The MotherVerse Blog: mothering out loud

The Green King

by Desire` Aguirre

The grass reminds me of Nik. So many shades grow at different lengths in different directions. And he is not here to grudgingly mow the lawn. When will these growths of grief get cut?
Nik was arrested a week before his 14th birthday for breaking into a car and stealing a cell phone. A police officer came to our house looking for him.  He asked me if I thought my son would do such a thing. I said I didn’t think so. He asked me if Nik would tell the truth. I said he would not. I didn’t hire a lawyer. I wanted him to face the consequences of his actions. In fact, I liked the idea of him being on probation. It would give me support and backup.  He’d have someone else to answer to.
Nik went to a counseling group, and I attended a parenting class.  He made new friends and learned how to play poker.  I received a book with systematic instructions on how to set, and maintain, boundaries. In eleven months, he passed his probation and entered the ninth grade a free teenager.  He continued smoking pot, but, of course, lied about it.  His attitude went down the toilet along with his grades.
I failed my class.  Confronting Nik was like stepping in front of a wild moose protecting her baby. To live in denial maintained the peace.  Asking questions would break our delicate truce.  It would require action.
I clung to my images of him as a young boy.  A fabulous cook, he liked experimenting with food and loved to serve me breakfast in bed. Science intrigued him, and his teachers wanted him to join a group of student ambassadors going to Australia. He snowboarded like a god and played goalie on a soccer team.  He picked wildflowers, and grinning, made me pick which hand he held them in behind his back.
The pipe that fell out of his pocket and the empty beer cans in the trash demanded attention. He dared me to call the cops. I did, handed them his pipe and watched them take him off in a police car.  I went to court, sat and cried when they brought him in, manacled and cuffed hands to feet, in white and bright orange stripes.
His arrogance, disrespect and anger swallowed him and almost devoured me. We fought and fought until I couldn’t fight anymore. I told him he had an option.  He could move. It was a surrender of sorts. I was weak, tired and couldn’t stand the thought of coming home to him, stoned or un-stoned, a dirty pipe, an open container.  Not my bright-eyed boy with the laughing eyes and lush hair so black and curly.

It would have felt different if I had shipped him on his way to college, green behind the ears but going somewhere.  He lived in California for over a year, and after he graduated from the Job Corps, he came home to Idaho.

Does he miss the emerald grass on this side of heaven?  Now, can he smell the difference between the sweet air of heaven and the blue green air of Idaho?  Is there a bridge for him to jump off, a creek he can ride his bike to, a fresh water lake with perch and rainbow trout?
Nik graduated from the Job Corps in February 2007 in Long Beach, Calif. He returned to work at the Samuels Store and at Schweitzer Mountain resort. A north Sandpoint kid growing up, he attended Northside Elementary, the Sandpoint Charter School and Sandpoint High. He had a sharp wit, strong personality and was a true friend.
When Nik was 8 he said, “Christmas was the time for giving,” and he’d save his allowance so he could buy everyone gifts. He loved to swim, fish, snowboard, bike ride and play hackeysack with friends. An incredible bass player, he sometimes practiced a song until his fingers bled to get it right.

I want my boy to come home.  He died May 8, 2008. He would have turned 18 May 9, but the car flipped over and ejected him out of our lives. He did not survive. I went to the mortuary to view his body. I admit it; I wanted it to be somebody else’s son. I did not want to have to kiss my green king goodbye. But I did. He looked like an angel, but he was cold. The room felt empty. And I feel empty without him.

They told me he died instantly, and I cling to that. But he was alone and he was drunk and/or stoned. I want his death to serve some higher purpose so that his sister, DaNae Aguirre of Sandpoint, and his cousins, Charlene and Miguel Castellon of San Pedro, Lisa and Mark of San Pedro, Amin and Jason Kees of Utah, Aunt Jenny Lopresto and Uncle Rex Mayo of Sandpoint, Aunt Irene (Nana) and cousin George of San Pedro, Aunt Sylvia and cousin Eric of Priest River, Aunt Rae and cousin Scott Sanford of California, Grandparents Rhoda and Dell Sanford of Laclede, Grandparents Fran and Ron Peterson of San Jose, best friends Ryan Ford and Josef Schabell of Sandpoint, his faithful dog Cholo, family and friends from Peru to California to Canada, and me, his mom, can go on living without him.
A memorial to celebrate Nik’s life will be held at Lakeview Funeral Home (www.lakeviewfuneral.com) 1 p.m. Saturday, May 17. Everyone is invited. Please come to share your memories of Niko.
Please don’t drink and drive or let your friends drink and drive, and for Nik’s sake, buckle up.

