“I will remember, day by day, My love, that I’m not you.”
Anonymous
I have decided to go through the trauma and grief counseling, but I don’t know if I’ll be taking an anti-depressant or not yet. I mean, I’ve prayed about it. And for some reason the thing that keeps coming to me is the story about the woman with the boat. The woman needs to get to the other side of the river, and she has faith that God is the answer to that. So she prays, “God, please get me to the other side of the river.” And she keeps praying, “Please get me to the other side of the river. Please get me to the other side of the river. Please get me to the other side of the river.” And she’s so busy praying that she doesn’t notice that there’s a boat in the river right in front of her. So she just keeps praying, “Please get me to the other side of the river. Please get me to the other side of the river.” And God finally says, “Get in the damn boat!”
I’ve come to see an anti-depressant as a boat. It’s even a good, God given boat. But since I don’t have a history of Clinical Depression (my depression is situational, if it’s even depression at all), and because an anti-depressant would be a temporary solution for me, I’d really like to start with something that might be a bit more permanent. You see, I believe that God is infinite. And I believe that he has an infinite number of boats. So if I don’t like one boat, I can try another. And another. And another. He loves me so much that he’s never going to stop sending me boats. And if turns out that I absolutely have to take an anti-depressant, I will. But I’ve decided to try something else first.
I’ve decided to give Cale to God. I’m taking my hands off of him (off of the results of the state stuff, off the idea of getting him therapy, off of finding new things that might help him, off of absolutely everything) entirely. All the footwork has been done already. So, for one year’s time (after that, we’ll re-access maybe), I’m not going to do a damn thing but love him.
This might be kind of sad to say, but I’ve come to think of God as an alcoholic father who’s leaving Cale on the front porch waiting to get picked up. And Cale has his little suitcase packed and everything. And he’s waiting and waiting, and suffering as result. But God’s not showing. He must have other plans. And there’s nothing at all that I can do about it. I mean, I can’t manage and control God’s relationship to Cale. I have no choice but to let him have whatever kind of relationship he’s going to have with Cale. I’m just the mom, not the dad too. I’m just one person, not God. The only thing I can do is decide what kind of relationship I want to have with Cale, and do my little part to bring some joy into his life.
I can try to help Cale make good decisions (don’t throw the platter of food, dump a bucket of Lego's instead, which makes great sounds too and doesn’t piss anybody off), I can try to help him understand things, I can take him out for ice-cream when he’s sad (through a drive through, of course, so that he doesn’t destroy an ice cream shop), and I can love him with my whole heart. But I cannot protect him from everything (he wouldn’t learn anything if I did). I can’t even always protect him from himself. And I cannot manage and control every aspect of his relationship to life (to God). Because I’m not Cale. And the relationship between him and God is truly none of my business.
Now, the idea that God isn’t showing up for Cale might be something that has to go down on my list of ideas that don’t work anymore (I certainly hope it does), because it’s hard to develop a relationship with “he who doth not show the fuck up.” But, if you think about it, it’s incredibly self-centered to assume that because God isn’t doing things my way, he isn’t doing them at all.
At this very moment, for example, Cale is locked in bedroom, screaming like he’s in more pain than he’s ever been in for his entire little life. And do I know why? I haven’t the first clue. All I know is that his room’s been cleared of absolutely everything, so that there’s nothing that he can hurt himself with. He’s been so wild that I’ve actually been praying for protection from evil for him, in the name of Jesus Christ. And I haven’t believed in the devil (or Jesus Christ for that matter) in a great number of years now. Cale’s teacher’s said that he had a four hour long, very destructive tantrum at school last week, “it was as if he was possessed or something.” Maybe I should call the Catholic church and see if they still deal with that sort of thing. Anyway, Cale could be hurting himself in his bedroom right now, but if I go in there to find out I’ll get kicked right in the face. And I don’t know why. Because he can’t tell me why.
Maybe someday, when he can tell me (if there even is a “when he can tell me”), I’ll ask him why. But for now, God only knows why. And if he wants to do something about it then he will. I’ve begged for help from the insurance company and the state. And they won’t help. And I’ve tried everything I can think of as far as doctors and the healers, but Cale is beyond human aide. It’s excruciating to watch. But, I guess that’s just the way that it is. And that is exactly what I need to accept. That’s true surrender. That is what I can do to make a new beginning in developing my own relationship with God. I can surrender. And I can focus on God because, like my friend said, it’s the only thing that really matters. It’s good to know that I can truly be okay no matter what.
For some reason the thing that keeps coming to mind here is that line out of “Under The Tuscan Sun” when the blond lady says, “Go work on your house, and FORGET about it.” So that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve been scrubbing and organizing and painting the walls. I’ve been working on my house, and forgetting about it. Oh, and I’ve been writing too.
Just last week, I heard somebody talk about how important it is to feel everything. And, a few days later, I went in for my second counseling session. During this session, the counselor talked to me about how important it is to “take the time to grieve.” Imagine me sticking my finger down my own throat right now. I mean, could we please come up with less cheesy language for this crap? Then she said that if you don’t take the time, it comes out sideways in inappropriate ways (depression) instead. And, after this, I had a bit of an epiphany about my writing. I’ll tell you a little secret that you’ve probably figured out already. I have a horrible writing process (and, coincidentally, I have a horrible grieving process as well).
