Opening the Door to Home

"Son," he said. "Grab your things, I've come to take you home." - Peter Gabriel, Solsbury Hill

I've just opened two emails. The first is a huge attachment of paperwork outlining everything from school goals to personal hygiene recommendations. The second is an airline ticket. Correction: two airline tickets.

This swirl of information comes just as I finished rearranging the furniture in the house and my office. I needed to do something other than write or think about what the next few months will hold for us.

It is good. It is also overwhelmingly frightening.

My heart going boom, boom, boom.

Elituq: She Has Learned

Nearly 700 times I've sat down at my desk and written about our life in Alaska; the joys, sorrows, and moments of awe that come from living in a place so far north. Many things have been unexpected, and many, downright painful, but like the Athabascan term for which this blog is named, all have led toward a deeper understanding of my life, and that of my family's.

I began Elituq: She is Learning after I made the decision to leave my part-time job as communications director for a local agency serving individuals with Alzheimer's disease and related dementias. It was the right decision; Wolf's behaviors were escalating to the point where my support group facilitation skills were being overshadowed by my own need for periodic emotional rescues. I wanted to write about Alaska, too, and had an opportunity to do so, opening doors through which I have happily walked. This blog was a lovely, comfortable fit for me to share a peek into our world for family and friends who live so far away.

As the months went on and it became obvious Wolf was in need of assistance we could no longer provide, blog posts turned into a means of communicating the difficult decision of transitioning Wolf from our home to residential treatment Outside. I suppose it was both a crutch and a means of support to be able to network with other parents and write words I didn't have the courage to speak over the telephone to my own family.

In the four years since, Elituq has meant different things to different people; a means of keeping tabs on our busy life, and a way to see how Alaskans temper personal feelings for the necessary actions regarding medical care.

We've all grown during these seasons of my musings; Yukon, Bear, and Wolf, perhaps most of all. It is time for all of us to move on to the next phase of our lives, and it is at this point I feel Elituq: She is Learning has served its purpose.

One of the most important lessons I've learned as a writer is knowing when to end the story. Perhaps you have been lifted up by a particular blog post, or photograph, or a link to some of the other fantastic blog friends I have come to know, and one in particular who has known me almost my entire life.

My writing continues, but with a different focus. It is time, and it feels right. And I thank you for reading; my world has been enriched.

EK

*The blog will stay active for a while, for those who wish, as I have these past few weeks, to go back and read how it all started.* 

Where I've Been....Lately

The image above reflects what I've been up to this past month. Lots of growth on the business front has led to an expansion of my website, AKontheGO, and all the "stuff" that goes along with it.
Not a marketing professional by any means, I've been clumping along, trying to figure out a launch date and a launch party without actually launching myself into space. It's mostly worked.

But it's been a challenge, too, making new decisions, the biggest of which is reflected in the new logo above. You might notice someone is missing from the image. It was indeed purposeful, but painful, to not include Wolf in the new family travel logo. Many reasons, mostly practical, not personal, but still ultimately difficult.

I haven't written about Wolf lately. So much is going on in his world, and a lot of his story just continues round and round and round, like a broken record, and frankly, it is a bit draining to make the effort of describing it in words. But rest assured he is still learning in carefully-planned phases, still arguing and erupting occasionally, and still manages to make me laugh one second and screw up my face in frustration the next. It's his world, and ours, and we're moving through it as best we can.

It's a time for growth and change all around.

Selection and the Service

In the mail today, one letter in particular stood out to me. A plain, white envelope, clearly marked with Wolf's name, with a return address that surprised me just a little, even though it probably shouldn't have.

It was from the Selective Service. Another adult requirement, another explanation, but one that might actually yield a positive result. With such a strong paternal family history of U.S. Navy service, and with Wolf progressing, however slowly, we might be able to leverage Wolf's registration (he and Therapist J registered back in January) as an incentive plan.