Tropical Cyclone Nargis struck Burma on Saturday May 3 with winds of up to 120 miles per hour, and the death toll has been reported as over 22,000 and climbing. The force of the storm set off a tidal wave that washed away many of the homes in low-lying coastal areas and that has left tens of thousands of people missing. Official government reports indicate that entire villages have been destroyed by the storm’s impact.

As increasingly devastating reports emerge, MADRE calls on the governments, international institutions and relief organizations to incorporate the needs and expertise of women in the response to this disaster. An effective recovery operation must not only acknowledge the threats faced by women, who are over-represented among the poor. The relief response must also recognize the unique social roles that women play in communities and the valuable skills that women possess.

Around the world, women take on particular social roles crucial to sustaining their communities. In times of disaster, women activate their social networks of family and community to meet the needs of survivors. The knowledge of women directly impacted in Burma—related to building housing, preserving food stores, conserving water—must be preserved and adapted for this crisis.

MADRE’s Emergency and Disaster Relief Fund mobilizes resources to respond quickly and efficiently, in times when women and families are made acutely vulnerable by such disasters. Donate and help families in Burma now. Article reprinted from MADRE.

So, it’s been awhile since I have written anything here. Reasons? Been busy, you know, these past couple months-with writing and just life.
Also, keeping myself busy here, at the M.V. Workshops and here. And a thousand other places. Spreading myself too thin? I’d like to think not. Experiencing new things. Yeah, that sounds more like it.

Speaking of new things, this is my first time as a mentor for an on-line workshop, indeed, participating in an on-line workshop.  It’s been an excellent experience so far and continues to be so. Hope to do it again sometime.

I have a new poem coming out in Literary Mama this month. Very excited about this.

Be sure to check out my interview with Vicki Glembocki, author of The Second Nine Months: One mom tells the real truth about becoming a mom. Finally., in the new issue of MotherVerse!

Like I said….I’ve been busy.

Just under a year ago I began having pain in my body.  It has been sort of an all over hurt that has gotten worse with time.  It is so bad now that I cannot get through the day without pain pills.  If that wasn’t enough, I have such severe brain fog and memory loss that I often feel like it is unsafe for me to be driving because my reflex is so slow and I forget how to do things, sometimes in the middle of actually doing them.  After a bazillion tests coming back negative I am certain that all of this is caused by the mismanagement of my hypothyroidism.  I finally found a physician who will listen to me and who prescribed me a new medication for my thyroid disease.  I took the first pill tonight and I am keeping everything crossed that in time this pill will be my miracle drug and it give me my life back.

Saying that I hope it “gives me my life back” may sound dramatic, but I honestly feel that way.  It occurred to me today how withdrawn I have become in the last few months because of how sick I have been.   I do not have the patience for anything right now, nor the stamina to keep up with even the most mundane day-to-day activities.  My withdrawal has included hiding out from my friends at times and even my family.  My children are constantly asking me when I am going to feel better and just thinking about that makes me teary.  Forget about dealing with anyone that is not truly important to me; I avoid talking to anyone at my girls’ school, all but one of my neighbors, and pretty much everyone else.  It doesn’t help that feeling like crap all of the time has made my anxiety become out of control, which of course is not helpful for my social life.
The sadness that grips me deep inside lately when I think about how this all has affected my children is something that has really started to affect me.  It has been months since I have been able to take the kids on a long walk or play games with them or cook them special meals.  I am terrified that my new medication will not work and this summer will be filled with days cooped up in the house because I don’t feel well, rather than hiking in the woods and swimming at the lake like we normally do in the summer.  I’ve been debating getting a job so that we can start doing some work on our house, but I know that there isn’t much I can do that I could handle, unless it involves sitting in front of a computer typing as I am right now.

