Being thankful is not something that I do automatically. I have to make a conscious decision, a deliberate choice to be thankful versus ungrateful, especially when things are not going my way or as I had hoped. Often it takes a crisis or a major life change for me to realize what I had and why I need to count my blessings. My natural default setting is to initially look at a glass “half empty” instead of “half full”. Remaining in this mind set for too long does me more harm than good….

This year especially has been chock full of transitions, adjustments and losses that I have not been grateful for. Now I realize why Brian is so resistant to change: the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree! And my tree was definitely shaken to its core this year, resulting in fear, anxiety and an ungrateful heart. There were definitely changes that I knew were inevitably going to happen, but didn’t want to face: for example, Brian’s graduation from special education and transition to an adult program ( and all that entailed). My Mom’s gradual health decline and ultimate passing in early October. My own emotional and physical struggles of a broken heart and what definitely felt like a broken back. And finally: the relentless/ demanding journey as a special needs parent- the great dichotomy in my life that will always encompass both extreme joys and simultaneous sorrows; the typical bookends with often the mundane in the middle..

I sometimes vascillate between highs and lows, depending upon what is going on in Brian’s life at the time. Unfortunately, being thankful often gets pushed to the sidelines during these times and forgotten in lieu of just getting through the day, something that I find to be more challenging as both Brian and I get older. Life’s tough circumstances can have a way of deflating both your spirit and hope if you allow them to..

Bad days and seasons in life are inevitable for us all, that is a fact and there is no way around that. However, there are choices to be made when life didn’t turn out exactly as we planned. Do we become bitter or better? Victim or Victor? I have definitely been all 4 of these things during different seasons in my life. In retrospect, I can say with great confidence that choosing a victorious and a better version of myself has always resulted in a life with richer meaning, despite the hardships. But it is a daily choice that I must make and it is definitely not easy..

Thanksgiving is a wonderful reminder for me to count my blessings, take stock in what I do have ( instead of what I lack) and to be thankful for all of it . I really felt the need to write down a list of the things that I am truly very thankful for, especially this year, so I just wrote down what came to mind. I was actually amazed how I was able to come up with 50 things to be thankful for- I didn’t think there was so much I could write down, but I am thankful for that ( #51)! Upon further reflection of my list, I realize just how blessed I truly am. To say I am thankful despite the challenges of life, is where I want to be in my heart, mind and spirit. Here are my Top 50 Things I Am Grateful For: ( I challenge you, Dear Reader, to do tbe same, you will be thankful that you did)!

I Am Thankful For….

1. God, My Creator
2. Heaven, My Hope
3. Jim, My Beloved
4. Brian, My Heart
5. My Wonderful Parents
6. My Loyal/Kind Siblings
7. Our Beautiful, Extended Family
8. Our Church Family
9. Other Special Needs Families
10. Girlfriends
11. Different Friends in each season of my life 
12. The ability to travel extensively as a young woman
13. The opportunity to live in Germany for 18 months 
14. The good fortune to work in various careers 
15. Being a wife and Mom
16. Expressing myself in writing 
17. Colon Cancer Survivorship
18. Modern Medicine
19. Medical Community
20. Living in the United States of America
21. Special Education Staff and resources 
22. A Sense of Humor
23. Tears
24. Good Books
25. Chocolate 
26. Coffee!! ( Otherwise there would be a national crisis, lol)
27. Brian’s adult day program
28. Belly Laughs
29. A Roof Over My Heat
30. Food In The Fridge
31. Hair color and lipstick 
32. Comedies, Dramas and Biographies 
33. My Car
34. Getaways
35. The Beach
36. Apple Products
37. The ability to get of bed each morning 
38. Music!!!
39. Forgiveness 
40. Redemption 
41. Hope
42. Life Lessons
43. Faith
44. Learning From My Mistakes
45. Another Chance…
46. Restorative Sleep..
47. Babies
48. Children
49. My Physical Therapist
50. Hiking/Extended Walks Outdoors 

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours! May your heart be full of thankfulness for each blessing that you possess, not only this Thursday, but every day. God Bless, until next time, thanks for reading! 😊

Life has been extremely surreal since Mom’s passing just a few short weeks ago…I find myself in certain moments still questioning what just happened, as I grapple with the new reality that she is no longer here. My brain is still having difficulty processing right now: so much transpired medically in the final 10 days of Mom’s life that it makes my mind spin: The multiple diagnoses and trying to make sense of it all…The team of physicians and nurses assigned to Mom’s care and the endless questions/ conversations about a best course of action for her treatment each step of the way. …The major decisions that had to be made and the heartache in making each of those decisions- but knowing my siblings and I were honoring Mom’s wishes made this difficult time a little more bearable…

I can’t stress enough the importance of having a power of attorney/ medical directive in place so that your loved ones don’t have to guess or make agonizing decisions on your behalf should you become sick and unable to advocate for yourself. My siblings and I were very grateful Mom had, albeit reluctantly. I finally convinced her about the importance of estate planning in case something were to happen to her back in 2018. Once she met the attorney and had time to think things over, she understood and agreed it was in her best interests to have all of her wishes legally spelled out. We are all so very glad and relieved that she did this.

