Hello, loyal readers of my blog! I am most pleased and proud to present you all with my brand-new, fully-functional website: AmyGravino.com!.
AmyGravino.com is your one-stop shop for everything and anything relating to moi. It has my bio, my C.V., pieces of my writing, articles I've written, video and audio clips from media appearances that I've made, and more. The page for ASCOT, my college coaching LLC, is still under construction (which is fitting because I'm still trying to hammer out the details of setting up the LLC), but everything else is finished.
I am trying to attract people looking for college coaching or consulting services, or anyone looking for an autism/Asperger's Syndrome-related public speaker, and I knew I needed to have all of my information in one place, hence the creation of this shiny new site.
Now, I know I am no website designer, and it certainly doesn't look as good as if a professional did it. But, I worked very hard on creating all of the pages and putting stuff together, so I hope that you will all enjoy perusing it. If you have any (constructive) feedback to offer, then please, by all means, do let me know. And if you like what you see, please feel free to spread the word of AmyGravino.com as far and as wide as you like.
Also, I have added a new feature to my blog here: the "Share" button. It can be found on all of my current and previous blog entries, and its function is to make it easier for you to share my posts with whomever you think might want to read them! So please do use this feature at your convenience. Thank you!
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Home Is Where the Hard Is
Sitting on an enclosed deck in the middle of a thunderstorm has become a favorite pastime of mine. I used to be terrified of thunder; as a child, even the slightest rumble would send me flying under the covers, shaking with fear. Even now, the storms seem scarier when I am inside, so I call upon my father to join me, where we settle into the green and white-striped chairs--his, always the recliner. With the sounds of whipping wind and falling rain all around me, I am calm.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, about a two hour's drive from where I am now in New Jersey. Graduate school has kept me almost absurdly busy, and I don't go back there very often, except for the occasional orthodontist appointment or holiday.
There is a danger in visiting one's old hometown, in that you run the risk of seeing people you know. People from the past, who remind you of the person you used to be, and who you spent years trying to forget.
People you went to high school with.
The beige and black building is much smaller than I remember. At its feet rests a verdant landscape, the grassy, crater-shaped bowl used for baseball in summer and sledding in the winter. A long handrail in the middle of half moon-shaped steps leads the way to the front doors, whose once heavy handles yield easily to my hand. From faraway glance, it is peaceful, serene, and immaculately kept.
For me, it is and was my vale of tears.
It can be said that people spend most of their lives trying to figure out who they are. It can also be said that this process almost universally begins in high school. Jock. Nerd. Homecoming queen. Band geek. Class president. Loner. Which one are you? Now's the time to find out, to find others like you and stand together--allies in the silent war of the hallways.
But to do that, you first must know that you are a person. I never got that far.
Sometimes it was only a look. A brow furrowing in disapproval, eyes rolling almost comically far up into their heads, a brief scoff before finally turning away. I never knew what these things meant, but still I was left with a deep burning inside my heart. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the beginnings of teardrops forming in my throat. A powerful poison that was slowly, methodically, killing me.
I knew I wasn't like my peers. Not popular, beautiful, happy. Not normal. Through elementary and middle school, my apartness from them became painfully obvious in almost every way, but it wasn't until high school that I realized the true nature of the divide between us.
They were human. I wasn't.
I believed this. At first, it was because they told me. "Psycho. Freak. Loser. Retard." In between classes, alone in the hall, standing by myself not saying a word. If there was an opportunity, they took it, hurling insults like tommy gun-loaded paper airplanes whizzing through the air.
Am I someone? Am I even alive? the questions plagued my thoughts. After a while it became impossible to see the difference between their lie and my truth. Their words were pinballs, firing around in my mind through the maze of neurons and synapses, reverberating, shrieking as they traipsed and ran and looked for the end of the labyrinth, to no avail.
I was convinced that I wasn't really there; just a body, floating through those halls day after day, with no essence or tangibleness behind it. Nothing to tether me to the earth, to the rest of humanity. My soul belonged to them.
This was the storm that I lived in, with no shelter to run to, no protection to shield me. No matter where I tried to hide, the thunder always found me. And it roared.
My father gently rocks back and forth in his recliner, the screws squeaking quietly as I listen. The rain is beginning to subside now, the sky brightening, and the air is tinged with a crisp coolness. The trees are stained, their leaves heavy with damp. Tiny droplets hang from every edge, pulling them down as if bowed. Another survivor. I nod my head gently in reply. We have both made it through the storm.
My parents still live in the house I grew up in, about a two hour's drive from where I am now in New Jersey. Graduate school has kept me almost absurdly busy, and I don't go back there very often, except for the occasional orthodontist appointment or holiday.
There is a danger in visiting one's old hometown, in that you run the risk of seeing people you know. People from the past, who remind you of the person you used to be, and who you spent years trying to forget.
People you went to high school with.
The beige and black building is much smaller than I remember. At its feet rests a verdant landscape, the grassy, crater-shaped bowl used for baseball in summer and sledding in the winter. A long handrail in the middle of half moon-shaped steps leads the way to the front doors, whose once heavy handles yield easily to my hand. From faraway glance, it is peaceful, serene, and immaculately kept.
For me, it is and was my vale of tears.
It can be said that people spend most of their lives trying to figure out who they are. It can also be said that this process almost universally begins in high school. Jock. Nerd. Homecoming queen. Band geek. Class president. Loner. Which one are you? Now's the time to find out, to find others like you and stand together--allies in the silent war of the hallways.
But to do that, you first must know that you are a person. I never got that far.
Sometimes it was only a look. A brow furrowing in disapproval, eyes rolling almost comically far up into their heads, a brief scoff before finally turning away. I never knew what these things meant, but still I was left with a deep burning inside my heart. Chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the beginnings of teardrops forming in my throat. A powerful poison that was slowly, methodically, killing me.
I knew I wasn't like my peers. Not popular, beautiful, happy. Not normal. Through elementary and middle school, my apartness from them became painfully obvious in almost every way, but it wasn't until high school that I realized the true nature of the divide between us.
They were human. I wasn't.
I believed this. At first, it was because they told me. "Psycho. Freak. Loser. Retard." In between classes, alone in the hall, standing by myself not saying a word. If there was an opportunity, they took it, hurling insults like tommy gun-loaded paper airplanes whizzing through the air.