As a mother and wife to a family who need me I cannot afford to be sick like this, and any mother can understand this I know.  We moms don’t have time to be sick, we just plain have too much to do.  I am working on staying positive and only venting about my illness when I really feel like I need to get it out, like today.  I need to have faith that I will get better and my life will get back to normal soon.   I think I will, I think I will, I think I will!

The digital version of MotherVerse Issue #8 is available online now. Current subscribers have been notified.

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Leaving home to come home.

I open the door and am struck by the smell of darkness and wet concrete. It has been over a year that I have been struggling with this depression and anxiety and the smell of the evening is the smell of that struggle in some perverted way. I make my way down the wet street in this hot night and I feel an oppression I have become used to though it strikes me now that it is all around me; wherever I go. The street feels narrow, the heat encases me and I am walking underwater against an invisible but powerful foe.
The convenience store is a startling contrast. It is icy and unnaturally cold and brightly lit and offers a cornucopia of choices though I have only one need and that is a container of milk. My 11 year old can’t imagine how I could have forgotten milk and I cannot imagine how I remembered everything else during my last shopping trip.
I stand for a moment in the convenience store and feel the heat coming off my skin and doing battle with the false cold of the store. It feels good and since I have few sensory pleasures lately I revel in it for a time.
My 11 year old and my 6 year old. They are on my mind all the time. It scares me how much they mean to me. I have relatively few possessions but they are of me and my responsibility and I love them too much and that scares me at times. They are my home as I have realized that home is not actually a place. My children are my home and I am their home, for now at least.
I grab the milk and pay the teenager with the angry skin behind the counter. I hesitate before going out into the wet, hot night because I know within a few steps the humid night will once again encase me going home.

I always worked hard to make our home a safe haven for the family members in the rat race of life. I wanted my kids to feel “at home” and safe when they crossed the threshold of our home. I felt successful at this goal in my first marriage.

I have the same goal for our new blended family. I noticed that the safe feeling wasn’t present when we blended. Change is full of tension. I knew in my head that it wasn’t possible for the homey feeling to exist at first. I consider myself a patient person, but have decided that patience is relevant. I have not been able to be patient about the arrival of a settled family feeling.

Blending a family breeds competition from the get go. The rat maze for blended families has many more obstacles than for a natural family. How will we ever get to finish line?

My brain knows that blending a family takes time, but my heart really wants that calm feeling of home.

I watched the movie, “Juno” twice this weekend. Once on the bonus room couch with my 12 year-old daughter and once on Sunday morning. My husband wanted to watch it before we had to return it to the red box at our grocery store. We woke up Sunday morning and as usual made two cups of tea, which we poured into travel mugs. Wrapped in my robe, I slipped back under the covers next to my husband. We sipped tea in our bed as we watched the movie.

Soon we heard my 12 year-old daughter get up. I invited her in to watch the movie again. I moved over to the middle of the bed and my 12 year-old daughter slipped in under the covers next to me.

If I let myself analyze all of the inconsistent variables of my blended family situation, I’d truly go nuts. There are so many weird, unexpected moments involved in blending a family. I’ve finally accepted that my life is not going to turn out as planned and that’s okay because I’m so much happier now.

So there I sat sipping tea in my green terry cloth, a Christmas gift from my first husband, given at least eight Christmases ago. My husband laughed at the movie my left. My 12 year-old daughter watched quietly on my right. But I felt no tension about the moment and decided to enjoy it.

Baby turned one last Sunday. Instead of rejoicing, my apprehension about his upcoming immunization intensified. I had all my three children vaccinated. With Baby, I had him go through the vaccinations too, up till the ninth months immunizations. However, with each visit, my heart felt heavy. I had read about the vaccination controversy here and there, but I haven’t really researched it completely. Suffice it to say, my heart was wavering between vaccinating or not vaccinating.

All Praise to Allah, Muslims have a practical solution in cases like these. A special kind of prayer, called Istikharah, where one performs a non-obligatory prayer and recites a specific prayer at the end, seeking His counsel, asking Him to bless the choice that is about to be made, and to remove one away from it if it is the wrong choice. Trust is put wholly unto Allah, and one proceeds with what s/he has decided. This trust is called tawakkul, and is something that is beautifully very comforting and calming.