Yukon and I met a wonderful couple who is serving on the commissioning committee of the USS Anchorage with us. He is the Navy League representative, and she is his dedicated partner. Both were valuable resources, and wonderful encouragers of our son. Today, I went and bought Wolf a copy of the ASVAB study guide for Wolf (the military assessment and aptitude test). While Wolf is waiting out his remaining high school time, this will be a great activity to prepare him, or at least, give him an option of preparing, for his future.

God Bless the U.S. Navy

Yukon and I are sitting in the San Diego Airport at this hour, waiting for our return flight to Alaska after an insightful weekend in southern California.

As distinguished guests (that doesn't happen very often in my world) of the Commissioning Committee for the USS San Diego's entrance into the Pacific Fleet, Yukon and I, and four other Alaskans were privileged to attend ceremonies over the past four days.

Why? Just so happens that Alaska will get her own ship, the USS Anchorage (LPD 23), to be christened in April, 2013; both Yukon and I are on the committee responsible for making it all happen. We traveled to San Diego this weekend to see how this should look.

With a strong Navy tradition in Yukon's family (his father was in the submarine service from 1942-66), it was a memorable opportunity to see the pomp and circumstance surrounding such an event through the eyes of a Navy veteran's son.

The sun shone, the flags snapped sharply in the sea breezes, and strains of 'Anchors Aweigh' filled the morning air.

We'll Let Go the Dark...

It's no secret that this blog has for years represented an extension of my inner thoughts concerning Wolf, Bear, Yukon and I. Mostly, anyway.

But lately...well, lately blogging about Wolf has become less an outlet than a chore, but something, I recently found out, that is not all bad.

Wolf is still struggling mightily; some violent episodes of self-harm a few weeks ago left everyone involved scratching our heads and wondering what, if anything, could we do to help he and we survive the rest of his life. Of course I only slightly panicked at the idea of nobody in Alaska accepting Wolf for independent living, and of course I managed to pull it back together when Therapist J. called to run down the latest laundry list of odd behaviors.

But here's what happened, next.

Therapist J., a longtime professional in the world of troubled teenage boys, said something that probably should have been said four years ago when Yukon traveled 3,000 miles to deliver Wolf to the first residential facility.

After calmly stating the most recent incidents, and reiterating his belief that Wolf is indeed choosing many of these behaviors and not exibiting an organic reason for them, Therapist J was silent for a second on the telephone in Colorado. Then he said, "It's time to focus on what you have there, and let us focus on him, here. Wolf is safe, he is loved, he is cared for, here. What you need to do now is let your husband love you, care for you and your other son, and let go."

Let go. Let it go. Let him go.

My life has been defined by the past, present, and future of Wolf, and someone just offered me a gift of doing all the worrying and fretting and hand-wringing for me. Focus on what is good, and let them deal with the bad.

Love Wolf as simply as that, because finally someone told us they have our backs.

Amazing, and freeing. It will be interesting to see where this takes Elituq: She is Learning.

Avoiding Monday.....

For your viewing pleasure, here are some photos taken from our fabulous, sunny, and otherwise wonderful Alaska weekend. I do not wish to discuss Monday, and therefore will pretend it is Tuesday.

Yes, that is a young moose peering through my deck rails. He and his very patient mama arrived in our front yard minutes after our return home from a great day (ironically) wildlife watching in Seward. He walked right up to me as I kneeled on the deck in order to get these and other great shots.

Ah, the wild life.

Eighteen is a Number - Special Post for Public Radio

One of my favorite freelance jobs is blogging for Kids These Days Radio, a weekly program targeting parents and caregivers. Heard Alaska-wide, the show delves into issues around Alaska's children, and for my part, I offer perspective about travel and tourism in and out of the state.

But occasionally I delve into our experience with Wolf. Yesterday's show was centered around Autism in Alaska; rates of diagnosis, special considerations for rural communities, and a post by me. The show's producer is always interested in our lives, what we are doing to mitigate Wolf's difficulties, his future, and such. She asked me if I'd write a short essay about Wolf's 18th birthday, and I did.

