short bus
special bus
special
retard, retarded
spaz (which references spasticity; apparently the term has become so entrenched that the origin is no longer widely known)
cripple, gimp--though a friend is helping me understand that it is like the n-word and some within the community are reclaiming it through transformative language, much as our friend Dan Keplinger has done with his title of King Gimp. (As Dan states in the film, gimp also means "fighting spirit".)
wheelchair kid, wheelchair as descriptor for a person who uses one, wheelchair-bound or wheelchair-confined, or anything else that suggests the person is a Transformer and this piece of assistive technology is an actual part of their body
helmet-head
whack-a-doodle, casual reference to a need for meds, any slang reference to mental illness, or reference to behavior that suggests mental illness
I'm sure there are more, and maybe I'll add to this list. And I know it is usually better to speak from the positive perspective, as in "use these words instead", but I'm stacking them this way for a reason. Because these are the words, terms, sentiments that Sekai heard--or worse, felt--over and over and over. So the next time you think using one of these terms is funny, please stop and ask yourself, which aspect of Sekai's being, or that of any number of people who have disabilities, do you find hilarious enough to use it to mock someone else?
This is not a rant. It is a heartfelt plea from a mother who watched these words cut her son down to the point where he felt like there was no place in this world for him.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
My son died
I've changed my mind. Or maybe it is just different today than when I wrote about this a few weeks ago. My son died. This horrible thing happened to him. This horrible thing happened to me. The thing is that my son died. And so that's the end? No, that isn't the end at all. My son is dead. My son died. And nothing much makes sense anymore. But I'm trying. For him. For all the others that he wanted to save.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
How many children have to die...
...before the system is changed? I was hurt when I thought that the problems were yet to be identified and acknowledged, that maybe people didn't care because they didn't know. Now, I am brokenhearted after learning that the problems have been known, discussed, debated over and over again, year after year, death after death. People know the system is deadly. THE SYSTEM IS DEADLY. Children are dying, and the root cause is known. What is an acceptable number? If one child is just an individual situation, if the aggregate data show that it is more than one child but the issue is not one that is crucial enough or at least not to the powers that be, how many children have to die before the system is actually changed?
Dear friends
People don't know what to say, what to do. They don't know how to help. That's what I've been told. I know people want me to move on, to talk about something else. But really, what is there? My son is no longer alive. My son didn't want to live, was afraid to live, because of what had been done to him, and by people who were tasked to take care for him at that. So, no, I don't really have anything else to talk about. Except, sometimes I do. Sometimes I can talk about what is happening in the rest of the world, what is happening in the lives of friends, what is happening outside of my pain. Sometimes I run off at the mouth about work, friends' upcoming nuptials or new babies, movies, my favorite shows. But sometimes, I cannot. And I'm sorry, but I cannot pretend just so that others feel more comfortable around me. I cannot even pretend so that I feel more comfortable around me. Dear friends, I can be happy for you and sad for me at the same time. I can even be sad for you--it's ok, it won't make me sadder. Well, it might, but that's ok. I pray you never know this pain that I cannot shake, and I pray you can understand that I am doing the best that I can. There is no moving on. There's just...this weird sort of going on. Prayerfully.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Dear God
Dear God,
I am angry at you. I am mad at you. In elementary school one of my teachers told us that people get angry and dogs get mad, but I know now that mad is also used to describe a sort of out-of-your-head type state. And so I am angry at you, and I am also mad at you.
You know that already, I know. But I want to clarify. Yes, I am deeply perturbed that you took my son to heaven, except that doesn't make sense to my analytical self. He was hurting, had been hurting for a very very long time. So taking him to heaven relieved his pain and afforded him eternal comfort and Love. Thank you for comforting and loving him. But I cannot understand how you allowed him to hurt for so long. How you allowed him to be hurt in the first place. He asked me once if you were dead. He asked me if you hated him. I didn't tell him that sometimes I think the one you hate is me. I prayed to you for eleven years to keep my baby safe, and to bring him home. What gives? How did you allow him to be so ignored, so hurt, so broken? To lose touch with all that is good and beautiful and joyous and holy? I prayed that you would send someone to love him and take care of him. OK, so he had a few people to love him, but it seems from afar. Thank you for those people who loved him at least. But why!? How!? Where were you? How did you allow this to happen to him and for so long?