You are no longer fretting over which choices to make. No more ‘ifs’, because you know that Allah will take care of you, and that whatever happens is good for you, for the affair of a believer is always good. If he is struck with calamity, and is patient, he will be rewarded, and if he is endowed with good, and he is thankful,he will be rewarded. It’s a win-win situation, each time, no matter what.
For the previous vaccinations, I was not that privy to the actual manner of performing this prayer, so I merely asked Allah to remove any harm that might come as a result of the vaccinations. This time around however, I sought the correct way to perform the prayer, and actually did it. I posted my worries on my blog, to which, amazingly, many mothers responded.
And today, a mother shared a link with me, and it seems that I’m being directed towards the option of not vaccinating, or at least delaying it. That was my decision, and were it the wrong one, by the Grace of Allah, I trust that He will make it difficult for me to accomplish, and were it the correct choice, He will bless it and make it easy for me to accomplish.

So now, I put my whole trust in Allah, and proceed with this decision. No more fretting, no more worries.

A Mother’s Day suggestion from Gwendolen Gross.

“The Other Mother” by Gwendolen Gross is perfect for mother-daughter discussion — a chance for you to think about the choices we all make. Selection of four national book clubs, Booklist called The Other Mother “an electrifyingly complex and explosively gripping portrait of contemporary, have-it-all motherhood.”

“The book was amazing … As the story continues we truly get to know both Moms. OMG – I loved them both. I hated them both. I wanted to hug them both. I wanted to shake them both. I wanted to crawl into the pages and bang their heads together. There was so much of ME in both of them.” — My Life As It Is book review of The Other Mother

Featured in the USA Today, the New York Daily News, the Toronto Star, Redbook, OK! Magazine, and on National Public Radio, the selection of four national book clubs including the Book of the Month club, THE OTHER MOTHER is abuzz in the blogosphere.

The author would be happy to send you a signed bookplate personalized for your mom; just email her at ggross {at} gwendolengross.com. She also runs a free writing workshop blog at http://gwendolengross.typepad.com

I opened the door to my freezer last night expecting to find a fudge pop on top shelf. All I wanted was something sweet to snack on while I watched the latest episode of Deadliest Catch after a very long day. 

What I found, instead, was my son’s latest “science experiment”. 

To call it a science experiment would be a bit of a stretch. Normally his “science experiences” consist of are plastic bags filled with water and laid in the freezer to see what shape they take as they freeze into ice. Usually it cumulates with my son forgetting it under a chair or under the sofa or on his bed; by the time I find it, it’s just a wet spot and a freezer bag. 

He’s branched out, though. Last night he must have put soap in an old sippy cup without the lid and filled it with water. He placed it in the freezer. 

Do you know that the fine, soapy bubbles on top will freeze? I didn’t. I touched the surface of the bubbles and a few popped, but not as many as I expected. 

It reminded me of all the wonder and joy in a 6 year old’s life. From his “science experiments”, or making his own Pokemon-type cards with their own (fluid and ever changing) rules, the empty turtle shell we found at my parent’s house that my father cleaned and shellacked, the teepee we built in the backyard out of tree branches and twine, the amazing moment where he caught his first fly ball and realized that it was indeed possible and he didn’t have to be afraid. 

I love his natural curiosity. When he was diagnosed with ADD, I was terrified to put him on any medication, because I thought maybe whatever I gave him would temper his inquisitiveness. That maybe he’d become a complete zombie. 

But they haven’t. He’s still my boy, with the science experiments, cards, turtle shell, teepee and fly balls to attest to that. But of course, being a parent, one worry is replaced with another. The newest suggestion from the American Heart Association is that all kids on ADD medication be screened for heart disease with an electrocardiogram (the call to my pediatrician went in yesterday). That latest news bulletin assured me that my worries will never cease. 

But I know, too, that at least some of my doubts will be laid to rest. So I left the cup in the fridge, just where I’d found it, although with a slight indentation in the bubbles where my finger had been.