I knew, of course, that Mom’s passing was inevitable: how could it not be at 94 years old?! Nanny (Mom’s Mom) lived until 96 years old! Those Irish ladies are a strong, tough breed! So, it was no surprise when God called Mom home on October 2nd, but you still don’t expect it to happen… I don’t think anyone really does…We had been concerned about Mom living in her own house (still!) alone, with just an acorn stair lift and medi- life alert for support. Despite our best efforts to persuade Mom to move to assisted living, (especially after touring some amazing facilities), she was not having it, plain and simple.

Mom loved our family home; it held 58 years of memories of sharing a beautiful life with our Dad and raising 4 children. In the end, she simply could not leave it. My siblings and I were always concerned for her safety and felt sad that she chose to live alone. I, personally, had to “let go and let God”- you can’t force anyone to do anything. I had to trust that things would evolve the way they were meant to. My job was to assist whenever possible and leave the rest in God’s hands. In the end, God granted Mom’s prayer to remain in her home, which is what she wanted all along and for which we were all very grateful for.

Another thing that my brother, sister and are extremely grateful for was the hospital personnel assigned to Mom’s care. Every person we encountered during that difficult time was ordained to play a very special role in Mom’s medical management and our emotional health. I didn’t think too much about what I needed during that time and my sibs didn’t either: we were too busy being advocates for Mom. The whole experience reminded me of scenes from a very long movie, complete with a cast of health angels and a medical plot with more twists and turns that would leave the viewer in a state of constant suspense. It was intense and exhausting.

Slowly, deliberately, and consistently I saw the hand of God directing this movie and its ultimate outcome for Mom, while simultaneously providing her adult children with essentials that they needed to get through this ordeal. The nurses provided us with coffee, juice, sandwiches and snacks around the clock. Someone brought up a bunch of free parking stickers so that we never had to pay for parking. Housekeeping provided extra blankets and pillows during the overnight hours for our comfort. The hospice team provided additional nursing services for Mom, a social worker for us, and a chaplain for us all to sustain our physical, emotional and spiritual needs. I don’t think we even knew at the time just how much we needed all of the aforementioned, but these angels most certainly did and we will be forever grateful to them.

Mom wasn’t speaking since her hospital admission and actually spoke her final words two days before she passed. I was speaking to Mom on this particular morning about her beloved family and friends that she was going to see in Heaven. I said that I bet she couldn’t wait to see Dad, to which she replied loud and clear “I can’t wait!”. My brother and I were both startled, amazed and happy to hear Mom speak this final time: she knew where she was going and who she was going to see after 11 long years…

To be honest, the funeral and repast last week were a blur..The many phone calls I made to share the news of Mom’s passing seem like it never happened. I know many extended family and friends have demonstrated incredible love and support during this very sad time, which means so much.. I know that the Funeral Mass last week was more of a celebration of Mom’s wonderful life than a mourning of her death. I know where Mom is and believe that I will see her again. I also know how blessed we were to have Mom with us for so long…

Mom, I know you will always be with me. I heard your voice in my mind this morning as I was drinking my coffee, encouraging me to get on with my day. I called you automatically yesterday and was surprised for a moment when I heard that your phone number has now been disconnected, but we really aren’t: we have had a special connection since you brought me into the world and will continue to have one until Heaven when I see you again.

I feel like an orphan at the moment, even at 64 years old, as strange as that may sound…Dad’s passing in 2014 was also very difficult to process for a while, but somehow, this is harder, more final…Grief doesn’t honor a timeline, so I will need to allow it to have its way with me, as much as I want to avoid it. I know the great price of love is grief. How blessed I was to have the great love and support of a wonderful Mom and true friend for my adult life…Mom, I miss you, but know that you are always with me…I am proud to be a part of your living and loving legacy, until we meet again….Forever grateful to be your daughter, I love you, until we are all together again ..😘😘❤️❤️

Brian will be completing his first 6 weeks in his new adult program shortly- whew, we made it! I honestly wasn’t sure at the beginning what to expect or if he would transition OK. Nineteen years of school is a long time and for everything to suddenly and dramatically change is a lot for anyone, but especially for individuals with special needs. I was anticipating the phone call during this time that would reveal a difficult behavior that couldn’t ultimately be managed or the consensus that “this is not the right program for Brian”, for whatever reasons. Fortunately, that call never came and to say that I am both relieved and elated would be an understatement! I am estatic, grateful, and emotional all the same time. I am also grieving for some reason and still trying to figure out exactly why….

While I certainly expected the happy end result of these past several weeks to be joy and elation, I had a crying jag after I dropped off Brian at his adult program today. It came out of nowhere, triggered by his refusal to get out of the car initially when it was his time to go. Brian goes through this routine of crossing his legs, refusing to budge with a loud and long angry vocalization. The very kind and encouraging staff help Brian to eventually exit the car after several seconds. As I pull away, he has calmed down and all is well. It’s the same scene every morning, just like that movie “Groundhog Day”: you can literally set your watch by what, when, and where is going to happen daily at approximately 7:50am. Brian has been doing this for years, as reported by his bus drivers and teachers, so why would I be triggered to tears today? I think it has something to do with grief, a necessary, but often unwelcome companion, that is a part of life.

For years, I denied my grief over Brian’s life, from his diagnoses and their implications on his life and ours, to behaviors, quirks, and everything in between. Instead, I researched how to help my son in his daily life, which took ( and still does) an incredible amount of time. Diversions such as research, doctor appointments, therapies, dealing with the school district, teachers, insurance companies, recreational activities etc, is enough to fill up anyone’s day and the perfect excuse not to deal with myself and my feelings about things. I could keep running, but ultimately cannot hide. Grief would have its way with me sooner or later.