It was, surprisingly, one of the easiest pieces I've ever done. Here it is (sorry for the small print):

"The afternoon my oldest son turned eighteen, I cried. Nose-running, chest-heaving crying, with wretched tears that froze on my cheeks as I ran across snowy trails near our Anchorage home. It was a day I had dreaded with uncertain anticipation. Suddenly, it was here, and I was still not ready. 

My son, like so many children, suffers from and fights with an autism spectrum disorder frequently referred to as Asperger Syndrome. Characterized by an overdose of impulsive behavior and an under-dose of social skills, my son, MJ, is nothing if not the Weirdest Kid on the Block, a label his stepfather and I have mostly been able to shield him against with all our parental powers. 

At eighteen, MJ and thousands of Alaska children are considered officially “adults” in an academic sense. They can vote, boys must register for the Selective Service, and a flurry of college information fills the mailbox. It is a time of independence, either real or perceived, and our son is no different in his zeal for all the honors and benefits of finally becoming “old enough.” 

But MJ has no idea what “old enough” really means. A resident of an out-of-state treatment facility since 2008, MJ has struggled to learn the most basic of social skills; from merely parroting a “Hi, how are you?” phrase, to practicing regular hygiene and grooming habits. It is an agonizingly slow process, filled with false starts and backward steps, and little, tiny inches forward. Staff at his current residence are infinitely patient, yet firm; they know better than we how the world sees young adults like MJ, and they want him to get this right. 

It was almost easier to manage MJ as a young child; at least then I could reinforce with the authority of a typical Aspie Mom. But at eighteen, a difficult decision awaits parents of children with disabilities. Along with figurative independence also comes the literal and legal meaning of the word, and MJ, for better or worse, was now able to make decisions regarding his health and well-being. He could, in effect, sign his name on the dotted line of discharge forms and go about his business in Denver, Colorado with no one lifting a finger to stop him. 

The decision to establish guardianship was made shortly before his birthday, after hours of conversations and meetings and prayerful discernment. Guardianship was granted shortly after his birthday, with little resistance but not without confusion on the part of MJ, although we explained over and over our reasons for wanting to keep him healthy and safe. What we didn’t tell him was our intention of saving him from himself, because for a young man today to appear “odd” or “looking funny,” statistics of violence and police intervention almost immediately stacked the deck against our 6-foot, two-inch tall young adult. 

To his credit, however, MJ is finally pushing back at the darkness which has threatened to consume his soul as a younger teen. He sees, if however tenuously, the connection between how one looks and acts, and how people treat each other accordingly. He will graduate from high school with a fairly high grade point average, an amazing feat considering he has had so little success in other aspects of his life. Our family is working with a team sent from heaven at the Arc of Anchorage, who do not shake their heads in the negative when I mention potential roadblocks. Arc staff will teach him how to ride the bus, be successful at a job, go shopping, exercise, and be happy with who he is. 

With so much left to learn, I sometimes look at this man-boy during our internet face time and wonder how he has managed to hang on for so long. Perhaps it is my husband and I who need to step back, recognize his courage, and allow him to own his future, instead of asking ourselves for the millionth time, “Why did this happen?”  

One of my literary heroes, Norman Maclean, author of “A River Runs Through It” explained it perfectly to me one day in his book, as I sat on an airplane, whizzing through the sky after a particularly meaningful visit to MJ: 

“...And so it is those we live with who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.” 

Perhaps this journey of maturation has not only occurred in our son. Eighteen is, after all, only a number, and we have a lifetime yet in which to grow."

Erin Kirkland is a regular contributor to Kids These Days, posting weekly at KTDontheGO. Read more about her family’s journey through Asperger Syndrome at “Elituq: She is Learning” (http://www.elituqakbrady.blogspot.com.  