I know, I know. Adam and Eve sinned and sin befell man, humanity. I get that. But this child here is my son. Couldn't you have protected him? And what were you two talking about in there when he was supposed to be falling asleep? He spoke as if he were some type of martyr or something, telling us over and over that he was going to heaven. Telling me over and over that he wasn't going to be able to go with me to tell the world to do right by children in foster care and by children who have disabilities, but that I should do it. Asking me over and over, "what will you do when I am gone?" Hmmm. He also wanted me to tell people not to take children from their mothers who love them. So, dear God, please don't take children from their mothers who love them.
Yes, I know, I know. Mary's Son was taken from her, and Jesus saved the world. Thank you for that, for Him, really, truly, sincerely. But this child here is my son. And I am angry at you.
I am angry at you. I am mad at you. In elementary school one of my teachers told us that people get angry and dogs get mad, but I know now that mad is also used to describe a sort of out-of-your-head type state. And so I am angry at you, and I am also mad at you.
You know that already, I know. But I want to clarify. Yes, I am deeply perturbed that you took my son to heaven, except that doesn't make sense to my analytical self. He was hurting, had been hurting for a very very long time. So taking him to heaven relieved his pain and afforded him eternal comfort and Love. Thank you for comforting and loving him. But I cannot understand how you allowed him to hurt for so long. How you allowed him to be hurt in the first place. He asked me once if you were dead. He asked me if you hated him. I didn't tell him that sometimes I think the one you hate is me. I prayed to you for eleven years to keep my baby safe, and to bring him home. What gives? How did you allow him to be so ignored, so hurt, so broken? To lose touch with all that is good and beautiful and joyous and holy? I prayed that you would send someone to love him and take care of him. OK, so he had a few people to love him, but it seems from afar. Thank you for those people who loved him at least. But why!? How!? Where were you? How did you allow this to happen to him and for so long?
I know, I know. Adam and Eve sinned and sin befell man, humanity. I get that. But this child here is my son. Couldn't you have protected him? And what were you two talking about in there when he was supposed to be falling asleep? He spoke as if he were some type of martyr or something, telling us over and over that he was going to heaven. Telling me over and over that he wasn't going to be able to go with me to tell the world to do right by children in foster care and by children who have disabilities, but that I should do it. Asking me over and over, "what will you do when I am gone?" Hmmm. He also wanted me to tell people not to take children from their mothers who love them. So, dear God, please don't take children from their mothers who love them.
Yes, I know, I know. Mary's Son was taken from her, and Jesus saved the world. Thank you for that, for Him, really, truly, sincerely. But this child here is my son. And I am angry at you.
My son is dead
My son is dead. I don't usually say that, or rather, I don't usually say it like that. I usually say that he passed away, crossed over, or sometimes I even say he died. He passed away or crossed over sound like something warm and fuzzy happened to him. He died sounds like he achieved something, and well, maybe he did. But I don't usually say he is dead. But he is. And that's the thing. The thing is that my son is dead. And so that's the end?
When I lost him the first time, when he was snatched away, there was the recognition of the initial horror, tremendous flurry of activity, crying and screaming and telephone calls and court hearings. Years passed. Years. But I was always living as the woman whose child had been taken, and my actions were always viewed through that lens. I stopped going to church on Easter because of the children's parade, stopped going on Sundays when the children's choir sang; on the other hand, I poured myself into my teaching job, and made myself available to friends who had young children. And I kept fighting and praying and fighting. Until--miraculously--he came home. I won't write about his coming home in this space at this time, but the point is, he was taken, gone...and then back.