Of course, I experienced those moments of profound sadness, especially earlier on when Brian was little when life was truly a pressure cooker of stress, unknowns and just sheer exhaustion. I look back now and even amaze myself with what my husband and I got through together with our son. If you had told me before Brian was born not only what the future was going to hold for him and for us, but that we would actually get through what we have so far still intact, I would have told you that you were crazy! There is a reason why we don’t know the future and we really don’t know just what we are capable of when we are presented with incredible challenges. For these things, I am extremely grateful, but of course all of it has came at a very high price, particularly emotionally, physically and mentally.

Getting back to this morning’s grief : I think Brian’s morning protest and refusal to get out of the car this morning was a stark reminder of how many difficult things in Brian’s life will never change and that is sad. There are many more things of course, but this morning’s daily episode was for some reason a trigger for me: it’s the realization of the finality of disability in this lifetime. It further sets the stage for me, where I go to the “ Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda” Realm. I “woulda” thought Brian would have been past this by now. What else “coulda” I’ve done to make things better. I “shoulda” done X, Y, and Z 20 years ago, and on it goes..

Now I know better, and when you know better, you do better. But still, a Mother’s Heart aches for her child of what could, should and would have been…And I need to give myself permission to feel that grief about Brian each time these triggers happen. It honors my feelings and I am able to process them, sometimes I even learn something new about myself. I don’t like grieving, but it’s necessary and ultimately cleansing. If I don’t give grief it’s due, it will remain and effect my life in other unhealthy ways, like over eating, insomnia and avoidance, which still happens sometimes, but not as much as it used to.

I have learned that grief is not linear nor a “one and done”. As long as we are living, we will be grieving, one thing or another. Grief is like a revolving door that will inevitably return my way and hit me in the face if I don’t step in its realm and go wherever it takes me. It is scary sometimes; there have been lots to grieve about Brian over the years and I’m sure there is more to come. However, despite it all, I don’t want grief to immobilize me or prevent me from still living my life: it has come close to that at times, but that has more to do with fear and being out of control. Eventually, these emotions do pass and life can and does go on. The question is how do I want to live? The secret is remembering how far I have come and knowing that God has my back every single step of the way and always will. These truths in turn will determine how I proceed.

My daily living comes with a whole host of choices that begin as soon as my feet touch the floor in the morning, until I go to sleep at night. I choose to acknowledge the good, bad and the ugly of my day, learn what I can from the experiences and ask God to open my heart, mind and spirit to all of it. I am learning especially that the grief I had feared and avoided for so long has helped me to really engage in my own life more fully and authentically when I take risks to face it. It is not easy, but it is definitely worth the risks it asks ot us. I have found the key is to acknowledge grief, feel it, learn from it, but don’t get stuck in it- life is too short for that.

I am a human becoming who also happens to be a special needs Mom who struggles with grief and sadness like many parents I know. We will continue to grieve in different seasons of life with our disabled children. While that is a fact, it is also true that there is a profound richness, meaning and joy to this life that I experience because of Brian. The bitter and the sweet can coexist, hence, a “bittersweet” journey that is often filled with the mundane, the difficult and the unexpected. While this is not the life I would have necessarily chosen, I could not imagine life without my son, despite the intense grief at times and the hardships that come with the special needs life. Brian has brought out the worst and best parts of me, and has taught me the real meaning of love in so many ways. He has shown me the importance of living with intention and facing my grief and fears with grace, the same amazing grace that comes from Heaven. The result has been a joyful life most days, despite the circumstances and because of our courageous son- I’m so glad he is ours and I am so glad I am living an authentic life, albeit imperfect life ! 😘❤️

It’s Brian’s last week of school and the clock is ticking very loudly in these final hours.. 19 years of special education are almost completed…No more school bus, teachers, therapists or classrooms…Child study teams, IEP meetings, and case managers are very soon to become a part of the past….With the graduation ceremony commencing in just a few days, I knew these moments were inevitably going to come “one day” or “some day” in the future….Now that “ some day”‘is actually in 2 days and I am still conflicted about everything, despite the fair warning and in spite of all the signs…

When I reflect upon the past 19 years of Brian’s experiences in special education, I have to say that overall they have been very good ones. However, no school, school district, teacher or parent is perfect, so there have most certainly been moments of frustration and isolation along the way. Banging heads with case managers, bad bus drivers, and observing school staff not understanding your child, (despite many efforts on your part to unravel their mysteries to those who have been assigned to him) are just some examples. The worst one is when staff give up on your child, even though you as a parent offered your unwavering support to assist in whatever way possible to make things better . These particular moments were like daggers to the heart, scarred and ultimately forgiven, but never forgotten. ..Fortunately, this only happened a couple of times over the years, but even one time was one too many….

There were also difficult moments in the early years of Brian’s schooling when I felt totally inadequate and didn’t know exactly how to help my son. No one gives you a manual with directions and I often felt rudderless and isolated. Yet, I was ultimately determined and eventually learned to become my son’s advocate. Lots of research, making mistakes, taking risks, documenting, speaking up and sharing with other special parents encouraged me to advocate. I am proud of how far I have come in this regard: 19 years have been an excellent teacher of what is possible, especially when it is driven by a love for your son that is so fierce…I also use these skills for self-advocacy, as well as advocating for my Mom, and I continue to learn and improve all the time!