Am I someone? Am I even alive? the questions plagued my thoughts. After a while it became impossible to see the difference between their lie and my truth. Their words were pinballs, firing around in my mind through the maze of neurons and synapses, reverberating, shrieking as they traipsed and ran and looked for the end of the labyrinth, to no avail.
I was convinced that I wasn't really there; just a body, floating through those halls day after day, with no essence or tangibleness behind it. Nothing to tether me to the earth, to the rest of humanity. My soul belonged to them.
This was the storm that I lived in, with no shelter to run to, no protection to shield me. No matter where I tried to hide, the thunder always found me. And it roared.
My father gently rocks back and forth in his recliner, the screws squeaking quietly as I listen. The rain is beginning to subside now, the sky brightening, and the air is tinged with a crisp coolness. The trees are stained, their leaves heavy with damp. Tiny droplets hang from every edge, pulling them down as if bowed. Another survivor. I nod my head gently in reply. We have both made it through the storm.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Participants Still Needed!
CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS!
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
I am recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is currently ongoing and participation for each volunteer should last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thoughts on a Tragedy
I recently had the following link posted to my Facebook wall: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100722/ap_on_re_us/us_children_strangled. It's the horrifying story of a woman in Texas who murdered her two children with autism by strangling them with a wire.
What is there to say about a terrible story like this? It's sad. It's tragic. Beyond anything else, it's representative of a failure on so many fronts. It would be easy to blame the mother, to call her a whole host of names and condemn her to the lethal injection that is probably coming her way. But she is not the only one at fault here.
The articles mention that Texas is ranked #49 or #50 in terms of mental health services and supports. It's likely that there is also not much in the way of autism awareness, which leaves this woman--the parents of not one, but two autistic children--isolated, with no access to information or resources, and slipping deeper into the depression that the article said begun when she moved into that apartment.
Up here in the Northeast--especially the NYC area--there are autism organizations all over the place. Autism Speaks, Autism New Jersey, ASPEN, GRASP, the DJ Fiddle Foundation, AHA-NY, and more.
It is difficult enough raising a child with autism here, where awareness is high and resources are numerous. It is difficult, too, for we adults on the spectrum to find the services we need. Therefore, I can't imagine what it must've been like for this woman down in Texas, where there aren't many or even any of these groups, any support services of any kind; where "hope" is the longest long shot that there is.
It is circumstances like this that lead to desperation, to this woman thinking there was no other solution than the one she chose. Don't misunderstand me; I am not defending what she did in any way; she took the desperation she was feeling to its most extreme end, and two innocent children are now dead for it. But the whole atmosphere down there--the ignorance and the misunderstanding--is what helped to set the stage for this in the first place.
However...one thing that would move me to condemn her outright is how, in the article, she is quoted as saying, "They're autistic...not normal. Not normal. I want normal kids." That is an incredibly heartbreaking thing to say on top of everything, and unfortunately gives a sad insight into her mental process and perhaps that still of society at large--that having a "normal" child is better than having one with autism.
Had she even given the children up for adoption--which would have been better, because at least they'd still be alive--who knows how hard it would've been to find them an adoptive family because of their autism. But at least they would have had a chance. At least they would still have their lives.
So what do I think of this? I wish I could say I was shocked. I used to be, when I'd hear stories like this. Now I just add it to my growing mental list of horror stories that have come to represent such a system-wide failure. It is stories like this that make me ever-more determined to do what I do--to make this world a better place for individuals with autism, so that things like this never happen again.
What is there to say about a terrible story like this? It's sad. It's tragic. Beyond anything else, it's representative of a failure on so many fronts. It would be easy to blame the mother, to call her a whole host of names and condemn her to the lethal injection that is probably coming her way. But she is not the only one at fault here.
The articles mention that Texas is ranked #49 or #50 in terms of mental health services and supports. It's likely that there is also not much in the way of autism awareness, which leaves this woman--the parents of not one, but two autistic children--isolated, with no access to information or resources, and slipping deeper into the depression that the article said begun when she moved into that apartment.
Up here in the Northeast--especially the NYC area--there are autism organizations all over the place. Autism Speaks, Autism New Jersey, ASPEN, GRASP, the DJ Fiddle Foundation, AHA-NY, and more.
It is difficult enough raising a child with autism here, where awareness is high and resources are numerous. It is difficult, too, for we adults on the spectrum to find the services we need. Therefore, I can't imagine what it must've been like for this woman down in Texas, where there aren't many or even any of these groups, any support services of any kind; where "hope" is the longest long shot that there is.
It is circumstances like this that lead to desperation, to this woman thinking there was no other solution than the one she chose. Don't misunderstand me; I am not defending what she did in any way; she took the desperation she was feeling to its most extreme end, and two innocent children are now dead for it. But the whole atmosphere down there--the ignorance and the misunderstanding--is what helped to set the stage for this in the first place.
However...one thing that would move me to condemn her outright is how, in the article, she is quoted as saying, "They're autistic...not normal. Not normal. I want normal kids." That is an incredibly heartbreaking thing to say on top of everything, and unfortunately gives a sad insight into her mental process and perhaps that still of society at large--that having a "normal" child is better than having one with autism.
Had she even given the children up for adoption--which would have been better, because at least they'd still be alive--who knows how hard it would've been to find them an adoptive family because of their autism. But at least they would have had a chance. At least they would still have their lives.
So what do I think of this? I wish I could say I was shocked. I used to be, when I'd hear stories like this. Now I just add it to my growing mental list of horror stories that have come to represent such a system-wide failure. It is stories like this that make me ever-more determined to do what I do--to make this world a better place for individuals with autism, so that things like this never happen again.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Pity, Party of None
This is a comment that I made yesterday on Facebook, in response to comments I saw posted by someone with Asperger's Syndrome. She was frustrated because she just graduated from law school and doesn't have a job, and felt that the world had screwed her over.
