Life and death issues

In No Points for Style, I have found someone writing about the things I could not find words for. This is the most penetrating essay I have read about how devastating it can be to parent a special needs child, not that our situation is anywhere near as difficult. The comments are highly worth reading as well.

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October 4, 2013. Tags: , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Would you like bipolar with that?

Most blogs I have read start out with an intelligent post introducing the author as a person with something to say.  I  can’t think of anything except various things that would embarrass my children and/or suggest that I am a grown woman somehow stuck with the sense of humor of an adolescent boy, which comes out when I am feeling stressed.  Which is all the time.

One day hanging out with my Aspie, somehow we got to saying whatever we needed to say with “ass” worked in, in a highly exaggerated manner.  If I were speaking ass right now, I would say, “my Aaaaassssspie.”  In fact, I think the first incidence may have occurred with the word “Asperger’s.”  That would be, Aaaaaasssssperger’s.  I can’t even remember to quote for you, but there were many, many hilarious things to say with aaaaaasssss in them.

We were watching the Sandwich King.  One of the most fun of the many Food Network series we have watched was the most recent competition for the Next Food Network Star, producing its new star, Jeff Mauro, the Sandwich King.  I was watching his show with my Aspie, and I was wondering, if my life were a sandwich, would the bipolar be a part of the sandwich, or would I just be in an Asperger’s sandwich with a side of bipolar? I don’t know why that is so important to me to figure out, but I keep thinking about it.  I had been thinking about Asperger’s sandwich with a side of bipolar for a long time, but watching the Sandwich King was the first time I thought about it all being in the sandwich, all layered together, and every day is another bite.

My dad had Asperger’s, my mom was bipolar, and my growing up years were chaotic.  I was confused all the time.  Luckily, I had older sisters to help me, at least until they went away one by one, to college and to get married.  After I grew up, I was still confused but managed to stay busy for a couple of decades, and thought I was having a pretty normal life, at last.  I married and had my own family — I had a career, I was a wife, and the mom of a beautiful, sweet daughter.  I wish I had been able to slow down and enjoy life and especially enjoy being with my daughter then, instead of having been so high strung and driven to do something meaningful with my life.  She was so undemanding and easy going, much like my husband.  How I wish I could go back and really enjoy the days we had together, when among my biggest concerns were what to wear and how to do our hair, since everything else came so easily to our family.

Our son was born, and after years of trying to figure out how to be the best mom I could be so that he too could have a normal life, I learned that me being not just the best mom I could be but even being the best mom who ever lived would never give him what I thought of as a normal life.  Our son, who reminded me so very much of my dad, was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome.  Then my son went to middle school, without an IEP, and after numerous school-stress-induced hospitalizations, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.  By now, he was a teenager and began to remind me so very much of my mom as well.

It took a while to sink in, and when it finally did sink in, it was like a bell rang deep inside me, like there was a buoy in there, floating inside me, with a bell that had been just waiting to ring and ring and ring.  I had thought I was sailing away, away from the craziness, and I did.  High school graduation, college graduation, grad school, career, marriage, my own family, my own structure and rules, all took me far away from the craziness.  I set sail and I sailed so far that I went around the world.  It took decades, but there I was, back again, at the same buoy.  Riiiiiing, riiiiiing, riiiiiing.  I could never really get away, because the bell was in me.  It was in me, and I passed it on to my son.  Aaaaaaassssk not for whom the bell tolls.  It tolls for me.

October 5, 2011. Tags: , , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

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