Despite the inevitable ups and downs of special education, I am so very grateful for the wonderful school staff we have met over the past 2 decades, especially those who have loved Brian and have helped him to learn many things. Some of these individuals have become life long friends and will always have a special place in our hearts. We will miss everyone more than words can capture or the heart can express. It’s too hard to say goodbye, so I’m not going to do that, rather, I will ponder these blessings instead.. I know Brian feels exactly the same way and would say so if he could. His smile and hugs communicate what you need to know and where you stand with him.

There is no doubt that Brian will feel the loss acutely of no longer seeing his beloved staff in the immediate days to come, but I trust that he will eventually come to accept and love his new adult day program at New Beginnings For Tomorrow (NB4T). Thank you, Team Brian, for your unwavering support all these years and for teaching Brian the skills that he needs to be successful and happy. I believe he is ready for the next major transition in his life, even if I am not.. but eventually, I will be too!

As the final curtain comes down on an amazing era of special education, I want to thank my graduate, Brian, most of all. It is with great pride that I will watch you graduate on Wednesday. You have come so far since those very early days of school, heck, you weren’t even walking back then! It has not been an easy journey- you work very hard to attain every skill learned. I am in awe of your persistence and fortitude, despite the uphill battle many times. I am also humbled by the abundant grace that you give to all, especially to me as your Mom. Brian, you are a superstar, God’s special young man, who I am blessed to call my son. I have learned so much along with you over these past 19 years, and would not have missed any of it for the world! Thank you for teaching me how to be strong when I didn’t think I could be and to have faith when things seemed hopeless at times. Congratulations on a job well done, Brian! Dad and I are so very proud!! Now on to the next chapter….oh, the places you will go! xoxoxo

Only 3 days into a 9 day vacation from school and I am already exhausted from the caretaking of my disabled son. Having a cold definitely doesn’t help either, as this pesky virus can suck all the energy out of you and makes you want to sleep all day…

Unfortunately , sleep will have to wait until bedtime; I am counting down the hours until then.. Today I feel really old and the repetition of the disabled life is getting on my nerves, truth be told. On days off like this it’s an approximately a 15 hour shift that begins around 6:30am until 9:30pm. Every meal and activity of daily living follows a very specific routine in a certain order and with continual prompting and assistance for everything. This is our reality. Every special family I know has their own story: while the diagnoses and activities may differ, the exhaustion, supports required and repetition are often similar and remain the same.

While there is definite progress along the way, (and will most likely continue), Brian will always need lots of help with everything for the rest of his life. This fact is definitely not a surprise, but it’s generally not on my daily radar. I often forget about Brian’s level of need while he is in school or otherwise engaged in other activities. It’s typically during extended days off like this that I am starkly reminded of just how much patience, energy and endurance that I need to have, which is not as much as before. And of course I feel guilty about that.

I know it’s unrealistic to expect myself to have the same drive and energy that I had when Brian and I were both younger. If I were on the outside of my own situation looking in, I would absolutely concur with just how unrealistic it is, especially as my body tells me so in more recent times, Plus the mental energy that is needed . I believe I speak for many special needs parents who are thinking and feeling similar things. The years often take a toll on us and we try our best to forge ahead with courage and strength, for we really don’t have a choice, just like our children. Some days, though, are just really hard…

Giving ourselves much needed grace and compassion in these situations as special needs parents may not come naturally for most of us. It certainly doesn’t for me- I really have to work at both of these things, especially this week when Brian is off school. My pride must be broken and I must acknowledge my limitations as they are and truly accept them- that’s the hard part. I have to constantly remind myself that I am doing the best that I can in a challenging situation, especially when I don’t feel that way.

I am getting better at asking for help or taking breaks when possible. I am learning to be more realistic about my inevitable caretaking limitations in the future. I am currently trying to find additional supports for Brian and not wait until there is a crisis in the future . This is definitely a challenge for many families due to caretaker shortages across the board, but I am keeping the faith..

In the meantime, we do have some home therapy hours after school a few days a week, for which I am very grateful for. I count my blessings most of the time, but on days like today, I give myself a high five just for getting through it! And that has to be enough for today.

This tempest will inevitably pass, as it always does, once Brian and I return to our regular routines next week. In the meantime, I will try to give myself more grace and extend the same compassion to myself (especially this week) that I give my son. I know things can get better and there is always hope, no matter how difficult things are- I have seen this truth revealed time and time again in Brian’s life, as well as my own. God is faithful and more will be revealed….

Thank you for reading – until next time! 😘😘

And a very Blessed Passover and Easter to all!❤️❤️

As February draws to a close, I am reminded that Brian’s final days in special education are going very quickly, whether I want them to or not. On the one hand, I am very excited that Brian will start attending a wonderful adult day program in July. The weight of the world literally fell off my shoulders when I received the acceptance phone call a couple of weeks ago- what a feeling of elation with simultaneous relief! I didn’t realize just how stressed I was really feeling until I hung up the phone and then a flood of emotions hit me like a tidal wave: joy, fear, and profound sadness. It’s been a lot to untangle over the past several days as I try to process why I am still feeling conflicted and what all of this means going forward…

Brian’s life for the past 18 years in special education has been synonymous with living in a cocoon. It’s been predictable and comforting in many ways, with its routines of school, teachers, therapists and the school bus. There have been wonderful school experiences over the years, as well as less than stellar ones. The highs have been higher and the lows have definitely been lower. There are educators, personal aides and therapists who have made an indelible mark on Brian’s progress and in his life and we are eternally grateful for these wonderful individuals. Some have even become life long friends- one of the blessings of having a child with special needs.