Her comments belied a bitterness towards the world because of abuse she's suffered over the years and a general resentment towards having autism. She was basically feeling sorry for herself and saying that no one would try to treat her this way if she didn't have autism, and she was angry that no one "had the guts" to stand up for her. So I felt a very great need to respond to all of this, and this is what I wrote:
"Sometimes, when no one else will stand up for us, we have to have the guts to stand up for ourselves. Do you think there are any of us who HAVEN'T had the 'system' fail us? We are living and trying to be successful in a world that isn't designed for us, and yes, it sucks. But complaining and wallowing in self-pity accomplishes nothing except proving them right--that we are "damaged," "useless," "pathetic"...any of the names that I myself have been called and I'm sure others have been, too.
I know it's hard, but you have to stop listening to their voices, the voices that condemn you to failure, and listen to YOUR voice--the voice that says "I graduated from law school. I kick ass!" I mean, that's a HUGE accomplishment, and it says so much about you that you fought against those long odds and persevered and got that damn degree, despite what anyone said.
People told my parents I'd never go to a regular high school, let alone college, and that I'd work in a sheltered environment. This year, I'm about to graduate grad school with my Masters degree in Applied Behavior Analysis. I'm a writer, a public speaker, an activist and advocate for all people on the autism spectrum. I have had the fortune to have my voice heard, and so I especially try to represent the people whose voices haven't been heard. I know your frustration and your pain so well because they were once my own, too.
It would be very easy to use my diagnosis as a crutch--when I was younger, I used to say, "It's not my fault...I have Asperger's Syndrome." But blaming everything on the disorder is just as bad as not wanting it to exist. It's not all of who you are, but it's a part--a part that can either be negative or positive. And people that would abuse or try to take advantage of you don't do so because you have autism--it's because they perceive that you are vulnerable and not someone who would stand up for yourself. But if you do, if you have confidence and believe in yourself, they won't be able to push you around.
For me, having Asperger's Syndrome was once all negative, but rather than being crushed under the weight of it, I've used it to try and make a difference in the world. Look at it as an asset--a perspective that you have that NO ONE else does. With that and your law degree, I know you can change the world, too, and help to ensure that no one ever goes through what folks like you and I have gone through, ever again."
Her comments belied a bitterness towards the world because of abuse she's suffered over the years and a general resentment towards having autism. She was basically feeling sorry for herself and saying that no one would try to treat her this way if she didn't have autism, and she was angry that no one "had the guts" to stand up for her. So I felt a very great need to respond to all of this, and this is what I wrote:
"Sometimes, when no one else will stand up for us, we have to have the guts to stand up for ourselves. Do you think there are any of us who HAVEN'T had the 'system' fail us? We are living and trying to be successful in a world that isn't designed for us, and yes, it sucks. But complaining and wallowing in self-pity accomplishes nothing except proving them right--that we are "damaged," "useless," "pathetic"...any of the names that I myself have been called and I'm sure others have been, too.
I know it's hard, but you have to stop listening to their voices, the voices that condemn you to failure, and listen to YOUR voice--the voice that says "I graduated from law school. I kick ass!" I mean, that's a HUGE accomplishment, and it says so much about you that you fought against those long odds and persevered and got that damn degree, despite what anyone said.
People told my parents I'd never go to a regular high school, let alone college, and that I'd work in a sheltered environment. This year, I'm about to graduate grad school with my Masters degree in Applied Behavior Analysis. I'm a writer, a public speaker, an activist and advocate for all people on the autism spectrum. I have had the fortune to have my voice heard, and so I especially try to represent the people whose voices haven't been heard. I know your frustration and your pain so well because they were once my own, too.
It would be very easy to use my diagnosis as a crutch--when I was younger, I used to say, "It's not my fault...I have Asperger's Syndrome." But blaming everything on the disorder is just as bad as not wanting it to exist. It's not all of who you are, but it's a part--a part that can either be negative or positive. And people that would abuse or try to take advantage of you don't do so because you have autism--it's because they perceive that you are vulnerable and not someone who would stand up for yourself. But if you do, if you have confidence and believe in yourself, they won't be able to push you around.
For me, having Asperger's Syndrome was once all negative, but rather than being crushed under the weight of it, I've used it to try and make a difference in the world. Look at it as an asset--a perspective that you have that NO ONE else does. With that and your law degree, I know you can change the world, too, and help to ensure that no one ever goes through what folks like you and I have gone through, ever again."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Participants Wanted for Research Study!
Hi, Everyone!
I'm currently attempting to get my thesis study underway, and as such, I am need of participants! Please see the Call for Participants below (you can also find it on the Facebook page of Autism Speaks, here: http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=401225237905) and forward this to anyone you think might be interested. Thank you!
CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS!
I am currently recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is expected to begin on June 21st and last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
I'm currently attempting to get my thesis study underway, and as such, I am need of participants! Please see the Call for Participants below (you can also find it on the Facebook page of Autism Speaks, here: http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=401225237905) and forward this to anyone you think might be interested. Thank you!
CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS!
I am currently recruiting males over the age of 18 with a clinical diagnosis of Asperger's Syndrome for a study to teach how to ask someone out on a date. All volunteers will be required to have their own transportation and must be able to come to Caldwell College (located in Caldwell, NJ) three to four times per week. The study is expected to begin on June 21st and last for approximately three weeks. If you are interested in participating in this research, please contact Amy Gravino at AGrav3230@aol.com. Thank you!
Study Participation Criteria:
- Must be over the age of 18
- Must have official Asperger’s Syndrome diagnosis from an outside agency or clinic
- Must have transportation and/or live in the NYC/northern New Jersey area.
- Minimal to no previous social skills training
- Must have at least two to three unsuccessful previous attempts at asking someone out for a date.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Interview on NY Talk Radio!
Last night, my friend/business manager Nicole Turon-Diaz told me of a radio show called "Your Beautiful Child" on NY Talk Radio in Tribeca that she was going to be interviewed on today. The show addresses issues faced by parents of individuals with autism spectrum disorders, and Nicole was being interviewed about her organization, Learning By Design, and her upcoming collaboration with Joey Travolta on a summer film camp for kids with special needs.
Initially, Nicole asked if I would call in to the show, but when I told her that my meeting with my professor had been moved from today to Wednesday, she asked if I wanted to accompany her into the city and be on the show itself! I was quite surprised by this, but readily agreed.
So, we drove into the city today and met up with Shane B. Kulman, the woman who is the host of the show, for brunch at a restaurant in Tribeca called Bubby's. We discussed what would be happening on the show and what it would be like, and I found myself very excited for what lie ahead.