Easter Joy, and Why I Wore Xtra Tufs to Church

I somehow found joy in the midst of a messy, muddy, snowy Easter weekend.

Anchorage managed to break the previous record for snowiest winter since the 1950's. I think the total was somewhere around 134 inches of white stuff, the last three or so falling yesterday in a frantic, wild, and wet blizzard that caused me to chop kindling, build a fire in the woodstove, and work on the book.

We all had a very pleasant day, resigned to the fact that Easter Sunday might be a slushy mess. I laughed with friends about my intention of wearing boots to church to keep my strappy summer sandals in pristine condition. I didn't even think at the time about a song our fabulous church was performing on Sunday; I just thought it would be funny to walk into the building wearing Alaska's signature footwear.

Mountain High Facility called around 5 p.m. to tell me of an incident involving Wolf. A serious, oh-my-gosh sort of incident that caused Yukon and I to wonder if he has given up. After all the positive work, after the high marks and difficult work, Wolf is decompensating rapidly, and no one can figure out why. He called a few hours later, railing and ranting and swearing that he could do better on his own, or no where at all. Lost. He hung up no happier than when he had dialed, and I was left, again, standing in the middle of my living room, staring at my silent phone, feeling like an utter failure.

Talk about blowing the storm back into the harbor.

I went for a long, long run after that phone call, splashing my way through full puddles and postholing into old, icy drifts of snow along the roadway. That song kept resonating in my head. I ran, breathing in and out in ragged gasps, sobbing at the same time, wiping my nose on the sleeve of a now-filthy shirt. I ran and cried and prayed, all three, and all the while the lyrics to the next day's song flowed through my addled head.

The Mud Song.




So I wore my boots to church, this morning, in honor of Wolf. Life is indeed pretty muddy right now, but I'd stomp in every puddle around if it meant he'd be able to avoid them. In my Xtra Tufs.

Funny thing; Easter Sunday was absolutely glorious, weather-wise. A stunning reminder of better things ahead, after the storm passes.

Alaska On the Go: From Blog to Book *NEW*

Curious to know from whence all that Alaska knowledge escapes my brain?

Check out the newest post from what my family now calls "The Book Blog".

Why Alaska Weeps, Tonight

This blog is typically not a news and infomation outlet, but this time, I've made an exception.
Alaska is right now embroiled in a bitter, angry, and hurtful battle over a moral issue. We vote tomorrow, so the airwaves, voicemail, and email auto-blasts have been incessant.

All that changed three hours ago when the FBI and Anchorage Police held a press conference to announce the discovery and recovery of who they believe to be a young barista from Anchorage named Samantha Koenig. She was found on the bottom of an icy lake, surrounded by blue sky and snowy mountains that did nothing to mitigate the tragedy.

Her name and smiling, beautiful face have been burned into our memory, first through desperate attempts by her family and friends to find information, any information, that would lead them to her. Posters were everywhere; on cars, buses, reader boards, at the doorway of just about every business in town. One could not go anywhere and not see Samantha. Social media threads became outlets for search parties, hotlines, and a reward.

She was 18.

Anchorage is stunned, angry, and confused. We worked so, so hard to find her. Samantha was as much our child as her father's; that's how we do things up here, most of us. Those of us who are parents cannot fathom the grief he must be experiencing tonight.

Everything else pales in comparison, tonight.

Pie Jesu.

A Year Later: How Our Lives Have Changed

My office window looks east toward the Chugach mountains. On a clear day I can see the bright, white snow topping nearby peaks, and spot eagles that are starting to reappear, soaring high above in lazy circles. Today started out like this, but since has become cloudy and a bit distorted, with naked Cottonwood and Birch trees sticking up from piles and piles of wet, heavy snow.

Was it just like this a year ago?

Yukon has obliquely mentioned the one-year anniversary of his bicycle accident with a typical Yukon-style approach: "It's all good, now." I know he hasn't forgotten the whole thing - a long, winding scar on his elbow and constant trips to the hemotologist and occupational therapist won't allow him the luxury of completely erasing that day.

