Finding Home

     I imagine mothers with neurotypical children still lose sleep wondering where their 21-year-olds are at night doing whatever 21-year-olds do, praying they get home safe and sound.      I, on the other hand, lose sleep because my 21-year-old neurodivergent son refuses to sleep.  Or rather his body does not allow him to. His neurophysiology is on hyper-alert whenever a change in routine is occurring. Never mind the meltdowns that inevitably follow.       Do I wish we had a different life, a more normal one? Yes. Many times. Especially now where in my perimenopause phase I value sleep more than ever. And my mental and emotional state teeters back and forth with my fluctuating hormones. Three years ago, a friend gifted to me Matt Haig's The Midnight Library. Since reading it, it made me realize that had I had made a different choice two decades plus before, I could have had a different life. Perhaps I wouldn't have borne children ...

      My son's first word wasn't "Mama". He was five years old when he uttered his first clear word.  At the time, we had a koi pond, and we were spending the afternoon watching koi swim around in their bright orange and white scales. Pointing to the fish, I said, "Look, Garret, fish!" He was quiet for some time and then he said softly, "ish" with the "f" so quietly enunciated that it was almost undecipherable. As it happened, part of me didn't believe it because I thought I was just hearing what I wanted to hear. Perhaps I also didn't want to believe it because it wasn't the word that I truly wanted to hear.            This life with autism throws a lot of curve balls. Or as a fellow autism parent said before, "(Our) Life is curve balls," in that it is constantly turning things on its head and more. Autism brings us to a place where knees buckle literally and figuratively, displacing one's ego because really it...

     Shortly after my mother died, a friend gave me wishbone flowers also known as bluewings to plant. She did not know that my mother absolutely loved flowers, orchids in particular. So, it was serendipitous as it was very kind. Planting flowers in our back garden became my anchor as I dealt with her loss. Being with them in the early hours of the morning with my first cup of coffee felt like being with her. Later in the morning I would pull out the weeds that grew around it. Touching earth was like holding her hand again. And as the sun poured over my back it was like her entire presence holding me steady.       After a couple of years, I had to uproot all the flowers I planted including the blue wings that my friend gave me because of a severe case of rhinitis that inflamed my left ear and affected my hearing. The pollen from the flowers exacerbated my condition. It was another kind of loss, yet again. Needless to say, I had to do it. Otherwise, my ...

My mother She kept everything: Notes handwritten on various paper pads Broken cups, worn-out pillows,  Old handbags,  cracked plates Love letters, greeting cards Curtains made of lace And here I was vacating, creating space One by one, garbage bags piled up "You need space to breathe," I told her She nodded, wordless, unmoving Her limbs weakened by the stroke she suffered just a week ago Her eyes watered in quiet protest Nine years later,  And four years since she passed I understand now This longing to keep things To hold objects, to grasp  As it reaffirms one's life,  that one became real that one truly lived Now I want to take it all back, the things I discarded to  make space for her  to supposedly breathe: Notes handwritten on various paper pads Broken cups, worn-out pillows,  Old handbags,  cracked plates Love letters, greeting cards Curtains made of lace I want to cram the space with everything she kept Leave no space for air So, I can...

As I was doing laundry this afternoon, I caught a glimpse of Garret swinging on the hammock while listening to his music on his portable Bluetooth speaker pressed and Morgan playing happily with his water hose. They're teenagers who have autism. Unlike other neurotypical teenagers who probably are with their friends on a weekend doing whatever it is that teenagers do nowadays, this is what they do. A friend told me recently how somehow them having autism was like never having to lose our babies. As they will always be in a way child-like forever. In a way this is a blessing. In another, it is a kind of grieving, one that churns my insides every now and then as thoughts of what might have been invade my day. I grieve that they could never have a life of their own, meet the love of their life, start a family, make memories and so forth. I grieve that I will never have grandchildren. A few years ago, I wrote about this briefly and said that I don't know what it means. Now, I have ...

   I was recently invited by the Institute of Human Kinetics (IHK), Visayas State University in Baybay City Leyte to share a message of inspiration to parents, teachers and learners with special education needs. This invitation was part of the program of their annual Sped-tacular Day Camp that consisted of adaptive physical, arts and music activities for the students at Baybay Central 1 Special Education Division. Each year, 2nd year university students enrolled in Bachelor of Physical Education and Bachelor of Culture, Arts and Theater create these adaptive and inclusive activities as part of their final requirement in one of their subjects, SPED 117 Foundation of Special and Inclusive Education.      Upon learning of the back story of this annual tradition, how one of the instructors of IHK, who also happened to be the Vice President of Student Affairs initiated this activity since 2008, I was awed and felt a familiar fire in my insides reminding me of th...