It was truly quite an experience, and so much fun. The show wasn't taped in your standard recording studio, either...it was in this building in Tribeca, on the first floor. There was a cat that kept crawling all over me (cute little bugger--left white hairs all over my black dress. Go figure). The room had five different decades of stuff in it: an '80s-looking mirror on the wall; an old, old Singer sewing machine from the 20s; an old radio; a huge vintage portrait of Elizabeth Taylor on the wall; and this coffee table that looked like it was carved out of a tree. Not to mention paisley Oriental rugs and a wet bar that looked like it was from the '70s. Apparently different shows can rent out the space to record there, and just...zowie. What a space indeed.
So, I am pleased to report that the interview went very well--I even got to read my "Letter to My Younger Self" on the air! If you're interested in listening, here is the link (just click on the "play" button, or click "Download" to download it to your computer): http://nytalkradio.net/wordpress/podcasts/your-beautiful-child/lucky-13/. Please do let me know what you think of the show if you decide to listen. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!
Initially, Nicole asked if I would call in to the show, but when I told her that my meeting with my professor had been moved from today to Wednesday, she asked if I wanted to accompany her into the city and be on the show itself! I was quite surprised by this, but readily agreed.
So, we drove into the city today and met up with Shane B. Kulman, the woman who is the host of the show, for brunch at a restaurant in Tribeca called Bubby's. We discussed what would be happening on the show and what it would be like, and I found myself very excited for what lie ahead.
It was truly quite an experience, and so much fun. The show wasn't taped in your standard recording studio, either...it was in this building in Tribeca, on the first floor. There was a cat that kept crawling all over me (cute little bugger--left white hairs all over my black dress. Go figure). The room had five different decades of stuff in it: an '80s-looking mirror on the wall; an old, old Singer sewing machine from the 20s; an old radio; a huge vintage portrait of Elizabeth Taylor on the wall; and this coffee table that looked like it was carved out of a tree. Not to mention paisley Oriental rugs and a wet bar that looked like it was from the '70s. Apparently different shows can rent out the space to record there, and just...zowie. What a space indeed.
So, I am pleased to report that the interview went very well--I even got to read my "Letter to My Younger Self" on the air! If you're interested in listening, here is the link (just click on the "play" button, or click "Download" to download it to your computer): http://nytalkradio.net/wordpress/podcasts/your-beautiful-child/lucky-13/. Please do let me know what you think of the show if you decide to listen. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy it!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Friends with Benefits
This past Tuesday, I attended the 6th annual benefit for GRASP, the Global and Regional Asperger Syndrome Partnership. Each year, GRASP gives out three awards: the DNA (Divine Neurotypical Award) to a neurotypical individual who has made tremendous contributions and worked towards helping the autism/Asperger's community, the FAB (Friend and Benefactor award) to an organization that has funded and worked towards improving the lives of individuals on the spectrum, and, most recently, the DSM (Distinguished Spectrumite Medal) to a person who is on the spectrum themselves, for their contributions to the Asperger's community.
This year's honorees were Lois Rosenwald (DNA), Linda Walder-Fiddle (FAB), and John Elder Robison (DSM). I was especially thrilled to hear about Linda, as I am on the Self-Advocate Advisory Board for her organization, the Daniel Jordan Fiddle Foundation. Having met John at the AHA-NY conference last month, I was also happy to hear about him getting the DSM, as he is a very nice, very funny man and has done quite a lot to raise the profile of Asperger's Syndrome in the media.
Every year, Michael John Carley (Executive Director of GRASP) has a young adult diagnosed with Asperger's stand up and speak for a few minutes before the awards are given out, to say what GRASP has meant to them over the years. As excited as I was to attend the benefit in the first place, my spirits soared when Michael asked me to be the one to speak this year. I remembered sitting in the audience last year and wishing that it was I who was up there speaking. Stranger things, eh?
It is a bit daunting, however, to condense all that I could say into a 5-minute speech. I had jotted down a few notes on a purple index card, just to remind myself of the points I wanted to touch on, but once I got up there, I hardly even looked at it. The words just seemed to flow, and I spoke from my heart. I don't know if anyone was video recording it, but I feel pretty good about what I said and I believe I got my message across articulately and with poise (which is rare for me, because my spazitude has always gotten in the way of even the tiniest scrap of poise that I might have had in the past).
Just when I thought the evening couldn't get any better...it did! Malachy McCourt (brother of author Frank, who wrote Angela's Ashes, and who is an author, playwright, and political activist in his own right) was in attendance as the resident "celebrity auctioneer" who hosted the silent auction that was taking place. He got up at the end to announce the winners of the auctions, but before he did, he quoted a part of my speech! I had at one point compared being a person with Asperger's Syndrome in a roomful of neurotypicals to Lawrence Welk being at the Apollo Theater.
"Lawrence Welk at the Apollo...that image will stay with me forever!" Malachy declared, and I laughed, elated beyond all measure that he had both quoted me AND liked the joke that I made! I just couldn't believe it. I went up to him afterwards and thanked him for giving me a shout-out, and he was just so sweet, saying that he had loved my speech and the way I'd spoken. He's like an old Irish grandpa, and he tells wonderfully bawdy jokes and has a razor-sharp wit. I even gave him a big hug, and he hugged me back.
My parents were at the benefit, too, and I was able to introduce them to Marc Sirkin from Autism Speaks, the man who had asked to publish my "Letter to My Younger Self" on Autism Speaks' blog. He had brought with him another gentleman named Kai MacMahon, who is the new Director of Online Fundraising at Autism Speaks. Kai introduced himself to me (I liked him right off the bat because he's English. The accent does it for me, what can I say), and we had a lovely little conversation about cooking and my ability and his lack thereof. He said he'd read my Letter as well and had really enjoyed it.
I also met Jesse Saperstein, who just published a book called "Atypical: Life with Asperger's in 20 1/3 Chapters." Interestingly, Jesse is the person who played the same role at the benefit last year that I played this year. I am hoping that, with any small measure of luck, I will follow in his footsteps and have published "The Naughty Autie" by this time next year. In fact, Jesse told me that he was going to refer his publisher to me, because they are looking to publish books about Asperger's Syndrome. So, fingers and toes crossed! We'll see what happens.
