Wild At Heart

This week has been especially hard.

The news of Robin Williams showed up on my phone just as I was leaving a meeting with a friend. It felt like a punch in the gut, as I'm sure it hit most everyone the same way. How could this man, so full of life, leave just like that? How could he not know how much we all loved him? How could he not know the blessing that he was to our lives?

Over the next day, I watched as tributes and dedications poured in to the news networks and twitter-spheres. Celebrities, stunned, shook their heads and openly weeped for a man so full of heart and passion. From all accounts, he was everyone's favorite guest on the talk shows, as they never knew where the interview would go. Robin was wild and unpredictable, yet warm and inviting. Wherever he was, people forgot about their problems. He made people belly laugh until they cried. Robin Williams took them to another place.

When the final report on how Robin Williams died came in, my heart broke. I began to sob and I knew that this was touching my own story in more ways than one. It was, once again, time for me to grieve my own loss.

I lost my first true love to suicide.

Will and I were married when I was very young. We had our two boys, one of whom this blog refers to all the time- Will's namesake, Liam. Our marriage lasted for almost ten years before, sadly, ending in divorce.

Will was not unlike Robin Williams. He was passionate, larger-than-life, hilarious, warm, caring, crazy, silly, talented. His highs were wild and it was all I could do to keep up. But, his lows were low and there was a tragic theme of self sabotage and destruction always lurking around the corner. He could flip on a dime-keeping all of those around him guessing as to which person they would get.

His talent was undeniable- an artist's artist. Musicians still talk about his record, his guitar playing, and the way that his music made them feel. He made you love music. I mean, really love music. He would make you sit down in a chair and listen to whatever it was he was working on. You would grin ear to ear because he would "air" play every single part of the song as if he had a thousand people in front of him. He would so lose himself in the moment that he didn't care how he looked. He wanted to convey THE SONG. That was all that mattered in that moment.

He could tell the best stories. His imitations of people were so spot on that you would be crying with laughter on the floor. He was so animated while he was talking that you couldn't help be enamored with whatever story he was telling!

My sisters and I would laugh at him because anytime he would come in to the house it was like a windblown whirlwind. He was like Kramer on Seinfeld! He couldn't just walk quietly in the house- he and his presence would come in and overtake the room.

And then, one day, just like that. He was gone. He took his own life. And, even as I type this, I still cannot believe it. How can someone so full of vitality be gone?

Yes, there were the signs- depression, anxiety, but I never pictured life and the world without Will in it. It just wasn't an option in my mind. He was too big-it would never be something he chose. Never.

But...it did. And in one act, his seemingly endless light was extinguished. Such a profoundly dark ending to a life so full of light.

It is no wonder that I have been deeply affected by the events of this week. The accounts of Robin are so similar to Will's. But, I hope that writing about it will move me towards the necessary pain of grief and loss. As a mentor once said, if you try to get over pain, you end up underneath it.

And so the onion gets pulled back another layer. Another step towards the pain of grief.

I miss you, Robin.

I miss you, Will.

The world will never be the same without you.

Gladness

The weather is FINALLY warming up after a brutal winter over most of the United States. Even people in LA have experienced torrential downpours that are out of the ordinary for CA. (don't worry, I do NOT feel the least bit sorry for them!) The weather in Tennessee is bipolar at best. It is often said if you don't like the weather, stay until tomorrow. Because it does so often feel like that. My birthday was a few days ago and it was a wonderful 75 degrees, only to wake up this morning to a cool 28. It will make you crazy as you get excited for spring around the corner- only to be disappointed that you have to bundle up again.

This picture sums up our weather experiences down here!

Speaking of bipolar weather, the mood of my preteen has been an unpredictable map of highs, lows, sunny skies, rain clouds, tornadoes, and spring delight. Each day I wonder which one I will get. The one thing that is consistent is the spring delight rarely shows up. 

Now, I am not naive to think that this is not normal behavior. I do know the stats on preteens. But, it doesn't make it any easier to navigate. 

The truth is, I long to connect to my son. There, I said it! He has autism, and as my oldest pointed out, if you look up the diagnosis in the DSM "connection" and autism are not in the same paragraphs. If they are, the words "lack thereof" are some place close by. 

This is difficult to me, as this is probably the most important thing in my life- my connections. I cherish them. They are my life-force, in many ways. That is just the way God made me. So, not having a connection to my offspring is a little difficult for this attachment junkie. 

Sadly, he is growing up. So that means he is pulling away. Before, he would ask me to tuck him in the bed or read to him. Even if it was slightly 'robo-tronic', he still asked for ME specifically. And, that connected us. 

