Monday, August 10, 2015

Arms and Miracles



Taylor is 31.  Thirty one.
I have had 31 (thirty one) years to do this life with him. I gave birth to Taylor when I was 31 (thirty one.)  So, I knew myself and had grown all sorts of beliefs and convictions on my own before this imperfectly perfect child was placed on my chest and on my heart.  Now I have spent 31 (thirty one) years undoing or re-doing or redefining or trying to make sense of  my life----and my life with Taylor. My life with words like retarded, inclusion, special needs, handicapped, mentally challenged, "suffers from", "debilitated by".....
  Don't you think 31  (thirty one!)  years should have given me plenty of time to figure this all out?
Spoiler alert:  No.  There has not been enough time yet to figure out this life. Even given the 31 years.  I am such a slooooooow learner evidently.
      Yesterday when Taylor was using his arms again in the pool---for the first time in maybe 8 (eight) years----I was struck dumb with the "miracle"---medical, divine, mysterious-- miracle of it all.   For years we have gone to this same pool to swim.  For the past ten years and though five massive spine surgeries,  I have spent most of the time in the water weeping as I have held Taylor's head so he could float on his back.  It was the only position in which he seemed to not be in pain.  I have prayed a million prayers and sobbed on a hundred Thursdays that my sweet son might feel better---might be able to do something in the water other than just float.   And look-a-here.
"Well, darn if it ain't a miracle right here and now on this ordinary Sunday." I heard myself mutter.
   Taylor used his arms.  Pain free.
      I might have missed this miracle because I was thinking about how fat I looked in my bathing suit----how I needed to color my hair---how I can't seem to make intelligent conversation about books or music anymore.(Could I ever?)  I might have missed this miracle because I was thinking I needed to go to Lowe's to get some carpet cleaner or  had lost myself in counting  all the calories I had eaten since lunch.  I might have missed this miracle because I get so caught up in the intoxicating myth that everybody else (you)  has it all figured out.  I let thoughts like that distract me and I fling myself far from my center-----don't barf now....but from that center that is the divine and "whole" place in each of us.  Yep, I can go way off course and lay myself out in my own self-made ditch.   Ditches sometimes feel safe.   I  find comfort there.  (Another myth)
But then I miss miracles.  Extra-ordinary miracles.
     Taylor used his arms.  He swam without pain.
Maybe this is all I have to know.
 Maybe it's all figured out.
Life is just waiting for me to notice.
Mysterious.  Miraculous. Divine.
Pay attention, all ye...and me.

10 comments:

  1. I'm so glad God gave you eyes to see this. A gift indeed. I understand letting a million other things distract you. It's hard to fight against but I'm so thankful for the times it happens and pray they happen more often than not. And I bet you looked beautiful in your swimsuit.

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  2. I'm so glad God gave you eyes to see this. A gift indeed. I understand letting a million other things distract you. It's hard to fight against but I'm so thankful for the times it happens and pray they happen more often than not. And I bet you looked beautiful in your swimsuit.

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  3. Maybe the distractions are there as a means to survive the times when it all is just too much. This week, as I tried to pray for John's successful surgery, I hardly could pray the words. I could pray for others (you and Taylor were in there), and I could give God the usual "To Do" list that I think my prayers have become. To "get down to business," though, and to pray for something so important that it could -- quite literally -- make the difference between life and death? Well, it was nearly impossible. And now, like you, I stand on the other side of a situation which has been controlled so completely by I higher power. By an entity about whom I've often said, "God is great. God is Good." I'll just tell you, Marianne, that I may go and put on my swimsuit for a while.

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  4. Nobody, NOBODY can say it better. I love you, Retarded Mother. And I'm so happy Taylor has found those arms moving for him again. Yay, Taylor indeed. And Yay Retarded Mother for sharing your reminder. All we have to do is look up!

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  5. Anyone who considers a Down person to be "retarded" has not gotten close enough to one to see what an outrageous lie that really is. Down people have a miraculous abundance of the one thing most important to human beings... a capacity for unconditional love... especially SELF love.

    Marianne's Easter post and Taylor's words on Alps Rd. show this so... well... perfectly.

    It wouldn't surprise me to hear that Taylor has not complained ONE time in 31 years about ANYTHING.
    As Marianne has realized, it's OUR wounds that show so big. To the Retarded Mother...keep up the good work. Keep writing.

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    1. Bill, Thank you so much. And you are 100% correct. Taylor has not EVER complained---about anything. He shows me how to live. I send you love. Marianne

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    2. Hey, Marianne...thanks. Accepted! Would you please send me an e-mail at boardo1@gmail.com? I'd like to send you something off the blog...

      Best,
      Bill

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  6. Marianne, I don't follow your blog consistently, yet each time I read one, you open up spaces in my heart. I would hope that you write a book compiling these blogs and it becomes wildly successful for you and Taylor! You provide a writing clarity that touches me (and others) not often found.

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    1. Rebecca,
      Thank you so much for these very kind words. Please know how much I appreciate and honor them. Marianne

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  7. Hi Marianne, Thank you so much for this. I'm really happy to hear that Taylor isn't in pain now, and can use his arms in the pool! (I've been having trouble with that myself!) Hoping your hip recovery is going well, too. I know I miss a lot of miracles; what you wrote will help me catch more of them.

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Thank you so much for your comments. I know it's scary to put yourself out there. I really appreciate your being on this journey with me. You really are brave..