I have to admit, I was a little nervous about my speech, if only because I wanted to be sure I covered all of the ground that needed to be covered, and that I did it well. People were coming up to me afterwards to offer all sorts of praise, and so it seems my speech went over like gangbusters! Everyone was so kind and friendly, and it greatly put my mind at ease, that's for sure.
So, overall, the 6th annual GRASP benefit was a smashing success. My friend/business manager Nicole had donated three necklaces to the silent auction, and at least one was bid on (I'm sure all of them were, though). I got to see lots of old, familiar faces, and a few new ones of people who'd heard of me and even read my blog! So here's a big *wave* to all of you out there. Thank you for coming up to me and letting me know who you are! I hope to meet all of the readers of my blog someday, because your support has meant so much to me as I continue on this journey to making the voices heard of all those who are on the autism spectrum. Today, the GRASP benefit in NYC; tomorrow--the world. :)
And now, for a few pictures from the evening!
Linda Walder-Fiddle and me
Marc Sirkin, Chief Community Officer of Autism Speaks, and me
My mom and me speaking to author Jesse Saperstein at his book-signing table.
Me speaking at the benefit. You can't tell here, but Malachy McCourt was in the row right behind where my parents and I were sitting!
This year's honorees were Lois Rosenwald (DNA), Linda Walder-Fiddle (FAB), and John Elder Robison (DSM). I was especially thrilled to hear about Linda, as I am on the Self-Advocate Advisory Board for her organization, the Daniel Jordan Fiddle Foundation. Having met John at the AHA-NY conference last month, I was also happy to hear about him getting the DSM, as he is a very nice, very funny man and has done quite a lot to raise the profile of Asperger's Syndrome in the media.
Every year, Michael John Carley (Executive Director of GRASP) has a young adult diagnosed with Asperger's stand up and speak for a few minutes before the awards are given out, to say what GRASP has meant to them over the years. As excited as I was to attend the benefit in the first place, my spirits soared when Michael asked me to be the one to speak this year. I remembered sitting in the audience last year and wishing that it was I who was up there speaking. Stranger things, eh?
It is a bit daunting, however, to condense all that I could say into a 5-minute speech. I had jotted down a few notes on a purple index card, just to remind myself of the points I wanted to touch on, but once I got up there, I hardly even looked at it. The words just seemed to flow, and I spoke from my heart. I don't know if anyone was video recording it, but I feel pretty good about what I said and I believe I got my message across articulately and with poise (which is rare for me, because my spazitude has always gotten in the way of even the tiniest scrap of poise that I might have had in the past).
Just when I thought the evening couldn't get any better...it did! Malachy McCourt (brother of author Frank, who wrote Angela's Ashes, and who is an author, playwright, and political activist in his own right) was in attendance as the resident "celebrity auctioneer" who hosted the silent auction that was taking place. He got up at the end to announce the winners of the auctions, but before he did, he quoted a part of my speech! I had at one point compared being a person with Asperger's Syndrome in a roomful of neurotypicals to Lawrence Welk being at the Apollo Theater.
"Lawrence Welk at the Apollo...that image will stay with me forever!" Malachy declared, and I laughed, elated beyond all measure that he had both quoted me AND liked the joke that I made! I just couldn't believe it. I went up to him afterwards and thanked him for giving me a shout-out, and he was just so sweet, saying that he had loved my speech and the way I'd spoken. He's like an old Irish grandpa, and he tells wonderfully bawdy jokes and has a razor-sharp wit. I even gave him a big hug, and he hugged me back.
My parents were at the benefit, too, and I was able to introduce them to Marc Sirkin from Autism Speaks, the man who had asked to publish my "Letter to My Younger Self" on Autism Speaks' blog. He had brought with him another gentleman named Kai MacMahon, who is the new Director of Online Fundraising at Autism Speaks. Kai introduced himself to me (I liked him right off the bat because he's English. The accent does it for me, what can I say), and we had a lovely little conversation about cooking and my ability and his lack thereof. He said he'd read my Letter as well and had really enjoyed it.
I also met Jesse Saperstein, who just published a book called "Atypical: Life with Asperger's in 20 1/3 Chapters." Interestingly, Jesse is the person who played the same role at the benefit last year that I played this year. I am hoping that, with any small measure of luck, I will follow in his footsteps and have published "The Naughty Autie" by this time next year. In fact, Jesse told me that he was going to refer his publisher to me, because they are looking to publish books about Asperger's Syndrome. So, fingers and toes crossed! We'll see what happens.
I have to admit, I was a little nervous about my speech, if only because I wanted to be sure I covered all of the ground that needed to be covered, and that I did it well. People were coming up to me afterwards to offer all sorts of praise, and so it seems my speech went over like gangbusters! Everyone was so kind and friendly, and it greatly put my mind at ease, that's for sure.
So, overall, the 6th annual GRASP benefit was a smashing success. My friend/business manager Nicole had donated three necklaces to the silent auction, and at least one was bid on (I'm sure all of them were, though). I got to see lots of old, familiar faces, and a few new ones of people who'd heard of me and even read my blog! So here's a big *wave* to all of you out there. Thank you for coming up to me and letting me know who you are! I hope to meet all of the readers of my blog someday, because your support has meant so much to me as I continue on this journey to making the voices heard of all those who are on the autism spectrum. Today, the GRASP benefit in NYC; tomorrow--the world. :)
And now, for a few pictures from the evening!
Marc Sirkin, Chief Community Officer of Autism Speaks, and me
My mom and me speaking to author Jesse Saperstein at his book-signing table.
Me speaking at the benefit. You can't tell here, but Malachy McCourt was in the row right behind where my parents and I were sitting!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Everything in Moderation
So, here we are now on the 13th of May, and I have some wonderful new things to write about!
First of all, on May 1st, I had a first of my own: my first time acting as a moderator for a panel at a conference. AHA-NY (AHANY.org) is a support organization on Long Island for individuals with high-functioning autism and Asperger's Syndrome. My mom happens to be on the board of this organization, and I've known the president, Pat Schissel, for a great many years. I got my start in public speaking at AHA-NY's Spring conference ages ago, as a member of the teen panel when I was 14.