I cannot even say he has been taken this time, though sometimes my feelings boil up and over and I cry out to God--ok, I yell and scream--asking why He took my son. But I think they had an arrangement. I really do. Sekai often thought out loud. His self-talk was often audible. His prayers were audible beyond his bedroom door. Not that I could understand what he was saying, but I could hear that he was talking. I walked in once to get something or do something and I thought he was just thinking out loud, but he very quickly let me know that he was talking with God and I very quickly backed out of his room. Even the way that Sekai talked about "there's no place for me on this earth" and "I want to go to heaven; I know you're not prepared for that mom, but you need to know"...or maybe it was "you need to understand." At any rate, he was going. He told me that he had made up his mind a long time ago. "I"ve been working on this." And we worked, I worked, we worked to get him to change his mind. I won't write about that in this space at this time, but the point is, he was back...and then he was gone. Again. Permanently.
My son is dead. It doesn't go away. I am the woman with the dead son. He isn't coming back until Jesus returns, and even then, maybe he isn't exactly coming back, depending on which interpretation one holds to in terms of the Second Coming and the end of time. Interestingly enough, Sekai used to ask me on a regular basis, "When is the world going to end?"
Sometimes, I feel like mine did on June 10, 2009. My son died. My son is dead. And nothing much makes sense anymore.
When I lost him the first time, when he was snatched away, there was the recognition of the initial horror, tremendous flurry of activity, crying and screaming and telephone calls and court hearings. Years passed. Years. But I was always living as the woman whose child had been taken, and my actions were always viewed through that lens. I stopped going to church on Easter because of the children's parade, stopped going on Sundays when the children's choir sang; on the other hand, I poured myself into my teaching job, and made myself available to friends who had young children. And I kept fighting and praying and fighting. Until--miraculously--he came home. I won't write about his coming home in this space at this time, but the point is, he was taken, gone...and then back.
I cannot even say he has been taken this time, though sometimes my feelings boil up and over and I cry out to God--ok, I yell and scream--asking why He took my son. But I think they had an arrangement. I really do. Sekai often thought out loud. His self-talk was often audible. His prayers were audible beyond his bedroom door. Not that I could understand what he was saying, but I could hear that he was talking. I walked in once to get something or do something and I thought he was just thinking out loud, but he very quickly let me know that he was talking with God and I very quickly backed out of his room. Even the way that Sekai talked about "there's no place for me on this earth" and "I want to go to heaven; I know you're not prepared for that mom, but you need to know"...or maybe it was "you need to understand." At any rate, he was going. He told me that he had made up his mind a long time ago. "I"ve been working on this." And we worked, I worked, we worked to get him to change his mind. I won't write about that in this space at this time, but the point is, he was back...and then he was gone. Again. Permanently.
My son is dead. It doesn't go away. I am the woman with the dead son. He isn't coming back until Jesus returns, and even then, maybe he isn't exactly coming back, depending on which interpretation one holds to in terms of the Second Coming and the end of time. Interestingly enough, Sekai used to ask me on a regular basis, "When is the world going to end?"
Sometimes, I feel like mine did on June 10, 2009. My son died. My son is dead. And nothing much makes sense anymore.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Birthday memories
Good morning, Sunshine. Happy birthday, Sekai Ayinde Williams!
One friend has been trying to agree to make today a celebration, to actually celebrate his birthday. That's what I planned originally, and two friends volunteered to help me plan a friends and family game night. My goddaughter Nicci's birthday is also today, and she wants me to come out to dinner with her and her twin brother. I wanted to pass out juiceboxes or chocolate or buy milkshakes for strangers, all in Sekai's name.
I don't know that I will do any of that. I am planning to go to the cemetery, and maybe sing, and maybe leave flowers or maybe balloons.
But first (cue the game show-style happy happy music), a few birthday memories!
For Sekai's third birthday, we went to one of those indoor amusement park places that serves pizza and has musical shows on stage. Sekai had a blast. He had pizza and more pizza. He played in the ball bath with Lady, his other godsister, and godfather. He went on the helicopter ride with his Nnenne (grandmother) and friends. He went on the dinosaur ride with his buddy and his mother, who is still a dear friend of mine to this day. He and I played in the tunnels, and slid down the slide. Then we all enjoyed cake and ice cream and Sekai opened his presents. It was a typical, loud, overstimulating, fun, funny three-year-old birthday party. Having spent his first two years in a boarder baby home, it was his first real birthday party (though he had small parties at the home, and he had parties in his early intervention class--I think we had cupcakes in class for his second birthday).
