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.  

From the Wolf Den: Full Circle

Wolf and his escort landed in Anchorage last night around 9 p.m. Wolf was anxious but willing to go along with things, thankfully. During the course of our day I reminded him that he likely had an advantage; he had been through residential treatment before and would be generally familiar with procedures and routines.

That said, it was a nervous teenager who called us from the airport, saying he'd safely arrived and was headed to New Facility.

We're again so thankful to our friends, T & J, who sat with Wolf over the weekend and were parents-by-proxy for Yukon and me. What a blessing to have people be in the right place at the right time.

Update From the Wolf Den: Today

It has been an impossibly long 24 hours for the whole family, and for the people to whom we are close. Here is an update as things stand at this particular milisecond (thanks to another blogger friend who provided me this appropriate word), and how amazed I am at the people who have wandered in and out of our lives:

Yukon and I completed intake procedures for an Anchorage-based inpatient treatment facility to stabilize Wolf and conduct some additional testing to investigate his current behavioral trend. Through the course of the day it was discovered that Wolf probably had not been on a consistent medication regime since his arrival at Arctic Manor.

Wolf found his way to a kindly older couple's house who fed him, talked with him, and encouraged him to call us, whereby we found transportation to the hospital's ER for a checkup and the beginning stabilization process. He is currently safe, warm, and sleeping after a traumatic series of events that, understandably, were exhausting for him. This older couple deserves our humble thanks and appreciation for using enormous amounts of grace to refrain from judging Wolf, us, or the organization. They probably saved his life last night.

Initial Arctic Manor House Parent N deserves our thanks as well for remaining in contact with our family even though he was under no obligation to do so. Without his support and obvious compassion, Wolf may not have agreed to go to the hospital.

Friends from Anchorage are visiting family in Fairbanks and blessed us with the offer to collect Wolf's possessions from Arctic Manor and visit him as he waits in the ER for transport down to Anchorage. This couple likely the people who understand Wolf the best outside of our immediate family, and we are so, so thankful they are helping take at least a bit of the worry from Yukon and I. Update: Wolf just called and said they were there, bearing McDonald's, which made him feel "pretty good." He was surpised to see them, and "very, very happy" they came.

New Facility's Associate Medical Director is the individual who first diagnosed Wolf with Asperger Syndrome in 2007, and is one of the few clinicians with whom Wolf had a rapport, and the only physician I trust thus far. That he is still at this facility provides me with a level of relief I have not felt in some time.

However, the bed that was initially available at New Facility last night is no longer available today, and now we wait. Wolf will remain in acute care in Fairbanks for the interim, which is hard, and is a constant issue among mental health providers throughout the State of Alaska. But he sounds rested, and much, much more at ease with himself than earlier in the week.

I am cleaning the house, because that's what I do when I'm stressed.

Update From the Wolf Den: Everybody Hurts

Changes are hard, even traumatic, for children on the autism spectrum. For Wolf, they are made even more difficult due his extreme impulse control problem. He's been struggling mightily this week after a transition into a strict, unbending, yet very loving new home (a good thing).

He's been running away almost every night. It's not safe, it's not appropriate, and it's hell on us.

And now our worst fears may be realized. Bringing Wolf home was a difficult decision driven partly by Alaska Medicaid and partly by us. Three years at CHYC was a long time, and something had to change. As initially positive the move back to Alaska was, and as beautiful our moments of reunion were, Wolf is resorting to primal reactions to basic interactions (and conflicts) with other people, and is manifesting his disorder(s) through running and all the absolutely negative behavior that goes along with it.

Who knows? Maybe I'd spend my life running, too, if inside I had no idea who I was or why my brain was telling me to do things I didn't understand, and if the world appeared to be a jumble of other people telling me to do things as well.

I have spent the day on both my cell phone and the landline, on multiple conference calls, to put together a plan of care for Wolf in both the short and long-term. Thank God I have a background in long term care, for the scenarios and paperwork and emails might otherwise swallow me whole.

Nonetheless, my kleenex box is as empty as my heart, right now.

From the Wolf Den: Oh Boy, Tomorrow!

