists that I sit in on the lesson which I am happy to do. I played the piano a number of years ago, and am rusty and to be honest, my son has surpassed me in his ability and general musical knowledge. It is so exciting to see him with his tutor discussing which movement is nice and which is difficult and sharing favourite pieces. I laughed when she showed him her extensive library of music and told him he would be learning all of it. It was lovely to see 2 people on the same page sharing their common love of classical music. I love to see the way in which she challenges him to develop himself. After giving him a HUGE list of pieces to learn, she then told him to learn as little or as much as he wished. A perfect way to approach him. Of course, I know he will work on them all.

I keep going back to how music has brought such healing and joy in a time that was so sad for the children. They still have their sad and mad days, and I think that will happen for a while, as ‘things’ keep happening that bring the feelings of anger, grief, betrayal, abandonment and rejection back to the surface. When those moments happen, I hurt for my kids more than I hurt for myself.

However, those times are now less and these times that I have just described, times that I can see my kids are in the moment, pursuing their passion, these are the moments that I cherish and will continue to nurture.

Today my sons went to the movies with a friend. On their own. For the first time.

With developmental delays and labels, has come fear. Being the over passionate annoying person I can be where my children are concerned, I read too much, listened to others too much,many of them ignorant and slowly evolved my own thing. How *I* would *manage* my kids.

The lads are getting older. Secure and controlled situations are fine, but need to be balanced with the uncontrollable.

I do not believe I have been over protective, I believe I have met the lads needs and do things in THEIR time.

Of course, others disagree. The parents with average children.

I don’t have average children.

So we walk a different path.

Eldest son rode the bus for the first time at 13, 2 weeks ago. He had a cell phone, I stood at the house and looked at him at the bus stop, and there was a huge knot in my stomach. The what ifs. As much as people think the lad is oh so wonderful, I see things that have me concerned. Of course I have learned to be quiet as I am told just how well he is doing and how people would NEVER guess he is on the Spectrum.

I decided we needed a repeat. My little birds need their wings.

So the 2 lads went on the bus, I gave them instructions on texting me. I also texted their destination. It went well.

So we need to broaden our horizons.

The lads have a friend. Speaking with the mother, we decided upon something that would be appropriate for our boys.

So they did a movie. Alone.

While they did, I caught up with the first spawn.

The first spawn reminded me what I allowed HER to do at that age and how different it was for her.

I told her that was because she COULD.

We met up with the 3 lads and as we approached them, I was struck by how they are becoming little adults.

The lads are amazing boys. They need their wings to fly as every child does. But this mother bird can see that they will take flight a little later than others. And that is ok.

We will continue to walk our own path, and I will continue to roll my eyes at those who don’t get it.

And I will hope that once again, it will all come out in the wash.

It’s the eve of my son’s anniversary.

His twin had his birthday party a couple of weeks ago and there were dramas and meltdowns. Yet my son, being true to form, said how great it was and how each year, his birthdays just get better and better. I wish I could be as forgiving as he is.

I have gone into emotional lock down mode. I am tired of wearing my heart on my sleeve and being ‘open’ to people.

Lock down mode has its positives.

No one can come in. If you do not share something that is sacred to you, then they can’t dump all over it.

Something else I have found is that when you do lock down and are not all gushy, how quickly people will retreat.

I am not being a bitch or horrible, haven’t been nasty, just not shared the little things in my life that I would normally share.

On the day of my son’s birthday, he received messages on Facebook, which was lovely.

He received 2 phonecalls.

One from his father, when at around 1pm, I texted him and told the selfish self centred ass wipe that it would be a nice idea to CALL HIS SON as it is his birthday. That NO FAMILY had called.

When he did bother to pick up the phone and call, he explained how busy he had been and would have called earlier. Of course my accepting boy was fine with that. I am not.

Then Ass wipe’s mother called about half 4. After calling and having such regular contact, it ceased when her emotionally abusive son left. She had excuses for it of course. My son, soft soul that he is, accepted it and it is now the norm for him and his siblings that they don’t hear from her. Pfft.

Then we have *my* family. Mother and Father insisted from the beginning of the year that they HAD to be here for the 13th, the day our precious son became a teen. The lad that I neglected as a baby, which as a result made him Autistic. Yeah, that one. Yeah, it is still brought up. A wee drama on the day of their golden haired granson’s party had them leave a day early. And they didn’t call him on his birthday either. I don’t think he is their favourite anymore too.

I watch, I experience, I over analyse, I try to see what is *my* part in all of this, what am *I* responsible for, and I see that all my good intentions are for naught.

So tomorrow, the children and I have organised what *we* want to do for my son’s anniversary. The children tonight laughed and joked and talked about the fact he is dead. All natural. Death is natural. To some, it might seem a bit weird.