I thought I had done a pretty good job of moving on, even commenting just last week about the swiftness of time. Here we are, looking at the calendar, 24 hours away from the day a hole in the ground made us all think good and hard about life, and love, and the value of both. All in one long, short year.

This is the beginning of my busiest season, as it was last year. I mentioned to someone the other day how very behind I felt - way, way behind, when actually I was way, way ahead. It finally dawned on me that I feel this way because I don't even remember last April. The span of time between March 30 and April 30, 2011 is a nebulous sort of black and white cloud in which I barely managed to care for more than the basic needs of body and soul, and I'm not even sure about the soul part. Tragedy will do that to a person.

The external signals of spring are what prompted me to double-check my emotions. Last week I was driving to the U-Med campus for a meeting (the same meeting I had attended this time last year). It was a sort of dreary, early-spring day, with low clouds and wet streets, and I didn't pay much attention to my environment until stopped at the traffic light.

"Emergency" the bright red sign said.

I remembered clearly, then, the frantic trips, fumbling to talk on my cell phone as I hastilly arranged childcare. I remembered the gritty car, leaving it sitting in the loading zone for over an hour while everybody tried their best to help my husband. I remembered friends who met me there, not once, not twice, but three times, each visit watching further deterioration and sharing my agony at the moment we realized things could turn out very, very badly. I even remembered what I was wearing and what song was playing on the radio that final ER visit as I swung my car into a restricted parking spot, not caring a damn if I was towed.

But Yukon made it. He's still here. We're all still here. A bit older, perhaps, a bit wiser to the ways of fate, but we're here.

Life is far, far too short to realize that, every day.

Wassup, Alaska?

It was the first day of Spring on Tuesday, and I celebrated by spending a few hours shoveling the hardpacked, grainy snow away from our 4' fence line to keep the dogs from daintly stepping over the remaining 4 inches of chainlink visible to us. Riley, the worst offender,  was less than impressed by my efforts.

Temperatures have been below Zero at night, but rising to a glorious 32 or so with brilliant sunshine during the day. I'll take that as a message from Mother Nature that she's at least thinking about releasing us from our wintertime bondage.

Alaska is like that, some years. I think it's a reminder of just how far north we live, and why we choose to stay.

We're lucky, that's what.

From the Wolf Den: Quick Update

Today was Team Treatment Review Day, where I sit on one end of the phone lines and listen to the Team, and Wolf, talk about his month's progress and goals.

After a pretty smooth few weeks, I was interested to see how things had progressed, especially since Yukon was present for family therapy last week while I was at a meeting.

Wolf has reached Level II at Mountain High Facility, big time cool! He has done extremely well, reached his goals between 80-98% of the time, and seems to be happy. Yes, friends, Wolf is happy. Whoa. He's worked really hard, so Yukon and I are planning a trip at the end of April to see his smiling face and buy him a graduation present to satisfy his voracious reading appetite.

Any guesses?

From the Wolf Den: School Days, School Days....They Will Go On a Bit Longer

I always seem to get phone calls from people related to Wolf's current educational cause who want me to drop everything I am doing, RIGHT NOW, and talk over the endless set of issues about getting this kid graduated from high school.

Today I wanted to scream. And cry. And almost did both, but only ended up doing one. Those of you who know me best will know.

After hours of calling, researching, and cleaning the bathrooms (I do chores when I'm on the phone; it keeps me focused. Usually, however, I fold laundry or empty the dishwasher. Today felt like toilets), Yukon and I decided that it would not be in Wolf's best interest to shuttle him to Alaska for a three-day intensive of test-taking, beginning (get this) April 2.

Reasons were many, and took me a bit of time to create a list for the cadre of interested parties:

1. The boy would have to fly back to Alaska alone, unless one of us flew down to get him. Expensive and stressful, no matter the mode of travel and directness of flight.