The family is in an uproar tonight. We found out at 5 p.m. that Wolf will be making a quick visit to Anchorage tomorrow. I'm excited, I'm anxious, and I'm hopeful.

Hopeful because a family who loves Wolf almost as much as we do is going to be so happy when we drive up to their house and he pokes his 6'2" frame in their doorway, and I know that 30 minutes of seeing their faces will provide power for the rest of Wolf's day.

I'm anxious because medical appointments rarely go as planned, especially with new psychiatrists in Alaska, where nothing is certain personality-wise, and options are few.

I'm excited because a little brother has the chance to wrap his arms around his big, big brother on home turf; show off bike-riding skills; eat a popcicle; read together.

This is bound to be an interesting day.....

From the Wolf Den: He Got to Tie His Shoes

Wolf is back in Alaska. A bit shaky, a bit nervous, but back in the state he has missed so much. Arctic Manor's director flew down to CHYC last night to receive his paperwork, meet with Therapist B. and get to know Wolf a bit before they boarded a flight north at 8 a.m.

I cannot imagine what was going through my son's head and heart this morning. I do know that he tried so incredibly hard to keep it all together before he left; both Yukon and I (and all of you who know him as well) are very, very proud of him. He reported to me his stomach was upset the whole trip and that cannot have been comfortable for him. Arctic Manor called tonight to tell us all was well, and in Wolf's voice I could hear relief. That's good enough for me, especially since we couldn't be there ourselves to welcome him home.

Wolf also got to tie his shoes today. Most of us don't even think about the act of tying shoes. It's automatic and trivial, unless you live in a residential facility where anything that could be used as a tool for self-harm in this litigious world we live is taken away. Same with belts, hoodie strings, and the like.

When Wolf left CHYC this morning, he was wearing new shoes I bought for him during my visit a few weeks ago. They had bright white laces in them. Brilliant, white strings that demanded attention.

What a liberating feeling it must have been for Wolf to thread those laces through the shoes' holes, to feel the smoothness of the material on his lanky fingers, and to loop with finality a bow on top. I bet he stared at those white laces a while before walking out the front door of a place that has been both is most comforting haven and worst nightmare.

Those shoelaces were more than trivial to Wolf, they were freedom. They were a connection to home, and they were, finally, his own.

Bless him, and bless all of us as we lace up our own shoes tomorrow.

The tie that binds.

From the Wolf Den: Angels

There are angels, then there are angels, and right now I'm missing the ones I left behind in Utah.

When I drove out of the CHYC parking lot last Friday night, I realized with a sudden certainty that this was the last time I would walk across the green grass of the school's quad, the last time I would go through the double doors that were so tough to open with my arms full of snacks, clothes, and a double-tall latte for me. Flying across Great Salt lake, I realized it would also be the last time I would see the collection of absolutely wonderful individuals who have become like family.

The photo above shows Miss J, a beautiful soul who has cried with me, laughed with me, and high-fived every accomplishment my son has made in the last three years. She also is credited with asking Wolf, every single morning, "What kind of day are you going to make, today?" Every.Morning.

We've talked about Alaska, kids, ex-husbands, and new babies. I've listened to Miss J. chew out delivery men who tracked mud into her freshly-polished floor space, and watched her, without reservation, hug a mom who had just delivered her daughter to CHYC and now was walking out the door without her. Miss J. made the long trek from CHYC to my hotel room last Thursday to bring me chicken soup and ginger ale when I was sick. There are not too many receptionists with that level of kindness intrinsically built into their souls.

I will miss her. Wolf will miss her. She made three years more bearable, more like home, more like family.

From the Wolf Den: Time Keeps on Slipping Into the Future

Wolf's current obsession is, understandably, his discharge date from CHYC to Arctic Manor (Yukon and South Neighbor came up with that name last week while having cocktails on the deck in my absence. I will allow them the luxury of naming the new home. Ha).

During today's Hour of Power, he must have asked three or four times for hints, "ideas of when", "general ballpark days", and any other term that could be utilized to establish a firm date for when he will depart CHYC and fly north. Fortunately Therapist B. has a good sense of humor and answered his questions with a spontaneity that impressed me. "Between now and the first day of school" is as close as he'd come with Wolf, and by the end of the session it seemed to placate him fairly well.