Someone asked me this week why I felt the need to still talk about him this far on. I asked him to pick a child he has, imagine that child dead and then imagine never talking about him.

My son is as alive to me now as he was 13 years ago.

I am and always will be the mother of twins. One being raised here on earth and one in heaven, whatever that is.

My son asked me, if his twin was still alive, who did I think would be the better looking. I laughed, they are identical twins. These are the jokes we make, the talks we have.

We laugh about him, we talk about him, we watch his dvd, he is included in random things.

I held a precious gift and had to give it back. I can not forget. I don’t want to forget.

First born son is turning 13 this month.

My 5lb 7oz prem surviving twin is going to be a teen.

Born by emergency c-section, 5-10 minutes away from not having the opportunity to grow up.

Always walking to his own tune.

Diagnosed as moderately Autistic and always needing support to function in this world. We were told he would probably never grow to be an independant adult. Those words haunting me again and again. I remember so clearly sitting on the floor of the Assessment Teams office as we were told and wondering what kind of life my son would have.

I remember the tears I cried over and over, again and again, as I worried about who would love him and see the beauty that he carried. I worried about who would see past the label, the quirks and see the precious miracle I saw.

I raged when seeing people wanting a cure, which would in effect CHANGE part of who my son is, yet at the same time wishing he could just be an average kid. I felt guilt when I read about people’s opinions that it was abusive parenting that caused these traumas in the epidemic that was sweeping our world called Autism. I read and absorbed all I could in the attempt to understand my son’s world and thinking, looking for ways that would help him intergrate into our world.

Whilst I wanted to let him be him, I also knew that he had to learn about this world that was so foreign and frightening to him. I created an Autistic world in our home and learned to think Autistically in order to give him the calm and peace he so desparately looked for.

I indulged him his obsessions and stims, all things the professionals said not to do. I spoke to a lad on the Spectrum who said stims were calming and if I didn’t allow them, one of two things would happen: A new stim would emerge or the frustration of not stimming could cause him to self harm.

I never forced him to make eye contact. The same lad on the Spectrum told me the eyes were scary for him and the blacks of the eyes looked like some scary void. So I encouraged looking at the nose or shoulder and we would practice that.

Order, strict order, nothing changing. Robotic routine, same thing, different day. The consequences if we didn’t follow this would be a 45 minute meltdown that had me holding him tight, restraining his hands, so he couldn’t savagely claw at his face. A behaviour that showed the fear and confusion of a wee lad whose world would would collapse if he was overwhelmed.

Slowly introducing change, and allowing time for the change to be processed. I took down all the clocks so the lad didn’t know that we had morning tea at 10.05am on a particular day and not 10am as scheduled. In fact, the schedule had no time frames to eliminate the torturous decision of whether to not finish something in order to eat which would leave something unfinished (unthinkable) or finish the project and eat later than planned. (unthinkable)

While other kids were learning the capital of France, I was teaching my son about feelings and emotions and what they were. While other kids were on field trips to Museums, my son was learning about society rules, which, by the way, are really weird.  Even to this NT mother.

I slowly developed a network of friends with similar children. Birds of a feather and all that. I slowly developed a thick skin to shut out the critics who would voice their opinions so loudly.

My pre-teen, the boy they said would never grow up to be an independant adult can cook a meal, clean dishes, do washing, peg it out, bring it in, iron (YES, I am raising a man who will iron !!!) He knows what my face looks like when it is sad or angry and will ask if I need a hug or if he can do something to help. He has performed on stage twice in Gang Show, working and being committed to countless hours of practice and shows. Acting out a script and knowing what is happening is comforting as opposed to the unscripted show of life. His obsession has moved onto music and he plays the piano for 3 hours at least a day. Music has order as does maths which he is very proficient at and is leaving me for dead (and I was quite the maths whizz, I can tell you)

He is polite, and yes, a little formal. He calls me Mother, not Mum or Mummy, “Mother”.

After all the years of worry, sleepless nights, tears and fears, I must say I can see he is going to be ok.

I showed my son this post before pushing ‘publish’. He does not remember most of what I have written, but loves my paragraph which says where he is now. He thinks it is an accurate description of him, and then went on to tell me that the word ‘robot’ come from the Czech word ‘robota’ which means forced labour. You all needed to know that.

I received a phone call from my Dad.

Firstly, this is nice. For years, I have talked to Mum, and Dad has been unavailable. Or when we talk, it has been brief.

I have missed my Dad and our chats.

This year has been different. Mum hands over the phone. Or Dad calls and we talk first.

I texted Mum that I had got the papers to file for divorce Dissolution of Marriage.

