Occupy Wolf

Today my oldest child turns 18. I, like so many other parents whose children are now considered by the world to be clinical adults, am greeting this day with joy and sorrow. Mostly joy, though.

I thought of the People -

People who have walked beside us these past 18 years, witnessing the arrival of this incredible kid and becoming immersed in his physical, spiritual, and emotional growth. You are the people who have put up with pushy playdates, biting, running off, and an inappropriate mouth. You are the angels who have picked up our son from the gritty soil and placed him gently in the arms of other angels. Some of you, I have never met in person. Thank you.

People who have been the cornerstones of "practicalities." Things like school, medical appointments, or insurance approvals. You have been the ones to say "yes" when everyone else said "no." The teacher who spent three afternoons a week personally tutoring Wolf, the counselor who cried when we relayed a story about the circumstances around his birth, the Alaska utilization reviewer who fought hard for Wolf's current arrangement. You believed me. You believed in him. Thank you.

People who have never met Wolf. Not once. But you car for our younger son when Yukon and I must travel far away; you go like mad to keep up with me when I just need to get outside and run the feelings of despondency away; you light candles, pray, contemplate, or simply sit in support of our family. You send me notes, texts, and wine. Thank you.

That's an Occupy with staying power.

"A People In Darkness Have Seen a Great Light..."

I'm trying to keep that phrase close to my lips this week. Today is December 21, the shortest of the year and one that sends most Alaskans into a tizzy of excitement; not for the extreme non-length of the actual hours today, but for the additional eight seconds tomorrow. Sometimes that's how we must think, here.

Normally, Winter Solstice passes as a peaceful, snowy interlude with lantern walks, evening ski and snowshoe adventures, and hot cocoa beside a roaring backyard fire. It is the night before The Night To Come, and yet another way those of us who consciously choose to live in the Far North recognize the balance between nature and creature.

This year was something else, again. A month of warming, blowing, absolutely insane weather has played tricks on our usual celebrations. Trails are icy, roads are treacherous, and sledding hills are, shall we say, insanely dangerous (although that doesn't seem to be stopping some people).

In the wake of not one, not two, but three storms of 90 mph magnitude, we were tired. Tired of the creaking house frames, tired of picking up trash and chasing trash cans, tired of the darkness created from not enough snow to create the sparkling wonderland we have come to associate with Winter Solstice.

But the sun came out today. It warmed the earth, made the soggy snow to look something special, and gave me a special gift while I was out running on a local trail this afternoon, waiting for Bear to finish winter survival day camp.

The sun started to go down around 3:15 this afternoon, fingerlings of whispy clouds reaching toward my for my tired body and brain, offering energy, respite. Suddenly, the very bland colors of an Alaskan winter changed from gray and beige to orange and red and yellow.

We simply cannot have one without the other.

From the Wolf Den: Fortitude in Failure

Absurd moments are inevitable in any travel experience; as a journalist, I witness them every day, usually because they involve me. Normally, the abject absurdity results eventual resolution and laughter over a bottle of wine that evening, and life goes on.

When one is traveling with a child on the Autism Spectrum, however, the ability to laugh over a snafu is a bit more difficult. Actually, it feels downright impossible today.

Wolf was/is due in at Mountain Time Zone this morning after what should have been a great dual-parent trip where we could all march into the school together as a family united in treatment with our disabled child. As is typical when important decisions are made on Friday afternoons, however, the travel-planning-discharge wheels did not grind forward at all on Monday morning, and Yukon and I were again faced with a "who will go-who will stay" coin toss. After considerable contemplation and consultation with every medical authority at New Facility, and after Wolf promised to take an anti-anxiety med to hopefully calm his nerves, Yukon volunteered to once again deliver his son to a new and strange facility.

Supposed travel arrangements were made, but not actually confirmed, as was discovered late last night when we arrived at the airport. Ticketing agent to counter and back again we went, trying to figure out where, exactly, these two would be going, and aboard which airplane. A decided lack of paperwork in hand (yes, we left the facility without a formal itinerary; Wolf needed to go and go then, we could not wait another day, a truly AS behavior), I sent Yukon to the Alaska Airlines counter, where a fabulous agent/supervisor spent the better part of an hour tracking down the reservation (only one leg was actually secured), finding seats together (big fail on the part of New Facility), and eventually getting the boys to Colorado Springs.

