I had a house-maintenance meltdown when I came home from work last night. A massive amount of fall leaves had taken over the lawn. Squirrels had nibbled on the pumpkins on our front porch, leaving chewed-up orange chunks all over the place. One of the gutters was crooked and looked like it might fall. And the lamp-post light had started going on at 6:00 in the morning instead of 6:00 p.m., and needed to be fixed. I just don't have time to deal, I thought. Also: I don't want to nag Dave about this, because there are approximately fifty billion other things he needs to do around the house.
So I tried a strategy I discovered when I wrote an article for Health magazine about feeling gratitude. Called The George Bailey Effect, it's named for the character in It's A Wonderful Life who gets to see what the world would be like had he never been born. You just picture life without whatever's getting to you—your job, your commute, your house—and you get a deeper appreciation for them. (With the exception, perhaps, of mothers-in-law.)
I focused on what life would have been like with Max if we didn't have our home. I thought back to his babyhood, and how I would have missed cuddling with him in the cushy rocking chair in his light-filled room. I pictured Max and the walker he used as a tot, and his not having the bottom floor to zoom around and around and around. I pondered how Max would still be doing therapy at the kitchen table and getting distracted if we hadn't renovated the basement to be his therapy space. I thought of Max's adaptive tricycle and where he'd ride it if he didn't have our street, a quiet one without much traffic.
And suddenly, I felt a rush of love for our home, crappy yard and spewed pumpkin be damned. We are lucky to have our house, and I just had to miss it to know it.
Then I nagged Dave to help me clean up this weekend. Whew! That felt good.
Image: Flickr/anieto2k
My son, too, had a stroke shortly after birth resulting in CP. I remember the pain, and for me, the guilt. I also remember those developmental years of not knowing what the future held and hoping for the best. My son, JB, is now 29 years old. He has never walked, did not begin talking until he was 4 (after we were told he would probably not talk). His fine motor is significantly impaired and has prevented him from doing many things we take for granted including the ability to write, color a picture, or load a DVD without scratching it. His eyes do not track as they should, thus preventing him from reading a book, or a sentence without extreme effort, although he can read quite well, one word at a time. He is cognitively intact, albeit immature from his limited social interaction with "normal" peers. In retrospect, I have been able to see all the great accomplishments he has made and the numerous lives he has affected through the years. From going with us to pick up his sister, one year older, from the YMCA day care when they were 4 and 5, it lead to us providing in-service training and opening up the Nashville TN YMCA day cares, not only to him, but to developmentally delayed children of all types, in all centers throughout the city. It is because of him and relationships established through his early intervention that I met my life-partner of 25 years. Because of her brother, my daughter chose a career working with special-needs adults and began volunteering with special-needs children when she was in Junior High. JB's acceptance and attitude is inspiring. It has been others, not him, that have had difficulty accepting his disability. Although he does not read or write in the traditional way, he is an avid "reader" of audio books and has co-authored a book with his other mother. (It's available through Amazon and many bookstores, "Oath Breaker" by SR Vaught and JB Redmond. He continues to be the joy of our families' lives and his determination and acceptance are inspiring. I hope that one day your grief will diminish. I rarely shed tears over his life now; only when reliving my own pain.
ReplyDeleteWell, wow. JB sounds rather awesome (and ditto for his sister, so you have clearly done LOTS of things right with your kids). I also shed no tears over Max's life—I feel as you do about JB, and that this is about our pain we feel as parents.
DeleteEllen, I'm not sure if you're aware of this but the ad that's showing up next to today's post is for "dating Russian beauties" and has a rather...close-up picture of woman's cleavage. I've read your blog long enough to know that's not the culture of this blog!! :)
ReplyDelete-Julia
You are so right, I am not getting into the Russian bride business! I've never seen anything like that. Every single ad is vetted by the Babble Network, so if something like that showed up, I'm told, there could be malware on your computer.
DeleteHi Ellen. Your post reminded me of a Web site I recently came across, "Make a Deal With the Universe." See: http://www.makeadealwiththeuniverse.com/
ReplyDeleteIt's a wonderful thought! Thanks, Ellen (and another happy birthday to you!)
ReplyDelete