That was when the conference was still held at Roslyn High School, but now it's become bigger and better than ever, and for the past several years, has been held at Adelphi University in Garden City, NY. This year promised to be extra special, as the keynote speaker was John Elder Robison, author of Look Me in the Eye. As it turned out, John was also one of the speakers on the adult panel...the very panel that I was asked to moderate.
The topic of the panel was adults who had received their autism diagnoses in adulthood (in their 20s, 30s, 40s, and beyond) and how it affected their relationships with others and their lives overall. Aside from John, the other panelists were Ryan Oldis, Zosia Zaks, and Branden Plank. I remember standing, waiting, as Pat introduced me to the crowd. I actually spoke on another adult panel at that conference five years ago, with Stephen Shore and another person, and it was also the last AHA Spring conference that I attended. How different...how fitting, to be returning in this new role.
I think I did a fairly decent job, despite not having the effortless smoothness that seasoned moderators possess. I was able to meet John Robison before the panel, and after at the post-conference gathering at Pat's house, which was quite nice. And, funnily enough, I will be seeing him again at GRASP's annual benefit on June 8th in NYC, where he is receiving the DSM (Distinguished Spectrumite Medal) award, and where Michael John Carley has asked me to speak for a few moments about what GRASP has meant to me.
In other news, on April 29th, I defended my Masters thesis for a second time. I spent months revising and reworking my proposal, with the help of my advisor, Ken Reeve, and together we made my study a thing of beauty to behold. I hardly felt nervous at all as I prepared for my defense--and those preparations included making food for the big day to bring to my committee: Quinoa pilaf with spring vegetables (asparagus, orange bell pepper, red bell pepper, zucchini, golden beets); mini-grilled cheese sandwiches with fontina, Parmesan, sage, and prosciutto; and a blueberry cornmeal cake for dessert.
The defense went so smoothly--far more than the first one had back in December. And I am pleased as punch to report that my proposal was accepted with minor revisions! So that means I just have to make a few small changes, and I can then start running my study. I've met with my professor and gone over the changes that need to be made, and if all goes according to schedule and I obtain my participants without too much trouble, I should be up and running by the beginning of June.
The last bit of news that I have to share is that this weekend coming up is very special, because it's my graduation. Sunday is the commencement ceremony, and I'll be decked out in my cap and gown, walking up that aisle and on stage to receive my diploma (holder). I feel like a bit of a phony because I'm not actually going to get my diploma until August (since I'm not finished with my study yet). But the event itself is still important, and I just can't believe it's finally here.
I'm going to get pictures with my professors and my family (my mom, dad, godmother/aunt, and godfather/uncle will be in attendance), and will put them up here on the blog once I have them, so keep your eyes on this space. :)
First of all, on May 1st, I had a first of my own: my first time acting as a moderator for a panel at a conference. AHA-NY (AHANY.org) is a support organization on Long Island for individuals with high-functioning autism and Asperger's Syndrome. My mom happens to be on the board of this organization, and I've known the president, Pat Schissel, for a great many years. I got my start in public speaking at AHA-NY's Spring conference ages ago, as a member of the teen panel when I was 14.
That was when the conference was still held at Roslyn High School, but now it's become bigger and better than ever, and for the past several years, has been held at Adelphi University in Garden City, NY. This year promised to be extra special, as the keynote speaker was John Elder Robison, author of Look Me in the Eye. As it turned out, John was also one of the speakers on the adult panel...the very panel that I was asked to moderate.
The topic of the panel was adults who had received their autism diagnoses in adulthood (in their 20s, 30s, 40s, and beyond) and how it affected their relationships with others and their lives overall. Aside from John, the other panelists were Ryan Oldis, Zosia Zaks, and Branden Plank. I remember standing, waiting, as Pat introduced me to the crowd. I actually spoke on another adult panel at that conference five years ago, with Stephen Shore and another person, and it was also the last AHA Spring conference that I attended. How different...how fitting, to be returning in this new role.
I think I did a fairly decent job, despite not having the effortless smoothness that seasoned moderators possess. I was able to meet John Robison before the panel, and after at the post-conference gathering at Pat's house, which was quite nice. And, funnily enough, I will be seeing him again at GRASP's annual benefit on June 8th in NYC, where he is receiving the DSM (Distinguished Spectrumite Medal) award, and where Michael John Carley has asked me to speak for a few moments about what GRASP has meant to me.
In other news, on April 29th, I defended my Masters thesis for a second time. I spent months revising and reworking my proposal, with the help of my advisor, Ken Reeve, and together we made my study a thing of beauty to behold. I hardly felt nervous at all as I prepared for my defense--and those preparations included making food for the big day to bring to my committee: Quinoa pilaf with spring vegetables (asparagus, orange bell pepper, red bell pepper, zucchini, golden beets); mini-grilled cheese sandwiches with fontina, Parmesan, sage, and prosciutto; and a blueberry cornmeal cake for dessert.
The defense went so smoothly--far more than the first one had back in December. And I am pleased as punch to report that my proposal was accepted with minor revisions! So that means I just have to make a few small changes, and I can then start running my study. I've met with my professor and gone over the changes that need to be made, and if all goes according to schedule and I obtain my participants without too much trouble, I should be up and running by the beginning of June.
The last bit of news that I have to share is that this weekend coming up is very special, because it's my graduation. Sunday is the commencement ceremony, and I'll be decked out in my cap and gown, walking up that aisle and on stage to receive my diploma (holder). I feel like a bit of a phony because I'm not actually going to get my diploma until August (since I'm not finished with my study yet). But the event itself is still important, and I just can't believe it's finally here.
I'm going to get pictures with my professors and my family (my mom, dad, godmother/aunt, and godfather/uncle will be in attendance), and will put them up here on the blog once I have them, so keep your eyes on this space. :)
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Thoughts on Mother's Day
Mother's Day is the day we celebrate mothers. We also celebrate foster mothers, grandmothers, aunts...those who are with us now and who have come before us to play that unique, unalterable role in our lives. I was at my parents' house on Long Island yesterday. My mom's cousin Lenore and her daughter Jen came from New Jersey to celebrate the day with us. We were eating dinner, talking of many different stories of life in years past, moments from my mom and Lenore's youthful days, and memories in which our lives intertwined in different ways.