Yukon and I are scrambling to accomplish the myriad tasks required to move a disabled child from one state to the other in a fairly short span of time. The week of July 18, in fact. Right smack during our Alaska Marine Highway trip. Of course, fate has a way of doing that to us. But we'll manage; in fact, I think we'll manage better due to the fact Wolf will have an escort in the form of Arctic Manor's clinical director, who will have ample opportunity to bond with Wolf on the airplane. Probably more than he ever anticipated. Wolf will be able to get to know the other boys (there will be five total, such a nice chance from 19 in his current situation), and the house protocols before I ever show up. Nothing more embarrassing than having your mom there to ask questions for you. In so many ways Wolf is a typical teenager and I constantly have to remind myself of that: "Don't embarrass the boy, don't embarrass the boy."

This morning I am printing off and signing Releases of Information, HIPPA documents, applications for psychiatric med management, and creating a whole new file folder for this whole new chapter.

The file is labeled "Wolf-Fairbanks" .

It is a pleasure to have it sitting on my desk.

From the Wolf Den: "What a Marvelous Puzzle You Are"

"Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people. Perhaps this is the merely a chance to go beyond your dreams." - Reepicheep

Reepicheep is a rodent braveheart and important figure in the latest "Chronicles of Narnia" film. With his gallant yet sometimes cutting personality, he manages nonetheless to establish a relationship with a young, snooty, somewhat boorish English lad named Eustace in "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader." Unfortunately, at the point of the above quote, Eustace has found himself turned into a dragon. Reepicheep is trying to comfort Eustace and encourage him for his uncertain future.

For Wolf and I, watching this movie was our final activity together. It was, I believe, a preface for the coming weeks of uncertainty and awkwardness for Wolf, who can, as we all know, act boorish, quite irritatingly so.

Wolf will be transferring the week of July 18 to Northern House (I just made that up). He might find, as Eustace eventually did, that being a dragon might not be so bad. But, as Eustace also discovered, it is up to him to find out how. Wanting so much to be the coolest but not knowing how, Asperger Syndrome has created a wonderfully intelligent but socially confused young man, desiring the best of friends but only succeeding in pushing others away.

Perhaps, if he looks at himself for what he is and what he can be, he will be the stuff of his dreams. Dragons aren't so bad. They spit fire, have wings and, as Reep said so eloquently, "have skin of chain mail to deter any swordsman."

To be a dragon. To be extraordinary. To save the day. For Wolf, the sky's the limit. His chance is finally here.

Join me in wishing him that.

From the Wolf Den: Transitions

I would have updated y'all much earlier, but I was sick yesterday. Nothing like a fever when you're away from home to make you want your mommy, or at least your own bed. Oy. At any rate, today I feel almost human and spent the morning with Wolf and the details of his sooner-rather-than-later discharge.

Really. Sooner. Not later.

At a team meeting with the entire CHYC crew who has dilligently supported, cajoled, and figuratively kicked my son's fanny these past three years, we had on the line via telecon the powers that be from Alaska Medicaid and the new Group Home Wolf will soon call his home (we'll give it a name as soon as I think of something snappy). I was prepared for a "No, we don't think we can take him," or at least a "Let's wait a while longer," and was surprised when the general consensus seemed to be soon. Like in two weeks.

There is much to be done and many people to talk with, along with the mechanics of such a move with a kid who collects stuff like a racoon does shiny things. Wolf and I spent the morning making a list of questions to ask the Group Home clinical director and he was a trooper during the phone call, asking apporpriate questions and, I hope, alleviating some uneasiness of this move.

We also spent time writing thank-you notes to some very special people at CHYC who have been more like parents these past 36 months. I don't think the reality of moving hit until Wolf was writing the notes; very sweetly he listed the reasons he was thankful for these individuals and how he was going to try and "make every day a good day".

When I commented on his choice of words, Wolf said "See, I'm not a mean guy." Nope. Not at all.

I just hope the rest of the world will understand.