Conversely, there have also been professionals who did not understand our son, nor cared to, along with bad bus experiences and years when progress seemed elusive, despite our best efforts. Those times definitely hurt, often leaving unanswered questions, but an inner resolve was ultimately cultivated . We inevitably chose to learn from each negative experience Brian had , seeking ways to make things better, learn from our mistakes, then slowly move forward, once the dust settled. Despite the ups and downs of special education, there has always been a familiarity, a comfort and predictability of the school day, aka, “the cocoon”. In June , Brian, like the graduates before him and the students that will follow, will be leaving the cocoon. He will be transformed into a butterfly after 18 years , using his wings for the first time to fly into the unknown and scary adult disabled world. I don’t like to think about this too much- I want Brian to remain in the cocoon!

Even though I knew this major transition was going to happen “some day”, you never think that “some day” actually will arrive! But here we are on the cusp of “ some day”, the final 70 days of school… Isn’t it funny how we parents can have just as much difficulty with transitions as our kids? And it’s definitely moments like these that remind me just how much our children are like us, rather than not, despite their disabilities. So, what to do? How does a special needs parent navigate this range of emotions that accompany such a major life change? I say with copious amounts of tears, hope and grace- past experience has shown me these things are necessary for a successful transition. No stone can be left unturned during this journey and no emotion can be ignored..

I have been shedding tears already- can you imagine what it will be like on graduation day?! Graduation is certainly a milestone achievement – a happy occasion that celebrates our special children’s successes, but it’s also a stark reminder of what they are about to lose and this cannot be discounted. A loss of the school day routine, the teachers, therapists, aides, school bus personnel, etc. will be difficult.. Life as our kids have known it for so long is about to change and they have no idea what is about to happen, at least my son doesn’t. Many of our special children are so literal, that it’s not until the day they actually go to their adult program for the first time or realize the bus is no longer coming to pick them up that they then realize their world has been turned upside down.

I expect Brian will have major transition challenges this Summer when he starts his new program- it’s inevitable. But I am hopeful that with time, he will eventually settle into his new adult life, despite its unfamiliarity and the things that he will greatly miss from school. With maturity and experience, Brian has demonstrated in the past that when given lots of time and repetition in a new situation, he can be successful, so that is our prayer once again. Hope continues to be one of my motivators for getting up each morning, as it has been since the day Brian was born. Hope for the best this Summer. Hope springs eternal. Hope that everything will ultimately be OK and work out according to exactly how it’s meant to be. And truthfully, it always has for Brian over the years, despite my doubts and fears, and regardless of the circumstances. There is no reason not to continue to have hope, even in this season of uncertainty and in the depths of my emotions that may tell me otherwise.

“Amazing Grace” is a gift that I will need to give Brian upon graduation this June, as well as myself. It’s the favor and mercy that comes from God, but it’s also what we can give to one another, especially during times of trial and transition. I know that I will need a LOT of grace during this time of change and I know Brian will also. This new chapter will indeed be one of trial and error, I’m sure, but I am hopeful that grace will sustain us enough to get us through the difficulties, whatever they may be.

In the meantime, there is also anticipation and excitement in this next chapter of Brian’s life, the flip side of the “tears and fears”. What new things will he learn going forward? Who will he meet? Where will he go? How will his life be further enriched? As I ponder these many things, I realize that there is just as much to look forward to for Brian, as there is to be concerned about: I can’t control how the wind blows, but I can adjust the sails. Oh, the places you will go, my son! And the places you have already been to along your life journey: some destinations you would understandably never choose to visit again, while others you would remain in forever if you could. We don’t know what the future holds, but we know who holds the future…God will make a way, as He has always done in your precious life.. He will continue to be faithful and guide you, Brian, as you charter new waters in July. Dad and I are so proud of you, our Beautiful Boy, oh, the places you will go! 😘😘❤️❤️

Thanksgiving or “Giving Thanks” is one of my favorite holidays, not only for the delectable delights (that I will definitely overindulge in on Thursday!), but it also provides me with an annual opportunity to be retrospective about my blessings and to count each one. However, I am not naturally grateful, in fact, my default is to complain and not consider the gifts that I have. If I’m not careful, I can become very dissatisfied indeed, which is why a yearly reminder is good for me..

Being ungrateful is especially true for me as a special needs parent, because so much of what we do for our disabled children requires great sacrifice, tenacity, courage and strength. It is often a repetitive/ isolating life, exhausting and exasperating, especially as both we and our kids get older, as so much patience is required…. Of course we love our sons and daughters with every fiber of our being – THIS is what keeps us going and why we will do whatever it takes until we take our last breath to ensure our children live their best life, regardless of what it takes..