For Sekai's fourth birthday, I planned a party at the local regional park. They have a train, a carousel, and a petting zoo, and I had reserved a room in the center instead of a table in the park, because October weather can be unpredictable. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to that party. Sekai was in the hospital. So we canceled that party and decided to go to the fire station instead. (The park suddenly felt too unpredictable, and he was so fragile at that point, I just didn't want to take any chances. And what could be safer than a party with a bunch of EMTs?) Unfortunately, his discharge date kept changing, so we had to put off the idea of a party altogether. But the firefighter who was helping me with party plans kept calling to check up on him, and seemed as sad as we were that the party might not happen at all. When he was finally discharged, she invited him in for a personal visit! He was such a huge fan of cars, trucks, and engines by that point. For his birthday, I gave him a remote control race car. We would go down to the parking lot, he would stand in his stander and use his tray to rest the remote, then he would race the car all over the parking lot. One day, we were expecting a visitor. She didn't realize we were outside. As soon as she was within range, Sekai ran over her foot with the race car. I'm sure the shrieks could be heard across the complex: she had no idea what was at her feet, and Sekai had fallen into near-hysterics. Her birthday gift to him was a fire engine with umpteen noise-making push buttons. Ok, so she got me back. But it was ok, because he loved that little engine. Some nights, he took it to bed. (Thank goodness it had an off switch on the bottom!)
He was not home for his fifth birthday. Nor his sixth. Nor his seventh. Nor his eight. Nor his ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, or fourteenth. I understand his social worker made sure he had a birthday cake once she got his case. And I imagine that his teachers gave him parties at school.
For his fifteenth party, he was not home yet, but we were finally doing visits. We planned a multi-day birthday extravaganza. That Wednesday, his birthday, I picked him up after school. He wanted to go to school on his birthday so that everyone could wish him a happy birthday. We left there and headed to the hotel. (A friend arranged for the room. Thanks!) Ever since we started talking about him coming home, he had been asking me for a sleepover. He kept saying he had never had one. (He had had sleepovers of sorts with his godsister when they were both very young. And one night, one of his "aunties"--a dear friend of mine and his--and her kids came over after work, and we ate carry out, watched movies, and all slept in the living room. But I could not tell him this because I was not yet permitted to tell him who I was really.) So anyway, we headed to the hotel where four friends from church were going to join us. One mom--a friend of mine--also stayed to assist her son, who also has CP. The boys went swimming in the pool and hung out in the hot tub (another first for Sekai), ate junk food, opened his presents (Iron Man DVD and Jonas Brothers CD)and rented Star Wars Clone Wars. We were so sure they would fall asleep before the end. Two of them did. The other three were so wide-eyed that when I went from our room to their room of the suite through the connecting door, I could see their eyes before I even entered their room. Their eyes, needless to say, were glued to the screen.
The next day, Thursday, was Yom Kippur, and the schools were closed. We had continental breakfast from the lobby, then lunch at Wendy's. Sekai had...wait...for...it...chicken nuggets! Then two of the boys went with us to the movies to see Beverly Hills Chihuahua. He asked if they could go alone, and I told him I would stay close, but try to leave them be as much as possible, and if all went well, we could talk more about him going out with friends independently. We didn't have the van yet, so he was in a manual chair, but his buddy took the handles and off they went. I sat near enough to reach him, but far enough that he could act like I wasn't there if he really wanted to. He didn't. That afternoon, my godchildren (not the same ones mentioned above; yes, there have been a lot of them, lol) who missed us for the movie invited us to join them to go out to the horse ranch owned by the man who ran the camp that some of the boys had attended. They met us at our house, gave Sekai an art kit (which they called a family heirloom since I had gifted the oldest child in that family with the kit years ago, and he had passed it down to his younger siblings, who were now giving it to Sekai), and performed for him a song that included the lines, "you're a super star...one day we'll see you on Disney..." Then we went to visit the horse farm. Sekai enjoyed watching the horses, and enjoyed meeting Buttercup. Buttercup apparently enjoyed meeting Sekai, too, and tried to help him with the snacks he had dropped in his seat.