Bound For the Wolf Den

I'm both packing and unpacking tonight as I prepare for my unplanned visit to see Wolf. Flying out at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning for a full day of travel as I'm unpacking from our trip to Homer and packing in advance for two weeks of work/vacation aboard the Alaska Marine Highway system, I'm not sure just where I'm coming from or going to at this point.

To make matters worse, the cottonwoods are flinging their cotton all about Alaska and causing my brain to explode.

Bear is at day camp all week, a friend will pick him up, Yukon has been duly instructed in the mechanics of lunch-making, clothes-changing, bed-time-enforcing, so hopefully things will slide by fairly smoothly around here.

Haven't heard from Wolf since he hung up the phone on me last week, so our meeting will undoubtedly be interesting. I'm ready, though, to make some decisions as to what we will be doing and when and where. The Asperger's is talking, and it's up to me to find Wolf in there someplace.

A Much Needed Respite

I've been awake since 5 a.m., partly due to the eagle out on the beach chattering away at some early morning find, and partly from a chronically overactive mind.

We're down in Homer, a favorite spot to annually recharge the family batteries. A group of family and friends have gathered at the Homer Seaside Cottages to continue celebrating Yukon's 50th birthday.

Arriving from Anchorage yesterday, we were happy to see the sun as we drove south along the Sterling Highway, and, this morning, it looks about as perfect as Alaska can get for mid-June. The photos above are from our late-night stroll along the beach at around 9:15, and you can see Bear is sufficiently enjoying himself.

It's been a crazy week in the AK Hacienda; Wolf continues to backslide and as a result I've had to cancel some presentations and projects and schedule an impromptu visit to Salt Lake. Since we arrive home on Sunday and leave again July 14 for our mega-ferry trip around southeast Alaska, I'm understandably a little frazzled to add one more trip to the agenda.

But more on that later.

For now, I'm drinking coffee and taking this moment for what it is; simple, quiet, and utterly refreshing for mind and soul. I'll deal with the other crap later.

Amen.

From the Wolf Den: Oh *&%#%

My favorite aspect of Wolf's return to the Original Unit at CHYC has been Unit Director B. A charming lady who understands a) me and b) my son, B has been my biggest ally and most prominent figure in the never-ending quest to save Wolf from himself.

However, we have not yet had the chance to talk in person since Wolf's return to the Unit. Well, until this afternoon, that is. And it was not a good chat. Wolf is continuing to exhibit impulsive behavior that ended him up with a fat lip because somebody else ticked him off. Sigh. Such a tangled web of misunderstanding is Asperger Syndrome.

The kicker came when B and I were discussing Wolf's impending discharge in August. B wanted to make sure the group home in Fairbanks would still take him given his last few weeks of not-so-nice behavior. I had assumed people would be talking amongst themselves (lesson learned, they don't always do that. Gah.).

What do I know as of this afternoon? We don't know if Wolf will go to this group home. We don't know if he'll go to a group home in Alaska at all. We need a Plan B. I need a valium.

Regrouping. Reassessing. Yet eternally grateful for Unit Director B and her pragmatic, no-nonsense approach to this. Solve the problem. Make something happen.

And Wolf? Hopefully having to nurse a fat lip will cause some deep pondering about the meaning of his life. But I can say that, I'm not the one with poor impulse control.

From the Wolf Den: "Not Otherwise Specified"

As we begin the tedious and anxious process of bringing Wolf back to Alaska this summer, I am relearning all the disability-Wolf-related terminology and jargon once so familiar to me.

As trite and perhaps crass is it may sound; I've been glad to rid my mind of these terms for a while. As any parent of a disabled child knows, diagnoses with acronyms like AS, FASD, ADHD, and NOS become more familiar than our children's names. Not for our lack of trying to make it otherwise, be assured. But medical people and social workers and teachers find it easier to refer to our kids by these letters, and one we've been hearing a lot lately is "NOS".