Am I thankful for all that raising a disabled son entails? Absolutely not- who in their right mind would be? I never imagined that I would still have to help shower my son at 21 years old, cut up his food, assist him with all activities of daily living or be his Social Director. I also didn’t think that I would have to manage every aspect of Brian’s life, or interact with a legion of professionals and volunteers that we heavily rely on to help us to help him, and always will…No, I am not thankful for the effect that disability has had on Brian’s life and ours. I certainly wish it weren’t so. Life would certainly be a lot easier without the numerous challenges that disabilities present- but would life actually be better?…

There is always a flip side to every story: there is no doubt that raising a child with disabilities is not for the faint of heart for the aforementioned reasons just mentioned, BUT, there is also a more meaningful/purposeful life that we have because of Brian. It has taken me time, many ups and downs, and experiences to reach this conclusion, for which I am most thankful. When I reflect on the past 21 years, even in the most difficult of times, there was always SOMETHING to be grateful for, situations and outcomes that have shaped my perspective, given me hope, restored my faith, and, ultimately, instilled in me a thankful heart.

I still have to be very intentional about my thankfulness, but it does get easier with time and practice. My attitude becomes one of gratitude and appreciation for many things- because I know the alternative well enough now to know that there is no peace in a spirit of constant complaining. And thankfulness tends to beget gratitude, which begets genuine joy, – THAT is the miracle I have seen in Brian’s daily life. Despite his significant disabilities, – he can express his joy in the simplest of things that I take for granted: a swimming pool, a favorite song, potato chips, lol. Brian leads his life by faith and complete trust, living truly in the moment and appreciating each one. His life has changed mine profoundly for the better- sometimes in ways that are painful, but ultimately better – and for that I am very thankful. Of course, I have my bad days too, but overall I can see there is actually much I have to be thankful for, even the littlest things, so here is my Top 12 Things I Am Thankful For ( there is no particular order to the list):

1. Coffee- my morning elixir, I can’t imagine starting the day without it! Brenda does run on Dunkin’! ☕️

2. Every New Day that I get to experience..life is short indeed..

3. My husband, Jim- our rock and my best friend

4. My son, Brian- our beloved son, brave warrior who is Love Personified..

5. Our extended family- which is quite large and loving!

6. Beloved friends and acquaintances throughout the seasons of my life- precious memories that I hold in my heart…

7. The special parents I have met because of Brian- we are a strong tribe of friends forged together in love and support!

8. My Heavenly Father, who sustains me, loves me, heals me, and gives me hope every day- my Christian faith is everything to me..

9. All of my life experiences, past, present and future – they have made me the person that I am today.

10. My beloved parents, who taught me how to love myself and others through their selfless examples of love, service and sacrifice.

11. My health- as a cancer survivor, this is especially poignant…

12. The wonderful doctors, teachers, behaviorists, teacher assistants, therapists, volunteers, etc who have taught us how to help Brian live a healthy and purposeful life- we are profoundly thankful for all of you…

May this Thanksgiving be a reminder that there is always something to be thankful for, even in the worst of times…Thank you for reading and being a part of my journey. When I count my blessings, I count you twice! May God bless you and yours with His great abundance in all areas of your life. Happy, Happy Thanksgiving! 😘❤️🦃😊

Grief is an unavoidable fact of life, a rite of passage that everyone will go through after experiencing a major loss. We somehow learn to live with this most unwelcome guest. I used to think for a long time that grief was limited to our reactions/experiences when someone close to us passes away. For most of us, the death of a loved one is indeed the ultimate grief, but there are other situations in life that can also mimic the same emotional pain. For example, the loss of dreams that were not realized, the end of a marriage, an unexpected health crisis and raising a disabled son or daughter all qualify.

Psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross described the 5 stages of grief in her book “On Death and Dying”: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance for individuals who were diagnosed with a terminal illness. The stages provide insight as to how human beings generally react to losses in life, though I would imagine not everyone who is grief stricken for whatever reason will necessarily go through each stage in the same way . There is also no timeline, no order or expiration for grief. I don’t think we ever “get over” grief, rather, we learn to “live with it”, one day, sometimes one hour, at a time.

As the Mom of a disabled son, I can honestly say that I still experience some form of grief on a daily basis. Granted, my grief is generally not as intense as it first was when Brian was first born, but on certain days I can still be triggered by a reminder of a hope or milestone that I had for my son that will never come to fruition. That grief can be just as raw and gut-wrenching today as my grief from 21 years ago. The difference is I am finally feeling my grief, unlike the early days, when I was denying it.

We were in “survival mode” during those early days, especially with the barrage of Brian’s medical issues that required our attention. There was really no time to grieve and actually for the short term, that was a good thing. Being emotionally detached from our overwhelming situation allowed us to make decisions and get things done that were necessary for Brian’s survival. People said we were so strong: I didn’t give it too much thought at the time, but inevitably it all came to an ugly head one cold January afternoon in the parking lot of Morristown Memorial Hospital.

It was a cold, cloudy day, the kind of weather that discouraged one from going outside. I really didn’t want to, but Brian had an appointment at the Child Developmental Center with a neuro developmental pediatrician. i had waited 3 months for this appointment, so I couldn’t cancel it. Part of my discouragement was a sharp foreboding that I was going to hear things that were difficult and life-changing. Brian was 2 years old at the time and his track of development over several months was so different than the other toddlers in his early intervention program that I knew something was wrong. It was hard to make that initial phone call, fill out the required paperwork and finally make the appointment. The day had finally arrived.

My instincts were ultimately correct. When the doctor examined and observed Brian for 90 minutes, her body language, facial expressions and copious notes told me everything I needed to know. Our world was about to come crashing down and there wasn’t anything we could do about it. Brian was officially diagnosed with autism that day- the relief that now we knew why certain behaviors and specific challenges were happening would happen later. At that particular moment in time, I felt suffocated, in disbelief what I just heard ( even though I knew in my heart it was true) and the intense urge to leave the doctors office as soon as possible, which we did.