Friday we went out with the same family friend who had helped Sekai and her oldest son ride the dragon ride at Sekai's third birthday party. This time, she was accompanied by her little girl. We caught a water taxi from one town to another, and enjoyed a fabulous seafood lunch. Sekai wanted chicken strips, of course, but after some conversation, he agreed to try the fried shrimp. He enjoyed them so much that he asked for more, and then asked for them each time we went out to that kind of restaurant. With a sundae up next on the list, he decided to pass on the seconds of shrimp. And a good thing, too! The waitress was enchanted by Mr. Charisma and though his meal came with a single-scoop sundae, she brought out a double-scoop sundae, with extra fudge, whipped cream, cherry, and back up singers to help us sing to him for the third day in a row.
On Saturday, we had a good ol' backyard birthday party with family and friends. Sekai said it was his first birthday party at home. He asked for chicken and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. And of course juice boxes and cake and ice cream. He opened more presents: lots of cards, great movies, and plenty of toys and games from friends, and an M&M candy dispenser. Clothes from Nnenne and Skip: blue corduroys and coordinating green/blue plaid button-up and green corduroy shirt; black corduroys and a red and white sweater, and another white sweater. I'm listing out the clothing items because Sekai listed them out whenever he was asked what he got for his birthday. On many occasions, he asked to wear those clothes, specifically. They were his clothes, not hand-me-downs, but his clothes, purchased for him.
So, I'm not sure I'm in a place to really celebrate, per se, but I'm not falling apart, maybe because I did that already. Last night, I went to have birthday dinner with my goddaughter, who was known as my little sister before she became my goddaughter, and her twin, who I still call my little brother. Sekai shares their birthday. And they all have CP. I feel badly because in the years past, I have not always been up to celebrating their birthday because he wasn't home. This year, sigh, he is Home, but not here with me. So anyway, I had a great time last night, then sobbed and bawled and gasped all the way home. My little brother walked me to the car and as he was walking away, I called "happy birthday" and saw him turn and walk his baby-gazelle walk (I've always called it that. I don't think he minds. I should ask him.) and suddenly, the dam broke. But today, I am ok, so far. A few near tears. I think maybe I'm numb. Or maybe I'm just ok. I know a lot of people are praying for me today.
Today, in celebration or in remembrance or in memorial or whatever works for you, please remember Sekai. Please tell people to be good and just and moral and loving to children in foster care, to children who have disabilities, to all children. Please show the child(ren) in your life that you love them unconditionally, and tell them that they are absolutely wonderful, because they are fearfully and wonderfully made. Please share with children that they should be kind to other children because wounded feelings really do cause more damage than we might be able to see at the time. Please help current and future teachers, social workers, doctors, attorneys, and others who impact the lives of children like my Sekai understand that they are going to make a difference no matter what they do, but they have to actually work at it (and sometimes pray on it) to make a positive difference. Maybe give someone a juice box, or chocolate (Reese's, KitKat, and Hershey's chocolate bar were his favorites), or a milkshake (we didn't have them often--though he needed the calories, I didn't!), and tell them about Sekai.
Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday, Dearest Sekai Happy birthday to you
You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You'll never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away (2nd verse) One night dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms I awoke dear, and found you missing And I hung my head and I cried
One friend has been trying to agree to make today a celebration, to actually celebrate his birthday. That's what I planned originally, and two friends volunteered to help me plan a friends and family game night. My goddaughter Nicci's birthday is also today, and she wants me to come out to dinner with her and her twin brother. I wanted to pass out juiceboxes or chocolate or buy milkshakes for strangers, all in Sekai's name.
I don't know that I will do any of that. I am planning to go to the cemetery, and maybe sing, and maybe leave flowers or maybe balloons.
But first (cue the game show-style happy happy music), a few birthday memories!
For Sekai's third birthday, we went to one of those indoor amusement park places that serves pizza and has musical shows on stage. Sekai had a blast. He had pizza and more pizza. He played in the ball bath with Lady, his other godsister, and godfather. He went on the helicopter ride with his Nnenne (grandmother) and friends. He went on the dinosaur ride with his buddy and his mother, who is still a dear friend of mine to this day. He and I played in the tunnels, and slid down the slide. Then we all enjoyed cake and ice cream and Sekai opened his presents. It was a typical, loud, overstimulating, fun, funny three-year-old birthday party. Having spent his first two years in a boarder baby home, it was his first real birthday party (though he had small parties at the home, and he had parties in his early intervention class--I think we had cupcakes in class for his second birthday).