They asked about the First Spawn, and her graduating. First Spawn is at Uni doing a degree.  First Spawn had an incredibly traumatic year that threw her off her game. (This is the girl that received a scholarship that paid for her first year at Uni) So it has taken a wee bit longer for her to finish. I am cool with that.

As we were chatting, Dad asked about graduation, when and where.

First Spawn doesn’t want to attend the ceremony. First Spawn doesn’t like the spotlight. She wants to graduate quietly. No cap and gown.

While *I* would love that, I am happy to respect her wishes.

I told Dad all this and he asked me to talk to her as her and Mum would love to attend as :

SHE IS THE ONLY ONE IN THIS FAMILY WHO HAS ACHIEVED ANYTHING THAT IS WORTH SOMETHING.

Self esteem took a bit of a hit. We talked some more and he said it again.

I asked him if me producing 5 children was worth something. He laughed and said I don’t get capped and gowned for that.

He wasn’t being horrible. He didn’t intend to hurt.

I have done many degrees in my life.

I have a Bachelorette in watching my son die after signing a DNR, and dealing with life after that.

I have a Diploma in being called a Refrigerator Mum and negligant after not one but 2 diagnoses of Autism and one of ADD. People can be asshats.

I have a Marriage Certificate that represents 14 years of living with a High Functioning Asperger’s man which resulted in stress related illnesses and antidepressants. I never gave up hope. I was commited and loyal.

I have been on seminars and gave up what I wanted in order to homeschool and give my kids the best opportunity in life I could give them.

But no one wants to give me a cap or gown.

So I guess it doesn’t count.

This is not a wah wah post. This is a “dude, I HAVE done something with my life post.” It is a something, for the most part, that I am very proud of post. I don’t get to put letters after my name, but I have worked my arse off. I haven’t received a wage for my work, I haven’t received much recognition along the way, but I haven’t wanted it either.

I just think it sucks that my daughter is going to graduate and because she can reguritate information, SHE is the one who is held in high regard. Don’t get me wrong, I am very proud of her too. I am proud of all my children and what they achieve and have achieved.

When I talked with her, she told me about a conversation she had with my father. Papa. There is alot of disappointment towards those who had children out of wedlock (me, my brother, and his 2 daughters)

Mum, Dad, I am sorry I didn’t live my life the way you wanted me to. But I wasn’t put on this earth to make you proud or to please you. I just wish you can see past the unplanned pregnancy, and the failed marriage, and can see I don’t need a degree to be successful.

In the last 2 years, there have been ‘little moments’.

Little moments of healing. Some bigger than others.

Each step forward has also brought the grief of this separation/divorce back to the surface. One thing I have noticed is that the grief has not been as intense each time.

Now we are on the home straight. As of last week, we are able to legally apply for ‘dissolution of marriage.’

I told Jock at the start of this, that since it was HIM who wanted out, HE could file, HE could pay for the divorce. I have repeatedly told him over the last 2 years, that the papers are to state how emotionally negligant he was, how deliberately emotionally cruel he was to me or I would not sign them.

I have been ‘stuck’ waiting for him to acknowledge the damage that was HIS responsibility.

I have resolutely stuck to the plan that HE would organise everything.

I guess I see any other way as him being let off the hook. He said at the beginning that he was happy to accept the consequences of his decision. I do not see him as having to deal with any consequences. He hasn’t been the one left feeling abandoned as his children have. He isn’t the one that has had children in his bed crying that Daddy has left. He isn’t the one that has had to give up on dreams and forced to make choices that he didn’t want to make. He isn’t the one choosing a path out of necessity, not desire. I guess there is a part of me that wants to see that HE has hurt even an inth of what we have. Then I am talking about someone who struggles to process his emotions sometimes. I am talking about someone who even when he is connected to himself emotionally, chooses not to express them and stick to facts. A fact I am constantly reminded of when I have tried to mediate between him and his kids and seen how he has avoided any mention of feeling.

I was talking to my girls, my rocks, my support and I was posed the question “In 10 years time, are you going to care who filed for divorce?” My reply was “Possibly, maybe not.”

It got me thinking.

I am waiting for the impossible. I am waiting for a man who barely took responsibility for his actions while we were married, twisting the situation so he could put the blame at my feet.

Changes to divorce laws mean there is one reason you can cite in order to file for a ‘Dissolution of Marriage.’ Irreconcilable Differences. We now have a no fault rule.

I am asking for the impossible.

So I have stopped fighting and surrendered.

I went to the Court House and got the papers necessary. I have filled them out and on Tuesday they will be filed.

28 days after that, I will no longer be married.

The final step in what has sometimes seemed a long process.

I feel like a horse on the home straight, with the finish line just in place.