Growing up With Jared: The Broken People

Growing up With Jared: The Broken People: We sit among the broken people, young, unwed mothers with babies not much younger than they, a gentleman just out of a correctional facility...

The Broken People

We sit among the broken people, young, unwed mothers with babies not much younger than they, a gentleman just out of a correctional facility downstate, a widow, twisting her hankerchief, my son and I.  The conversation goes something like this:

Jared:  I don't want to go away from you and John.  Who will take care of me?
Me:  Don't worry, Jar, even if you move away from us, we will always take care of you.
Jared: But what if you die?
Me: Then John will make sure you are ok.
Jared:  But what if John dies?
I turn in my chair and face my son, a promise in my eyes as I say:  "promise you that you will always be cared for. If we leave, then there will always be someone to take care of you, to make sure you are safe. To make sure you are happy."
Jared: OK, mom

And we sit, for another hour while the papers we brought with us, the ones that declare my son as a person with a disability, are shuffled through, copied, then paperclipped again, then  handed back to me to be put in a folder labled, Jared-SSI.
Jared notes that the folders I hold are really thick.  "Do my brothers have as much paperwork as I do? " he asks. "No," I tell him. You are the lucky one, the one with the most papers. " And we sit. The man from prison assures the young social worker next to us that he was discharged from that facility downstate, that he would have brought the papers with him if he knew they would be needed.  We sit, next to the young Asian boys, fingers furiously playing at their laptops, as they converse animatedly in their native tongue, procuring the proper paperwork, that I assume allows them to stay here to continue their studies. We sit, as a young mother, barely 15, comes in with her son and his suspicious cough.  So much struggle in this space. And to be a part of it yesterday was exhausting, yet another reminder of our differences, Jared and me.
And finally, we leave; the proper papers have been filed. The appropriate questions have been asked.  We've supplied the answers they require.  We ride the gray elevator down four floors and walk toward the metal detector. Jared reminds me to pick up my phone from the armed guard standing near the door.  And we walk through, my son and I. We walk to the car, get in. I turn on the music, and it's a song that Jared and I both love. As we drive, I reach over, ruffle his dirty blond hair, and we look at eachother and smile.

Growing up With Jared: Trimming the Tree

Growing up With Jared: Trimming the Tree: Every year, it seems that the time to decorate the Christmas tree comes faster and faster and the boys get bigger and bigger. This year was ...

Trimming the Tree

Every year, it seems that the time to decorate the Christmas tree comes faster and faster and the boys get bigger and bigger. This year was particularly poignant in that much of the decorating of the tree has become the their job. Yes, I still am a bit controlling about where the hockey player ornaments hang (bottom bows, near the back of the tree), but you know what I noticed? I didn't move the ornaments as much as I have in past Christmas seasons; you know the move: when the kids aren't looking, you surreptitiously move a particularly heavy ornament from a weak and droopy branch to a sturdier one on another part of the tree, or you come down early the next morning and "re-hang" the ornaments where you "really" think they should have gone in the first place, or certain ornaments that were there last year (the scary looking reindeer with one eye missing or the chipped gingerbread man, you know the ones I mean) fail to find their way out of the box. But not this year. This year, the ornaments are staying right where the boys, our growing and busy boys, chose to put them. Our youngest had a conference with my husband about the best place for those hockey players before setting up a scrimmage under a needled roof. Our middle child reached the tallest branches for us. And Jared carried up the heaviest boxes from the basement for me, claiming, "Geez Mom! This isn't heavy at all!" And for him, it wasn't, not anymore, not this year. At one point, Jake asked my husband and me how he would have enough ornaments for his own Christmas tree when he grows up and moves out.  I told him not to worry; ornaments have a way of accumulating over the years. That's the fun part of it.  But it struck us; the boys are growing up. It won't be too many years before they are hanging their own ornaments on a tree that they pick out themselves. I'll probably give them each a hockey player.

Growing up With Jared: Thanksgiving

Growing up With Jared: Thanksgiving: Seemed like an appropriate, if cliche time of year, to put some of my "thank-you's" down... I am thankful for Mr. Z a quiet man who is alwa...

Thanksgiving

Seemed like an appropriate, if cliche time of year, to put some of my "thank-you's" down...
I am thankful for Mr. Z a quiet man who is always there to help Jared be a part of the wrestling team.  I am thankful for all of those people who stand by our most vulnerable and who give up part of their life to enrich other's. They don't have to do that, but they do, and for that I am thankful. I'm thankful for the Special Olympics coaches who always, always have smiles and support for the athletes.  I'm thankful for the teens in the Friend to Friend program who take time to hang out with the kids in the high school with special needs; the ones who have the same desires for goofy fun that we all did as teenagers. And I'm thankful for those same Friend to Friend volunteers who don't wait for an official meeting to talk with the boy with autism or to make the girl in the wheelchair laugh. I'm thankful for our church community and for all the moms (and some of the dads) who cried yesterday when Jared sang, "Let Their be Peace on Earth", his voice ringing through the building and envleloping all who were there with a love so strong that I'm sure God was in the room with us.  I'm thankful for the babies Jared will hold even though he will not have a child of his own to raise.  I'm thankful for the moms who encourage their children to accept Jared's offers of love and care.  I'm thankful for my husband, who stands by me, unwavering when I lose it, supporting me when I'm scared about the future, but most importantly, telling me how funny I am, how he admires that, more often than not, I face the world with a smile and with an optimistic view that paints everything as just right.  What I don't tell him is that it is his support that lends to that bright outlook.  And you know what?  I can't think of anything that went really right when I faced it with negativity.  I'm thankful for my sons, my strong, handsome, and funny almost 15 year old, who even when Jared drives him crazy, still takes care of him and would protect him against anything, and my silly, sweet, beautiful almost 8 year old (whom I heard singing "Let There be Peace on Earth" in the kitchen last night when he didn't know anyone was listening.) I am thankful for the doctors who fixed Jared's heart so many years ago and the nurses who protected my baby like mother tigers.  I'm thankful for all of the doctors and nurses in the world. You have the bravest jobs.  I'm thankful as I hear my children stirring this morning while I write this. Jared has been up since before me, his brother is packing a lunch, and another brother burrows under his covers on this cold November morning. This holiday time morning, let there be a peace so strong that it is palpable, that you feel the warmth of that peace as you look around and think about what it is that you are thankful for.
God Bless you all, and happy Thanksgiving.

Growing up With Jared: A Good Life

Growing up With Jared: A Good Life: Last night, my sister and I attended a meeting on what will be the next step for Jared, for all of us. The meeting was about "self-determina...