Standing for "Not Otherwise Specified", it sounds like a cop-out, a diagnosis-without-a-diagnosis to make sure a child has something listed in the medical box on forms for school, medical assistance, therapy, you name it. Apparently, we've learned over the years, a blank box is B.A.D. Wolf's current diagnoses are many, the latest of which is NOS, because, I suppose, one cannot put in the blank box "Pain In the Ass" as a qualified medical diagnosis.

The Fairbanks North Star Borough has made that perfectly clear, in the most polite way, of course. Wolf's admittance into an accredited residential treatment program was not enough, and I found out a signed, sealed, and delivered diagnosis is required for him to qualify for special education his senior year. We are in a bit of a quandry, too, because Wolf never received an IEP (another acronym standing for Individualized Education Plan/Program) over his school years K-11.

Why?

He was never considered to be in enough trouble. Ironically, according to the Anchorage School District, special education department heads wanted to avoid "labeling" my son.

Good grief.

From and To the Wolf Den Today

This is the day I sit down and reflect upon my son's journey. Well, the whole family's journey, really.

Who we were and where we were and what we were doing, and who, where, and what we are now...

This to this. That to that. There to there.

One child's disability leading to an entire family's evolution.

From the Wolf Den: Admitting I Was Wrong

Oh, but that's the hardest part of being Wolf. Admitting he screwed up, took the rap, assumed responsibility. We're not exactly sure why this is so darned difficult, but whenever he is found at fault a big falderal takes place, never ending well.

So was the case today, apparently. The most challenging environment for Wolf at CHYC is during Gym class, most certainly not his favorite after being tossed around like a wet noodle at a school in Anchorage and blamed for it due to his argumentative behavior. Today was not a good day. Argument-> Fight -> Bigger Fight -> Restraint. Damn. Damn it all to that Dark Place.

If he'd just let it go he'd be in such a better place. But he can't. All he can do is respond with some primal instinct that keeps telling him not to flee but fight; and fight he does, with all 6'2", 155 pounds of wiry bad self.

In nine hours the Hour of Power begins. I'm struggling tonight with how to respond when he calls. Part of me wants to say nothing. Part of me wants to lay into him like a drill sergeant. Unfortunately, I have not much hope for either choice. Were the stakes not so high, I would be less inclined to put on the pressure for proper behavior.

Perhaps I was wrong for saying that.

From the Wolf Den: Helpless (But Not Hopeless)

It's been such a long, long time since I've read the ID on my sort-of-smartphone and seen "Wolf-CHYC" listed there. When my phone rang this morning I was at a coffee shop trying to get my writing assignments in order after almost two weeks on vacation. It was a beautiful day today, full of sunshine only an Alaskan winter morning could provide, and I was expecting a wonderfully productive day (now that Bear has gone back to school).

Seems there was a little tussle at CHYC; somebody aggravated Wolf (so easy to do, and the other boys know it) and he neglected to walk away, instead trying to charge headfirst into the other guy. Thankfully, staff got to him first and held him back.

It's so hard to control impulses for these kids. Wolf doesn't even have the most basic ability to say to himself "Don't do it." When you were a kid, did you ever see something in a store so incredibly cool, so absolutely beautiful, that you had to touch it, even if the sign said plainly, in big block letters, "DON'T TOUCH"? Yeah, that's my kid. Always.

I remember one time when Wolf got suspended from school in the first grade for jumping on a kid just because the class bully told him to. When I asked him "Why? Why would you do such a terrible thing?" He just stared at me and said "I don't know."

Now, all parents know there is nothing quite so aggravating as the "I don't know" response. Even in the best of circumstances it makes us feel helpless, as if this child to which we gave birth is suddenly and unexpectedly a stranger. It's not a good feeling.

At this juncture of Wolf's life, when he is so close to coming back to a less-restrictive living situation, losing one's cool like today simply will not do. Consequences will be swift and dire, and that leaves me with a degree of helplessness I cannot describe.

But not hopeless. Yukon and I have pledged, in the most painful way a parent could, to support Wolf to the best of our ability, to talk openly with him, to share suggestions where they are wanted, to coach and remind and remonstrate. And that's not a message of hopelessness. It's a message of reality, of positive parenting, and we'll try as hard as we can.