I broke down in the car and literally experienced all 5 stages of grief in an hour. I don’t think I ever cried that much, in fact, I didn’t think it was humanly possible to cry so many tears. I was in denial of what I just heard the doctor say. I was angry at God for this additional diagnosis and begged Him to do something about it. I bargained with Him for a miraculous healing of Brian. Needless to say I was very depressed, but as I eventually stopped crying and turned on the car ignition to drive home, the very slow process of eventual acceptance had began as I slowly pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

Fast forward to today: I am still grieving Brian’s dual diagnosis periodically. The sadness, reminders of what could have been, the daily struggles and the dreams and hopes we had for him, are just as real as they were in 2005, albeit less intense, at least most of the time. I have come to accept my grief as an inevitable part of living, the high price of love, as opposed to resisting it. In the end I have learned that to fight grief is futile and my resistance has prevented me from fully living my life at times. I don’t like grief, I will always resist it and it hurts- a lot! But I want to still experience joy while I am still living, despite the things I cannot change.

The 5 Stages of Grief are my blueprint for both the future losses that will come into my life and those losses that are already a part of my daily existence. I have permission to feel, and, actually, I must feel in order to move forward- there is no escape from this fact. Past experience has given me the confidence and assurance that I will get through my grief once again when the trials start and there is no right way to do it or deadline. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression are the eventual bridges to acceptance and peace whenever I’m ready to cross them. I am learning to accept the things I cannot change, and instead changing what I actually can: myself, one day at a time…

Until next time, thanks for reading! 😊

Today is the eve of Brian’s 21st birthday- I really can’t believe it- how is this even remotely possible? Where have the past 2 decades plus gone? Our baby-faced young man will always be our boy, no matter how old he is or what he does. I have been especially nostalgic today, thinking of when Brian was first born and the many struggles that awaited him. Those early days were so hard, especially with the plethora of medical challenges that required so much of our son and ourselves. I remember thinking how were we going to get through all of these obstacles… Some of these struggles ended up being temporary , and others were meant for a lifetime…The reality was that during many days we were not successful at all, in fact, we were broken in heart and spirit. Those days were especially long…We clung to one another and our faith in great desperation. Conversely, other days were sublime and victorious, a “shout from the mountain top” kind of experience that we still savor even today. No matter what type of day it was , Brian ultimately remained steadfast and did not waver in forging ahead, regardless of what was happening to him- and he is still like this today. Our son is a fighter, who trusts and believes – he knows no other way- even if his challenges are insurmountable.

We have marveled over the years how Brian keeps going, despite what he faces daily, never complaining or bitter about his lot in life. I am so very proud of Brian and what he has taught me about his life has helped me to live my own in a better, more authentic way. I am very grateful to Brian for that, for he continues to show me what is truly important in this passing life and what matters most: love, kindness, appreciation for simple things, honesty, loyalty and sacrifice.

Although Brian can’t speak, (albeit some words) I know he understands a LOT! I look forward to Heaven when he will speak and we will have many conversations together…In the meantime, here on earth, Jim and I continue to learn how to communicate with Brian and he with us- it has much improved and will always be ongoing. We have all come so far in this regard in 21 years!

One of my favorite modes of communication is writing and without further delay, it is time for a birthday letter to our Joy Ambassador in honor of his 21 years of life:

Dearest Brian,

It is with great emotion and love that I write this letter to you on the eve of your 21st birthday. I have been teary-eyed most of today thinking of the many memories we have shared together since your arrival on August 25, 2003 at 11:30 pm. I will never forget that night for the rest of my life and I’m sure you won’t either! You came into the world as a fighter and I have no doubt that when God calls you home one day, you will still have that same fighting spirit…

What a life you have lead! You have shown Mom and Dad over the past 2 decades plus that life is worth living and can still be joyful, despite its many sorrows and challenges. You are Strength Personified and humble us daily with the challenges that you manage . We marvel at your determination to run the race that has been given to you and will always cheer you from the sidelines.

Thank you, Son, for being the best thing that has happened to Dad and I. Some of our greatest joys and happiest moments have been because of you. You have added humor, love and great purpose to our lives. Yes, we do get frustrated with the challenges of your disabilities sometimes and the exhaustion is real. These things are a part of the life that we lead and together we do the best we can. We are not a perfect family, but together we are perfect for one another.

As you complete your 21st year tomorrow and begin your 22nd year, we pray that you will continue to persevere and run the good race that you have been given. May you remain joyful, curious and willing to learn new things. Always know that Dad and I are so very proud of you and believe that anything is possible for you…Beloved Brian, you represent all that is beautiful and good; we love you so very much! Happy, Happy 21st Birthday! You have won our hearts forever! God will continue to bless you, Son, I know He will…

Love you to eternity and beyond,

Mom and Dad 😘😘😘❤️❤️❤️🎉🎉🎉🎉

My Mom and Dad were married for almost 61 years, a definite rarity today! Their relationship was truly special and so inspiring to me. I greatly admire what they had created for our family and the life they had built together, especially as I became older and wiser… Their deep love, affection and respect for one another endured the ups and downs of life over a span of 6 decades. It definitely was not easy. My folks emigrated from Ireland to New Jersey in the early 1950s, leaving their families and friends behind, in search of better opportunities for themselves and their future children. With hard work, faith, and a strong belief in each other, their goals were ultimately realized. Both in good and bad times, Mom and Dad were unified in purpose, loved one another, and remained strong, no matter what life threw at them. Our family didn’t have a lot of money, but I never felt I lacked anything. Mom and Dad provided stability in our home and I knew I was loved, no matter what. My siblings and I were so blessed to be raised by parents who were strong in their commitment to God, to one another and their children.