Now, he has his after school routine of playing alone outside or playing video games alone. Or, he searches alone on the computer for his latest obsession, whether it be funny lines from Sheldon on "Big Bang Theory" or a long touchdown run by an Alabama player. I can always know his thought process when I look up his Google search history. 

But that is where it remains. Google history. 

The key to my son's heart. 

He doesn't want to share with me his thoughts about friends, life, love, and hurt. He shuts me down when I ask how his day was or probe into his middle school brain. And by probe I ask him what friends he has in his class. 

Now, some of you reading this will be tempted to "normalize" things and tell me that I am simply dealing (as stated earlier) with a preteen. Preteens are known for their sudden distaste in all things parent related. 

I like this picture for Denial.

I would tell you that you would only be partially correct. And, not to mention, shaming. This is not just your average preteen mood swing or distaste- this is a pattern, not an event. And, being the parents of these children, we know this in the back of our minds. We know that this is a pervasive pattern and not a 2-3 year 'season'. Our hearts are all too familiar with the disappointment and letting go that has to occur with autism. And, please, don't be one of the "those" people who say "well, at least he..." (see Brene Brown's brilliant take on that phrase in this clip). 

There is not much to say to make things better. I must grieve this part of autism- otherwise I live in complete denial. As I have said many times in this blog, life is not easy, and the sooner we can accept, feel, and face this reality, the sooner our true JOY can be felt. 

Then when he does do something out of the ordinary, it is absolutely felt. When he sees me, or touches my face, or hugs me without prompting- those are the joy moments. Those are the times when I am touched deeply in my soul. It does not take away the pain, but the pain gives way to true gladness. 

TRUE gladness. It is a rare gift. But, it is something we all long for in our hearts. I believe the desire for true gladness was put into the very fabric of our being. 

Gladness

When I look at this photo my dad took this year, I see Liam enjoying true gladness. He absolutely loves tossing the football up and making "touchdowns" over and over again until he can barely stand up. It reminds me of my own desire and the places where I am able to gain access to this rare gift. 

But most of all, it reminds me that some things will change. It will not always be cold or rainy or unpredictable.

One thing we are promised. 

The spring will come. 

Joseph "Joby" Abbott Walker, Sr.

*Thanks for reading today's post. Due to life getting in the way (aka 'stuff happens') I am writing another post NOT directly associated with autism. I promise to get back in the swing of things, but had to just write about what was on my heart. I hope you will stick around....thanks, R*



Today was a cold, bleak January day...

I couldn't believe the temperature change from one day to the next, and then I remembered I lived in middle Tennessee. I grew up in Alabama, and we could have extreme weather too. But, those 250 miles north give it just a little more bite. A bit more than this southern girl likes. 

So, today's weather sort of matched my mood.

I wept as I drove in to class early this morning listening to a song a friend wrote about the stuff of life. I woke up in a funk- which usually happens when I have to be coherent before 6am- but today's funk was different. 

I experienced a death last week that I did not realize I was not ready to accept. My grandfather, Papa, died suddenly at the age of 85 in his home in Alabama. I include his age only because, while it is an 'old' age, there was nothing old about this guy's spirit. I have perused all of my pictures I have of him, and in every one, there is such a twinkle in his eye. There is so much life in his face. So, I think I just took for granted that I could travel to Bama and see he and my grandmother whenever I wanted to. The old cliche that you just think someone will be around forever.

The stud that he was!

I realize that the past few posts I have done have not been specifically about autism. But, I hope you will indulge me and let me share a few stories about Papa. They're not fantastical, but they are funny/special to me. 

It was rumored that my grandparents' house was haunted. My grandmother would often say that she would just say hello to the 'ghosteses' as she would call them. Whenever my parents would go out of town for any length of time, I would end up staying with my grandparents who lived right next door to us in this ginormous house. 

Their house was huge in my mind as an 8 and 9 year old. There were 3 bedrooms upstairs, but I would always prefer to sleep in the study which was next to my grandparents' bedroom. One time, my best friend, Katy, came to spend the night. We would scare ourselves thinking about the ghost stories and get ourselves so worked up about them. But, we secretly loved it. 

So, there we were getting ready for bed in the bathroom in the long, dark hallway. We were looking in the mirror brushing our hair and teeth and whispering to each other. 