One particular memory that came up was what happened to my mother when she developed post-partum depression after I was born in 1983. I was five weeks early, as many people know--born March 23rd, instead of the expected April 27th. Everything was chaotic in those early days, though blissful; my mom nursed me without issue from March right on through to the summer.
It was in July that things changed.
I sat listening as my father described what it was like--how she would stand in the doorway of our old house on Jamaica Avenue, standing as if waiting for a trolley car to come by. She'd begun to slip before then, and so my dad had ferried baby me off to New Jersey, where my Sitto and other grandparents took care of me. He watched her crumbling, the very threads of her sanity coming unloosed, day by day. Hallucinations. Thinking she had the answers to the world's problems...while my dad sat helpless, unable to find the answers to hers.
She was hospitalized in the psych ward at Mather Hospital for a brief period, but was able to convince her doctor to have her released. But still, my dad couldn't handle her, and as the months went on, she drifted farther away. He went to bring her back to Mather in November, on the eve of Thanksgiving, only to find out that their 11-bed ward had no room for her--they'd given her bed away.
The next nearest facility was in Smithtown, and the only vehicle able to take my mom was a police car. It was late at night, and my dad drove as fast as he could in his then-car, a Volkswagen Rabbit, trying to keep up with the cruiser.
My mom stayed there until January, and every day, after he got finished teaching, my dad would go to visit her. He'd buy her egg creams in the hospital cafeteria (her favorite), and would stay with her for the two hours that visitors were allotted. He described how, when he would leave, the door of the ward would coldly lock shut behind him. I could tell how painful it was for him not only to visit, but to leave her there.
The doctors tried several different medications to help my mother, but none worked. This left only one other course of treatment: electroshock therapy. She had eight treatments in all; it was finally after the fourth that my father said he saw a change in her--saw the light begin to return to her eyes as she slowly grew lucid. The hallucinations stopped, and she became something like her old self again.
Eight electroshock treatments. That's what it took to restore the chemical imbalance in my mother's brain, to bring her back from this dark place that she'd been living in. She was prescribed lithium and seen under a doctor's care for a year following her release from this facility. My dad was able to bring me back to Long Island, and there, my mother learned to take care of me, for a second time.
My father is not what you'd call an emotional man. As I sat at the dining room table, my knees pulled up tight to my chest, I could see the pain in him rising to the surface. The slight watering of his eyes as he recalled the details so vividly. I felt a tightness in my own chest, an overwhelming sadness that my mother and he ever had to go through that. I know, without question, that it was one of the most difficult periods of both their lives.
Even though I know I have no reason to, some small part of me feels responsible for what happened to her. I was just a baby at the time, but it was carrying me that caused the chemistry of her body to change. And it left her sick...sick to where I'm sure my dad must've wondered if she would ever truly be well again.
I was a lousy person when I was a teenager, but, most teenagers are. I know I wasn't as grateful for her as I should have been, and now, especially after hearing my dad recount that story today, I don't know if I'll ever be grateful enough. I've heard it said that mothers do so much for their kids--they help them, love them, discipline them...and sometimes suffer for them. But I never wanted my mom to suffer for me.
Two weekends ago, she and I went to visit a former teacher of mine from high school, Ms. Llorens. I had her for Latin in 7th grade, and her son was in the same grade as I, and only one of a few classmates of mine who ever treated me decently. She was diagnosed with breast cancer not long ago, and has undergone chemotherapy, and, after taking the month of May off, will have to undergo radiation treatment throughout June.
Although my mom has visited her several times (always on Sundays), I hadn't had a chance to see her since finding out about the cancer. I didn't know what to expect when we went over to her house, and then the door opened...and she was still her. She had a knitted cap on, and her eyebrows were nearly all gone as a result of the chemo. But when she smiled, it was the same wide smile I'd always remembered, pushing her cheeks up and rounded as it spread across her face.
We sat on some couches in a room next to the kitchen, drinking tea, and she and my mom ate pieces of the blueberry cornmeal cake I'd brought that was leftover from my thesis defense. The topic of conversation varied widely, and at one point, one of her other sons called the house. She briefly spoke a bit of Spanish to him on the phone, and the sound of her speaking it was like music. I remember how, when I was in high school, she'd stand outside her classroom greeting incoming students with a melodious, "¡Hola!" and that big smile.
The greatest connection Ms. Llorens and I share, however, is that we have the same birthday. I sometimes joke about how everyone and their brother seems to be born on March 23rd these days, but I never minded sharing a birthday with her. Somehow, it made it more special, and I would always walk into the Foreign Language Office and say, "Happy Birthday, birthday buddy!" and she'd smile right back at me and wish me a happy birthday.
So as I sat there, cup of tea in hand, listening to her talk about the cancer...the sheer awfulness of being told that you have it, and the strength that she hasn't had because of it, and how long it took her just to be able to leave the house, I could feel the tears springing up at the corners of my eyes. I told her that if I could, I would take all of the pain she experienced/is experiencing and would feel it for her, so she wouldn't have to. And I meant it.
I later told my mom the same thing, that if she ever got sick in some way, I would want to do that for her. She just chuckled softly in her mom way and said, "Thank you, sweetie." But she was sick, once upon a time, and I cannot imagine what Ms. Llorens is going through, or what my mom and dad went through all those years ago.
The only thing I know is that I would give up the entire world if I could take away all of the fear and anxiety and anguish that they felt. Because I know moms are supposed to be the givers, the sacrificers, the do-it-alls...that's what we celebrate on Mother's Day. The seeming infallibility and invincibility of these wonderful women who have shaped our lives so profoundly. To know of Ms. Llorens' and my mother's vulnerability is frightening, in part because I know I'm no longer the little girl who thinks grownups are strong and perfect. But it's also scary because I can't do a damn thing about either situation.
Well, maybe that's not so true. I know that one thing I can do is to hold both of these women close in my heart, as I always have. And whatever guilt I may feel over my mother's sickness or grief over Ms. Llorens', I still want what I've always wanted: for them to be proud of me. So all I can do is honor them, by being the type of women they are. The givers. The sacrificers. Mothers who do everything and ask for nothing, but deserve so much. Hopefully, someday...I'll be able to give it to them.
Me, around age 3, with my mom.