For Sekai's fourth birthday, I planned a party at the local regional park. They have a train, a carousel, and a petting zoo, and I had reserved a room in the center instead of a table in the park, because October weather can be unpredictable. Unfortunately, we didn't make it to that party. Sekai was in the hospital. So we canceled that party and decided to go to the fire station instead. (The park suddenly felt too unpredictable, and he was so fragile at that point, I just didn't want to take any chances. And what could be safer than a party with a bunch of EMTs?) Unfortunately, his discharge date kept changing, so we had to put off the idea of a party altogether. But the firefighter who was helping me with party plans kept calling to check up on him, and seemed as sad as we were that the party might not happen at all. When he was finally discharged, she invited him in for a personal visit! He was such a huge fan of cars, trucks, and engines by that point. For his birthday, I gave him a remote control race car. We would go down to the parking lot, he would stand in his stander and use his tray to rest the remote, then he would race the car all over the parking lot. One day, we were expecting a visitor. She didn't realize we were outside. As soon as she was within range, Sekai ran over her foot with the race car. I'm sure the shrieks could be heard across the complex: she had no idea what was at her feet, and Sekai had fallen into near-hysterics. Her birthday gift to him was a fire engine with umpteen noise-making push buttons. Ok, so she got me back. But it was ok, because he loved that little engine. Some nights, he took it to bed. (Thank goodness it had an off switch on the bottom!)
He was not home for his fifth birthday. Nor his sixth. Nor his seventh. Nor his eight. Nor his ninth, tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, or fourteenth. I understand his social worker made sure he had a birthday cake once she got his case. And I imagine that his teachers gave him parties at school.
For his fifteenth party, he was not home yet, but we were finally doing visits. We planned a multi-day birthday extravaganza. That Wednesday, his birthday, I picked him up after school. He wanted to go to school on his birthday so that everyone could wish him a happy birthday. We left there and headed to the hotel. (A friend arranged for the room. Thanks!) Ever since we started talking about him coming home, he had been asking me for a sleepover. He kept saying he had never had one. (He had had sleepovers of sorts with his godsister when they were both very young. And one night, one of his "aunties"--a dear friend of mine and his--and her kids came over after work, and we ate carry out, watched movies, and all slept in the living room. But I could not tell him this because I was not yet permitted to tell him who I was really.) So anyway, we headed to the hotel where four friends from church were going to join us. One mom--a friend of mine--also stayed to assist her son, who also has CP. The boys went swimming in the pool and hung out in the hot tub (another first for Sekai), ate junk food, opened his presents (Iron Man DVD and Jonas Brothers CD)and rented Star Wars Clone Wars. We were so sure they would fall asleep before the end. Two of them did. The other three were so wide-eyed that when I went from our room to their room of the suite through the connecting door, I could see their eyes before I even entered their room. Their eyes, needless to say, were glued to the screen.
The next day, Thursday, was Yom Kippur, and the schools were closed. We had continental breakfast from the lobby, then lunch at Wendy's. Sekai had...wait...for...it...chicken nuggets! Then two of the boys went with us to the movies to see Beverly Hills Chihuahua. He asked if they could go alone, and I told him I would stay close, but try to leave them be as much as possible, and if all went well, we could talk more about him going out with friends independently. We didn't have the van yet, so he was in a manual chair, but his buddy took the handles and off they went. I sat near enough to reach him, but far enough that he could act like I wasn't there if he really wanted to. He didn't. That afternoon, my godchildren (not the same ones mentioned above; yes, there have been a lot of them, lol) who missed us for the movie invited us to join them to go out to the horse ranch owned by the man who ran the camp that some of the boys had attended. They met us at our house, gave Sekai an art kit (which they called a family heirloom since I had gifted the oldest child in that family with the kit years ago, and he had passed it down to his younger siblings, who were now giving it to Sekai), and performed for him a song that included the lines, "you're a super star...one day we'll see you on Disney..." Then we went to visit the horse farm. Sekai enjoyed watching the horses, and enjoyed meeting Buttercup. Buttercup apparently enjoyed meeting Sekai, too, and tried to help him with the snacks he had dropped in his seat.