All of a sudden, completely out of nowhere, Papa jumped out behind us to where we could see his reflection in the mirror. His hair was wiry, crazy, and going all over the place. He had on a white v-neck and white boxers, and his eyes were bulging out of his head.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

We screamed like we have never screamed before! Even after we knew it was him! It felt like a good 30 second scream.

His response was always the same after he teased one of us.

"GEEETCHEEEEEEE!!!!"

I think this was supposed to be the country version of "I got you", but it worked nonetheless. He got us. And good. 

He howled with laughter while I beat on his back out of frustration, but mixed with a ton of relief that the ghosts had not descended upon us.

                           ****************************************************

Papa grew up on a farm in the middle of the depression in the 1920's. My dad would often say he was 'depression scarred' because he would do things like leave paper towels out to dry. Or, he would fix EVERYTHING with this stuff called Shoe Goo. It didn't matter what the problem was, or if the problem really just needed to be thrown out, Shoe Goo was the magic touch. Yes, you could fix your shoes OR you could fix the seal on the window, or patch up an old lamp, or frying pan whose handle had broken off...didn't matter. It also didn't matter to him that it was urine yellow in color when it dried. 

My family is much more concerned with function than form.

One time on a beach trip, my grandmother, Gran, as we call her, bought me a pack of cinnamon sticky buns to eat for breakfast. As kids do, I left the package partially opened all  night on the kitchen counter while I slept. 

When I woke up the next day, a pack, gaggle or herd of ants (not sure of the term there) had made their way up along the bar and into the entire package of cinnamon rolls. They were crawling in ecstasy as they were over every inch of my now ruined breakfast. 

As I looked to my left, I noticed that Papa had a huge jar of honey that he had gotten from his cousin's farm. The ants, not to be outwitted, had made their way under the brass Ball jar top and into the honey. It looked like someone had taken a pepper shaker and poured bits of pepper all in the honey. You could tell these ants had their dying wish to drown in this ocean of golden, yellow delight. 

I felt so guilty for leaving the package opened all night and ruining Papa's favorite honey. 

"I'm sorry, Papa. I've ruined it."

"WHAT?!!  Nah! There's nothing wrong with this honey." 

And, I watched in horror as he spooned out tablespoons of honey and spread it all over his English muffin. He closed his eyes and ate it like it was something served on a silver platter. There was no way he was gonna let that whole jar of honey go to waste-noooooo sirrrr!!!!!  

                 ****************************************************************

I could tell you stories of how he kissed everyone he met- grown men included. I could tell you about his loud, but beautiful, tenor voice that he pridefully sang all the harmony parts of the hymns in church. 

I could tell you about all the times we would swim in his swimming pool in the backyard and play tag. 

I could tell you about the road trips he would take me and my two boy cousins, David and Daniel, on: to the beach, Tennessee, Mississippi, ski trips, and family reunions.

I could tell you that he would always wake me up in the mornings with the same farm boy song that his daddy used to sing to him about two cows called "White Foot and Light Foot":

                           Wake up, White Foot.
                           Wake up, Light Foot.
                           Come and follow Jesse to the milking pinnnnn.

To this day, I still don't really get that song, but I love that it was his routine. And, it was his little thing.

I could tell you about how he always, without fail, had Wrigley's spearmint gum in his mouth because he said it helped him clear his throat. I knew where his stash was in his office, and I would help myself to a pack or two every once in a while. (sorry, Papa)

And, I love the fact that I got to spend the most time with him in years because I was the oldest grandchild. 

I could also tell you about the time a few years ago he said something so hurtful to me in passing. It cut me deeply. And, a year later, as I was sitting beside him, he looked at me and said he was sorry for what he said. He knew it was wrong, and would I forgive him. 

That healed me. 

Sorry's were not thrown around much growing up. So, his sorry meant something profound. 

I could tell you all about the godliness of this man. A man that consistently pointed me to Jesus. A man that cried a little bit every time he said the blessing (and his blessings were always a little too long!). A man that tasted and grasped the Gospel. A man that asked everyone (much to my embarrassment) if they went to church, and if they did, did they tithe. You gotta love a man with conviction and heart. And he had both! 

Papa and his cute little Christmas vest!

I guess I just wanted him to know all of these things. I wanted him to know the impact he had on me as a little girl and who I am as a mother today. So....I guess this is me doing that now.

And, as I share these memories, my mood lifts. I get a smile on my face. It gives me encouragement to be a legend in my own sphere of life. To touch those around me in ways that are meaningful and life-giving. To bring joy to seemingly ordinary days. To always laugh. And always be grateful because there is so much abundance around us every day.

This was my Papa. And, I love him.