One particular memory that came up was what happened to my mother when she developed post-partum depression after I was born in 1983. I was five weeks early, as many people know--born March 23rd, instead of the expected April 27th. Everything was chaotic in those early days, though blissful; my mom nursed me without issue from March right on through to the summer.
It was in July that things changed.
I sat listening as my father described what it was like--how she would stand in the doorway of our old house on Jamaica Avenue, standing as if waiting for a trolley car to come by. She'd begun to slip before then, and so my dad had ferried baby me off to New Jersey, where my Sitto and other grandparents took care of me. He watched her crumbling, the very threads of her sanity coming unloosed, day by day. Hallucinations. Thinking she had the answers to the world's problems...while my dad sat helpless, unable to find the answers to hers.
She was hospitalized in the psych ward at Mather Hospital for a brief period, but was able to convince her doctor to have her released. But still, my dad couldn't handle her, and as the months went on, she drifted farther away. He went to bring her back to Mather in November, on the eve of Thanksgiving, only to find out that their 11-bed ward had no room for her--they'd given her bed away.
The next nearest facility was in Smithtown, and the only vehicle able to take my mom was a police car. It was late at night, and my dad drove as fast as he could in his then-car, a Volkswagen Rabbit, trying to keep up with the cruiser.
My mom stayed there until January, and every day, after he got finished teaching, my dad would go to visit her. He'd buy her egg creams in the hospital cafeteria (her favorite), and would stay with her for the two hours that visitors were allotted. He described how, when he would leave, the door of the ward would coldly lock shut behind him. I could tell how painful it was for him not only to visit, but to leave her there.
The doctors tried several different medications to help my mother, but none worked. This left only one other course of treatment: electroshock therapy. She had eight treatments in all; it was finally after the fourth that my father said he saw a change in her--saw the light begin to return to her eyes as she slowly grew lucid. The hallucinations stopped, and she became something like her old self again.
Eight electroshock treatments. That's what it took to restore the chemical imbalance in my mother's brain, to bring her back from this dark place that she'd been living in. She was prescribed lithium and seen under a doctor's care for a year following her release from this facility. My dad was able to bring me back to Long Island, and there, my mother learned to take care of me, for a second time.
My father is not what you'd call an emotional man. As I sat at the dining room table, my knees pulled up tight to my chest, I could see the pain in him rising to the surface. The slight watering of his eyes as he recalled the details so vividly. I felt a tightness in my own chest, an overwhelming sadness that my mother and he ever had to go through that. I know, without question, that it was one of the most difficult periods of both their lives.
Even though I know I have no reason to, some small part of me feels responsible for what happened to her. I was just a baby at the time, but it was carrying me that caused the chemistry of her body to change. And it left her sick...sick to where I'm sure my dad must've wondered if she would ever truly be well again.
I was a lousy person when I was a teenager, but, most teenagers are. I know I wasn't as grateful for her as I should have been, and now, especially after hearing my dad recount that story today, I don't know if I'll ever be grateful enough. I've heard it said that mothers do so much for their kids--they help them, love them, discipline them...and sometimes suffer for them. But I never wanted my mom to suffer for me.
Two weekends ago, she and I went to visit a former teacher of mine from high school, Ms. Llorens. I had her for Latin in 7th grade, and her son was in the same grade as I, and only one of a few classmates of mine who ever treated me decently. She was diagnosed with breast cancer not long ago, and has undergone chemotherapy, and, after taking the month of May off, will have to undergo radiation treatment throughout June.
Although my mom has visited her several times (always on Sundays), I hadn't had a chance to see her since finding out about the cancer. I didn't know what to expect when we went over to her house, and then the door opened...and she was still her. She had a knitted cap on, and her eyebrows were nearly all gone as a result of the chemo. But when she smiled, it was the same wide smile I'd always remembered, pushing her cheeks up and rounded as it spread across her face.
We sat on some couches in a room next to the kitchen, drinking tea, and she and my mom ate pieces of the blueberry cornmeal cake I'd brought that was leftover from my thesis defense. The topic of conversation varied widely, and at one point, one of her other sons called the house. She briefly spoke a bit of Spanish to him on the phone, and the sound of her speaking it was like music. I remember how, when I was in high school, she'd stand outside her classroom greeting incoming students with a melodious, "¡Hola!" and that big smile.
The greatest connection Ms. Llorens and I share, however, is that we have the same birthday. I sometimes joke about how everyone and their brother seems to be born on March 23rd these days, but I never minded sharing a birthday with her. Somehow, it made it more special, and I would always walk into the Foreign Language Office and say, "Happy Birthday, birthday buddy!" and she'd smile right back at me and wish me a happy birthday.
So as I sat there, cup of tea in hand, listening to her talk about the cancer...the sheer awfulness of being told that you have it, and the strength that she hasn't had because of it, and how long it took her just to be able to leave the house, I could feel the tears springing up at the corners of my eyes. I told her that if I could, I would take all of the pain she experienced/is experiencing and would feel it for her, so she wouldn't have to. And I meant it.
I later told my mom the same thing, that if she ever got sick in some way, I would want to do that for her. She just chuckled softly in her mom way and said, "Thank you, sweetie." But she was sick, once upon a time, and I cannot imagine what Ms. Llorens is going through, or what my mom and dad went through all those years ago.
The only thing I know is that I would give up the entire world if I could take away all of the fear and anxiety and anguish that they felt. Because I know moms are supposed to be the givers, the sacrificers, the do-it-alls...that's what we celebrate on Mother's Day. The seeming infallibility and invincibility of these wonderful women who have shaped our lives so profoundly. To know of Ms. Llorens' and my mother's vulnerability is frightening, in part because I know I'm no longer the little girl who thinks grownups are strong and perfect. But it's also scary because I can't do a damn thing about either situation.
Well, maybe that's not so true. I know that one thing I can do is to hold both of these women close in my heart, as I always have. And whatever guilt I may feel over my mother's sickness or grief over Ms. Llorens', I still want what I've always wanted: for them to be proud of me. So all I can do is honor them, by being the type of women they are. The givers. The sacrificers. Mothers who do everything and ask for nothing, but deserve so much. Hopefully, someday...I'll be able to give it to them.
Me, around age 3, with my mom.
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