Saturday, August 07, 2004

Ignorance of glory

My son returned from Bo's land today. Grandma met mid-way in Rolla, told tales of community picnics, and pesty ticks, and released him back to me. Summer vacation is almost over. School with all of its challenges will be here soon. My son, Cody, has the triple diagnosis of adhd, Asperger Syndrome (a mild form of autism), and language disabilities. I don't do nearly enough to help him. I should be modifying his diet, working with him daily on academics, forming a social learning plan for his IEP, and guiding him in self-help skills for further independence.
The guilt is intense. Yet, I know I provide love, although it sounds flimsy at times compared to the task. I know I provide smiles and hugs, yet where will he be in 15 years on those?
He becomes so lonely at school because it's difficult to relate to others. He acts out; he forgets everything; he's upset; he's in the principal's office .... When I pick him up after school, a lot of times he cries to me about his day. He wants his brain to work better, he says. Why do others think he's so annoying? Everyone says that he's annoying. Why did God make him like he is? Cody has the ability to penetrate with his questions. I've asked these questions as well through the years, because I've seen him struggle, seen us struggle as a family to know what to do. My anxiety for Cody's future is great. Last year, while teaching, I became fairly depressed for a couple of months because I had no answers, just questions, and a driving need to figure it out. Many medical professionals can't figure it out. Through the help of a couple good friends, I finally released the huge personal responsibility of it. But, the anxiety sneaks back on me. School is only a few weeks away.
I came across this poem that I wrote while in the throes of my son's situation a couple of years ago. It had been misplaced for about a year, and I'm glad to find it, and glad to record it here in case of loss again. I may need the discovered perspective to help me cope as a parent through the next year.


Like a rock that
Spreads green moss on
A pond, your thoughts
Leave me looking at what
Hides underneath. My son,
The shrieker in my quiet, the
Friendless boy at a party, the
Wrong soccer goal kicker, is
Entrusted for me to appreciate
His blazing light of blue eyes,
His wild smile, an energy that
Speaks purely of yours. Spark.
Ignition. Virtuous purification.
I confess an ignorance of glory.
I receive your zeal in the form
Of first grade inquisitions and spills
And zany limb dance convulsions.
Receipt -- Joy -- Realization,
I kiss your blessed, our small
Wooly lamb, in return celebration.


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