2. Wolf has not been to our home except for one short day last summer. He has not slept in our house since 2008. We haven't yet even approached the subject of appropriate behavior inside the family unit. I cannot imagine how that could jive with a stressed-out 18 year-old who is beyond nervous at taking a test.

3. We'd have to pay for Wolf to fly here, and return to Denver. Uh, wow. I didn't exactly budget for that this spring.

4. He's not ready. Emotionally, mostly. He can pass the test with flying colors (8th grade level of material, so I've been told), but emotionally? Goodness, we have a bunch of work to do, there.

Wolf has every chance of succeeding and receiving his diploma, and we'll help him get it. But not until the school district administers the exam again, in October. We advocated for this, since Wolf is not on the fast track to higher learning, just yet. What he is on is a wonderful path of self-assurance, independence, and social practices.

Way, way more important than a piece of paper handed out in May.

We're going to give him his own "family graduation" however, and it's gonna be great.

He's earned it.

Gimme Some Alaska

This week was long. Still recovering from whatever chest crud is moving among our friends and family, it was hard to motivate. I found myself cancelling things, shifting appointments around, and generally feeling as if I was working in a fog.

Then the Iditarod started.

It is hard not to get enthused by 66 teams of sled dogs, 12 dogs each, taking off for a race that will carry them almost 1,000 miles to Nome, Alaska.

After a two-year hiatus from the Last Great Race, I decided to jump back in and acquired my media credentials and dutifully attended the media briefing last Wednesday, coughing and hacking my way through an hour of Iditarod information. But it felt good.

Things felt even better yesterday as I layered myself with polypro, fleece, and GoreTex and headed for the Starting Line.

Gimme some Alaska and I'll be fine.

Book Progress, In Spite of It All

The Book marches forward, despite sickness, new dog, and an ever-inflating calendar of events and activities. We spent the weekend doing absolutely nothing in order to recharge our family batteries.
But I did manage to meet with my editor last night, and I feel more in order this morning.

Go check out the Book Blog, why don't you, and see why I love my editor.

Happy Monday.

It's a Lazy, Crazy, Winter in Alaska

This is how we all feel, today. What a crazy, crazy week.

Riley was "fixed" yesterday, so he's spending the day relaxing in the luxury of his crate. Jasper is wildly excited to have his new companion home, so much so,  he spends quality time staring into Riley's crate, wagging his stubby tail.

I am homebound with a cold, but still intercepting phone calls from Mountain High Facility and the Anchorage School District to try and figure out a way (c'mon, people, this just shouldn't be so complicated) to graduate Wolf from high school.

Yukon is still playing catch up from our trip to Hawaii, but now has planned a business trip to Barrow next week (I think I'd rather go back to Hawaii) to meet with the tribal college.

Bear is anxious about spring, and seems to relish driving us nuts lately. His teacher says all first graders become wild animals in February. I will choose to cling to her wisdom, and hope "this too, shall pass."

Maybe I'd really, really like to be shut up in my own crate for the solitude such a position will afford.

We Needed Each Other

That's what I keep telling myself. But he's really, really cute, isn't he?
Meet Riley: Part dog, part squirrel, all personality.

"...We've Got All the Strength We Need In the Shape of Us"

I'm following the journey of so many families in crisis over their children.  Some I have known intimately since childhood, some only recently.  All of them, however, involve children on one spectrum or another, suffer from one disability or another - and parents agonize about their futures, down on their very knees tonight, hoping and praying for life to look just a little bit different tomorrow.

Our children's disabilities have shaped not only they, personally, but everyone around them, and not entirely in a negative way. Please, please, understand this. What is most chaotic and sad about families like ours and yours and others who I cannot name, is also the most beautiful.

The shape of Us. Twisted, but smooth. Narrow, but strong. Complex, but clear.

"Hold my hand
  hold my heart
  let go your fears
  I will always be here."