Friday we went out with the same family friend who had helped Sekai and her oldest son ride the dragon ride at Sekai's third birthday party. This time, she was accompanied by her little girl. We caught a water taxi from one town to another, and enjoyed a fabulous seafood lunch. Sekai wanted chicken strips, of course, but after some conversation, he agreed to try the fried shrimp. He enjoyed them so much that he asked for more, and then asked for them each time we went out to that kind of restaurant. With a sundae up next on the list, he decided to pass on the seconds of shrimp. And a good thing, too! The waitress was enchanted by Mr. Charisma and though his meal came with a single-scoop sundae, she brought out a double-scoop sundae, with extra fudge, whipped cream, cherry, and back up singers to help us sing to him for the third day in a row.
On Saturday, we had a good ol' backyard birthday party with family and friends. Sekai said it was his first birthday party at home. He asked for chicken and mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. And of course juice boxes and cake and ice cream. He opened more presents: lots of cards, great movies, and plenty of toys and games from friends, and an M&M candy dispenser. Clothes from Nnenne and Skip: blue corduroys and coordinating green/blue plaid button-up and green corduroy shirt; black corduroys and a red and white sweater, and another white sweater. I'm listing out the clothing items because Sekai listed them out whenever he was asked what he got for his birthday. On many occasions, he asked to wear those clothes, specifically. They were his clothes, not hand-me-downs, but his clothes, purchased for him.
So, I'm not sure I'm in a place to really celebrate, per se, but I'm not falling apart, maybe because I did that already. Last night, I went to have birthday dinner with my goddaughter, who was known as my little sister before she became my goddaughter, and her twin, who I still call my little brother. Sekai shares their birthday. And they all have CP. I feel badly because in the years past, I have not always been up to celebrating their birthday because he wasn't home. This year, sigh, he is Home, but not here with me. So anyway, I had a great time last night, then sobbed and bawled and gasped all the way home. My little brother walked me to the car and as he was walking away, I called "happy birthday" and saw him turn and walk his baby-gazelle walk (I've always called it that. I don't think he minds. I should ask him.) and suddenly, the dam broke. But today, I am ok, so far. A few near tears. I think maybe I'm numb. Or maybe I'm just ok. I know a lot of people are praying for me today.
Today, in celebration or in remembrance or in memorial or whatever works for you, please remember Sekai. Please tell people to be good and just and moral and loving to children in foster care, to children who have disabilities, to all children. Please show the child(ren) in your life that you love them unconditionally, and tell them that they are absolutely wonderful, because they are fearfully and wonderfully made. Please share with children that they should be kind to other children because wounded feelings really do cause more damage than we might be able to see at the time. Please help current and future teachers, social workers, doctors, attorneys, and others who impact the lives of children like my Sekai understand that they are going to make a difference no matter what they do, but they have to actually work at it (and sometimes pray on it) to make a positive difference. Maybe give someone a juice box, or chocolate (Reese's, KitKat, and Hershey's chocolate bar were his favorites), or a milkshake (we didn't have them often--though he needed the calories, I didn't!), and tell them about Sekai.
Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you Happy birthday, Dearest Sekai Happy birthday to you
You are my sunshine My only sunshine You make me happy when skies are gray You'll never know dear, how much I love you Please don't take my sunshine away (2nd verse) One night dear, as I lay sleeping I dreamed I held you in my arms I awoke dear, and found you missing And I hung my head and I cried
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Happy birthday, baby boy
Tomorrow is Sekai's birthday. He would be 16 years old. Sweet 16, which Sekai agreed was ok to say even for boys. I realize I haven't posted in almost a month. Every time I go to write...I don't know. So this will be brief. I plan to go to his site around 5pm. A few family members and friends are also planning to come. Someone asked what will I do there. Hmmm, I don't know. Sing "Happy Birthday"? Leave flowers and balloons? I don't know. This isn't what I planned to do for my baby's sweet 16.
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