Of course Mom and Dad were not perfect and like any other couple, had their relationship challenges, but those particular details were never revealed in front of us when we were kids. Whatever my parents argued about or disagreed upon was done privately. They were generally able to resolve in their own way whatever the particular issues were and we children were none the wiser. I am grateful that Mom and Dad did not argue in front of us when we were kids- I’m sure that would have affected us profoundly as children. However, years later I would make the connection that the reason why I didn’t know how to conduct myself in a fight or disagreement, was because it wasn’t modeled for me growing up. Conflict resolution was definitely not my strong suit and it took lots of trial and error to get it right, or at least be on the right path. You can imagine how much more complicated this process can be when you are raising a disabled child…

Unlike my parents, Jim and I met much later in life and within 13 months of meeting one another, we got married, moved into our new home and had Brian. The next few years of our marriage brought open heart surgery for Brian, a job change and an autism diagnosis, followed by another move. So many milestones were happening, with not a lot of time to process all of these things…There were too many details to attend to, fires to put out and doctors appointments to keep. When I look back now, I realize that it was truly the grace of God that was sustaining me during those trials and tribulations in our family life. It is that same exact grace that makes our marital commitment and love for one another still possible today. Without such favor, I don’t think we would still be married , as there are too many challenges that constantly threaten to defeat us. It would be very easy to give up and there were definitely days over the years when we have both felt that way.

As you can imagine, the divorce rate for special needs parents is much higher than the average couple, which makes total sense. While all children change the dynamic of a marriage, the ongoing needs of disabled children have the potential to obliterate the marriage altogether. Each day and every decision revolves around our kids because they depend on us and always will. It is the ultimate sacrifice that most parents will absolutely ( and most lovingly) do for a lifetime and wouldn’t have it any other way. But it does come at a great price and the marriage is forever changed.

Sometimes, the stressors of raising a disabled child become so overwhelming that the marriage ultimately dissolves. Other times, there are extenuating circumstances that call for at least a separation that may eventually lead to a divorce. Life throws everyone curve balls of its own and the stress of it all makes you want to throw in the towel. I have certainly felt this way numerous times. The reality is: we are ordinary people placed in extraordinary circumstances. Marriages are deeply affected by a disabled child. The hopes and dreams we had for our kids must be rewritten and our expectations of ourselves and spouses must be flexible in order for our marriages and families to survive and thrive. It’s a process that requires faith, courage and constant negotiation with our spouses.

While my parents appeared to have found their own brand of conflict resolution during their trying times that worked for them, my husband and I had no clue. In the early years of our marriage, especially when we came out of “crisis mode” with Brian, we had to deal with our own marital challenges and communicate through them. Boy, was this difficult! Many times I thought Jim was from Mars ( and I told him so) when I thought I was communicating clearly and being reasonable during an argument. Apparently he thought I was from Venus, so I guess both of us were speaking a foreign language to one another. We had to ( and still have to): learn to really listen to one another, speak in words that the other person will understand, know when to let things go ( as well as stick with our convictions), as well as when to compromise, and to ask the proverbial question: how important is it-really? Learning to “agree to disagree” and, to say “I’m sorry” and actually mean it ( we are both still in this Master Class) have probably been the two most valuable lessons of all for me in conflict resolution. We continue to be a work in progress and I’m sure we will always be for the rest of our married lives.

Fortunately, Jim and I were both raised by loving parents who demonstrated love and commitment to their families no matter what happened, just like our grandparents had shown to them. We had witnessed examples of our parents loving and honoring one another while growing up, despite their individual differences and especially when life was unfair. . Faith and being part of a church community was also at the center of our lives both in good and bad times. We learned from our parents that our dependence on God for all things in this life shows strength and provides a peace that defies human understanding. I feel very grateful that Jim and I come from very similar backgrounds, for it is these foundational principles, etched in our minds and hearts from early childhood, that are the reasons why we can make our own marriage work.

Once upon a time, I used to think that I had to depend on others for my own happiness and if my expectations weren’t met, I must be doing something wrong. I was guilty of this thinking early in our marriage and eventually was forced to consider an alternative perspective. Learning that I am ultimately responsible for creating my own happiness, despite what others are doing or not doing, has been one of my greatest life lessons. This realization finally came after many years of mistakes and distorted thinking. I finally concluded that happiness is truly a choice: marriage and children can’t “fix” me, nor can other people, places or things. Nor can I “fix” other people, including my husband and disabled son ( as much as I thought I could and still want to on occasion, lol).

Despite our imperfections, trials and tribulations, our marriage remains intact almost 22 years later, in many ways stronger than before. My husband and I are united in the things that really matter and love each other and our son wholeheartedly, wanting the best for one another and for him. Naturally, we still argue and get frustrated with one another sometimes but have learned not to sweat the small stuff quite as much as we used to and to laugh a lot more. Jim is my best friend and a great Dad. We may not have it all together, but together, we truly have it all, and for that, I am grateful.

Until next time, thanks for reading! 😊