It is easy to feel helpless with respect to our disabled children. But hope is indeed the thing with feathers, and sometimes it flits here and there and lands in the most interesting places. We must hold on to hope when it comes anywhere near.

From the Wolf Den and Other News

Not too much other news, really. Bear, Yukon, and I made it home safely from Fairbanks and our wild winter getaway. After a quick trip to Ice Alaska, the home to World Ice Carving Championships and a park full of kid-friendly, icy slides, climbing things, and critters, we arrived in Anchorage to my panicked realization that Bear and I depart for Seattle and the Grandparents next Tuesday, with Yukon following Wednesday. Ack.

Pulled out all the organizing stops as soon as my feet hit the ground from the SUV, unpacking, doing laundry, making corn dogs, putting Bear to bed, then waking up the next morning sicker than sick. Again.

This is indeed getting old.

Poor Yukon has a week full of meetings and an appointment with our wonderful, cussing, Tax Man, so he was a little stressed to find his wife unable to do much more than make toast. Pass the whiskey, please.

Wolf, on the other hand, continues on his upward trend toward summertime discharge from CHYC. Despite a tragic turn of events on his father's side, he has not only maintained his level, he has climbed it. Today we skipped the Hour of Power (thank goodness) in favor of an outing to the movies and Wal Mart with some other guys from his unit and Therapist B. We are nothing short of amazed.

The power of positive. Gotta love it. Maybe if I try I will feel like something other than day-old bread.

From the Wolf Den: Looking North

Yukon, Bear, and I have been in lovely Fairbanks, Alaska the past three days scouting out a potential group home situation for Wolf, and doing our annual Interior visit to this wonderful community.

In a crazy twist of weather-fate, yesterday reminded me of the stories told by my eastern Montana-raised mother of blizzards, howling winds, and driving snow that hurt when it hit the face. We woke up Monday morning to almost 18 inches of snow, crazy wind gusts, and flickering power at our hotel.

Thankfully we had accomplished most of our AKontheGO missions, but did have to have hotel staff (our friend C. is the manager here) haul out the snowblower to get us out of our parking space so we could make it to the meeting with said group home staff.

We were pleased with the meeting; staff seem to be on the same wavelength as our family, they operate as a "family", and work hard with the young men and women to achieve independence so necessary to survive in the "real world". I left there feeling as if we had finally found a fit. A hole that is square enough to accommodate my four-cornered-kid. Time will tell, of course, but I think he'll do well up here.

Yukon drove us downtown in a wind tunnel of blowing snow to the School District offices, where we gathered paperwork for an impending IEP (something I am totally unfamiliar with since the Anchorage School District never felt Wolf was "disabled enough" to require one-don't get me started). Standing there, talking about "my son", making plans that after three years actually, physically require me to do something, felt strange and wonderful at the same time.

I could see Yukon felt the same way, too.

Roads and Maps and Repeating the Drills

Much of my time in SLC is spent in my rental car, navigating the checkerboard pattern of the city on my way to and from CHYC. Airport to hotel to store to restaurant to school; wash, rinse, repeat.

For an Alaskan whose road systems consist of two major highways, driving in a large city like SLC, however thoughtfully it was designed, is always interesting, and not unlike our journey with Wolf.

I’ve got directions, but am I really sure where this off-ramp leads? Whoa, that intersection wasn’t on the map, did somebody build a new one without telling the folks at AAA? Gee, that cloverleaf was a doozy, hope we don’t slip off the road.

This trip has been less about what is going on now (even though it matters infinitely) and more about what will be going on later. Job Corps, Access Alaska, New Group Home, UAF, etc. etc, and etc. some more. We hope to create a helpful Key in his map for the days ahead. That’s the easy part. Harder is the balance between knowing he’ll screw up eventually (because he will), and how much to save him.

Carrying a map is one thing. Using it is quite another.

Remember when you were a teenager and your parents wanted to tell you something really, really, important, but you kept interrupting with “I know!” Yeah, it’s like that, but even more so, because Wolf really doesn’t know.

So we begin here, and make the map, provide the Key, list the options, arrange the meetings. Wash, rinse, repeat as necessary.