I write for two or three days straight (whenever my kids are at school and/or not destroying my house), and I mean all day and all night. Then I “emerge remorseful and make a firm resolution not to do it again.” Then I don’t write again for a month or two, while the pressure builds. Then I reluctantly find myself in front of my computer again writing... oh, let's see where I'm at here… FIFTEEN pages all at once, that I’ll now have to break up into all of these separate little posts so that they’ll actually be readable. It isn’t a healthy way to write. Nor is it a healthy way to grieve.
It’s occurred to me that maybe my writing is just taking the time to grieve. And not JUST grieve, obviously, but process all of the feelings. I mean, I never wrote a word in my life until I found out about Cale’s Autism, nor have I ever had a dream of becoming a writer. But it’s good writing I think, and it does help me a lot. But it’s painful material to process, so maybe that’s why I tend to avoid it. But maybe it wouldn’t be so painful if I didn’t actually wait until I was so much pain to do it.
I once had somebody tell me to forget about writing a book (the idea of sitting down and “processing grief,” amongst other things, for the duration of an entire book, might just kill me dead), and just focus on cranking out a four page blog post every week. So, in an attempt to avoid an anti-depressant, I’m going to take an hour or two every day and just write in the damn blog (amongst other things, like a refreshed daily commitment to thirty minutes of prayer and meditation). There. I’ve said it. So it’s officially a commitment. You’ll probably get four pages of gibberish every week. It’ll be worth it for me, but not for you I’m afraid!
It’s strange. And quite wonderful. This coming back to life again. You really can see God everywhere, you know that? I have this magnificent opportunity to look back on my life, through all of the nasty little distractions, and see where God has been. He’s been in the dead center of it all, helping me through everything. So I know that he’s in the dead of center of today too. He’s in the rain. He’s in the morning light. He’s in the leaves of all of these leafy Montana trees.
I once went out of town for a weekend with a bunch of friends of mine. And, on the way up the mountain, we stopped at a Starbucks. Now, before this weekend, I hadn’t been out of my house for any extended period of time in close to a year. So the Starbucks looked unusually beautiful to me.
“Wow. It’s really beautiful here, isn’t it? The color. The light. That gorgeous, succulent smell (I’m a hopeless coffee addict).”
“Yes,” my friend said, looking at me rather strangely, connecting the dots, and then looking at me again like it wasn’t strange at all, “it really is.”
“Why do you think God keeps me trapped like a prisoner in my own home all the time? Do you think I’m being punished for something?” I asked her.
She looked at me and smiled and said, “Oh honey. God isn’t the reason that you’re trapped in your house all the time. God is the reason you’re at Starbucks today.”
I’m so funny in the head. I mean, we took my brother to Disneyland a few weeks ago. And we had to share a hotel room. And at 4:00 in the morning, I was laying in my bed listening to him snore. He has such a strange and horrible snore that I’m quite surprised the police didn’t show up and arrest him for disturbing the peace. And I found myself absolutely seething at God, “You know, if he had medical insurance, he could get that Sleep Apnea taken care of. That’s probably why he gets fired from his jobs all the time. It’s because he can’t sleep right. It’s already hard enough for him you know! And now you’ve let me know that he can’t sleep either?! He doesn’t get to have insurance, does he? Because he can’t keep a job for long enough! He’s just one more person with Autism that you won’t take care of. I should probably be getting used to THAT by now.”
Okay, now think about this for a second. We were at Disneyland. DISNEYLAND. My brother had wanted to go to Disneyland for his whole, entire life. And there he was. Yet I was chewing on God for not taking care of him.
I can see God anywhere, anytime, by looking at the good things instead of focusing on the crap that’s not going my way. God’s in the timing of all things I believe, whether I can see it right then or not. He’s the reason that I’m home right now, completely surrounded by people that I love. And with the knowledge that I might not get to live here for very long, I get to savor every single moment with them. It’s gorgeous actually, like savoring a quickly melting ice cream cone. And this summer a bunch of us are going up to Flathead Lake to go camping! And I absolutely cannot wait! I figure that since one of Cale’s favorite things is water, I’ll stick his little toes into that massive reflection of God himself. I’m going to let him pour the real water.
God is with Cale in all of his endeavors, so I get to stop killing myself by trying to be in all of them too. And what a relief to know that God’s watching over Cale, even if it is, at this time, only in the form of my sweet nephew.
My mother in law took Cale out to dinner with a bunch of our family members (she's very brave) while we were at Disneyland. And she said that my nephew was there (the one who spies on Cale at school). She said that he spent a lot of time playing with Cale, and that he finally looked at his mom and said, “I was like him, wasn’t I Mom?”
“Yes,” she said, “you certainly were.”
And he kept staring and staring and playing and playing with Cale. So see? He is being watched over.
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