Yes, you heard correctly. Colorado Springs. Not Denver. Seems New Facility Discharge Planner never mentioned that the flights to Denver were booked so she booked them to the next-closest in her mind. Right.

Before any adult melting down could occur, Yukon and I looked over at this child, who was watching our every move, pacing, muttering, and also fading fast from the anti-anxiety meds, and bent over to have a brief confab with Agent, who was by this time looking at us like we were positively crazy to even be there without the proper information.

"This child must. go. tonight." The words came out just like that, along with a 60-second synopsis of the Wolf and his long, arduous situation.

She jumped around her kiosk counter, said "I'll be back in a second, sit down," and disappeared into the back room of the Alaska Airlines offices.

Around 30 minutes later, she reappeared bearing printed tickets for all flight connections (it was the best she could do), Yukon's return flight itinerary (oh, yes, did we mention Discharge Planner did not even book Yukon to come back to Alaska?), and coupons for a few free drinks (for Yukon). She had also contacted United Airlines by phone, informed them about Yukon and Wolf, and asked on their behalf for early boarding in Chicago.

Agent told Wolf that O'Hare was a great airport, and listed a few things he should make sure he saw during their 2-hour layover. He brightened considerably at this, and said a "thank you" in his best monotone voice, hands still shaking as he clutched the Cinnabon I bought him as a reward for behaving so well during this crisis.

I had planned to capture all sorts of family photos illustrating our family goodbye; group hugs and all that. Yukon was also going to take the camera from me and use it to record Wolf's arrival at Mountain Time Zone. Drat. Instead, Bear and I hugged our big guys (it was almost 11 p.m. by this point), waved them through the MVP line (at least that was a good perk), and then I picked up my weary littlest son from the floor and we headed to the parking lot.

Yukon and Wolf made it to Chicago safely, I have yet to hear about an arrival in Colorado Springs. But I'm sure things will go smoothly from here.

Won't they?

Happy Birthday To Bear!

Wow. Seven years old, already.

Sometimes I think he's seen too much, yet other times, I don't believe he's seen enough.

This is one compassionate, insightful child, and I'm lucky to be his mother.

From the Wolf Den: The Wheel Goes Round and Round, and Round.....

Now that Wolf is back in the same city as family, Yukon and I have noticed a decided shift in his behavior. Having a taste of the same air as us, knowing our weather patterns and traffic noises, Wolf is beside himself to "come home," even though we, and probably he, knows he can't.

As a result, he is spinning his emotional wheels, trying to drag me under them in the process. Our telephone conversations are abrupt, long, and full of "Why me's" and "How could you's" that do nothing but make me feel as if I suck as a parent, and do little else for Wolf than ramp up his already ramped self.

Staff at New Facility are now getting to see what Wolf is like when he is angry, and on one level, I am glad. On another, I am painfully aware how horrible it must be to live like this, and it makes me sad.

But like a wheel that keeps turning around and around and around, eventually the tires wear out and something has to change. I just hope Wolf will be able to recognize that before the axle breaks and he flies off into space.

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.

First, the Good News...

Today was the first day of school for Bear. All trumped up and ready by 7 a.m., my little casanova had his hair spiffed, his bright yellow shirt all buttoned, and brand new, uber-cool Sketchers on his fast-growing feet.

A nice surprise was finding him assigned to a grade 1-2 split this year, which should be an interesting challenge for our little know-it-all. Thank goodness for faculty who understand my kid and his learning style!

We heard from Arctic Manor staff who, too, are pleased with progress both at the house and at school. Seems as if everyone is settling into their places with bright shiny faces. Haven't seen that in a while...

Now the bad news....

Yukon needs surgery again. Seems as if that elbow is just not presenting enough movement, despite endless physical therapy and exercise. Adding to the difficulty is a left shoulder that appears to be "freezing up," reasons for which will not fully be understood until Surgeon gets in there to see for himself.

Two-for-one; that's what we have coming on October 12. A long recovery coming, too, according to Surgeon. Ten days at least. Right after we are supposed to get back from a week in Hawaii, meaning that Yukon could conceivably be away from the office for three weeks, meaning that maybe we won't go to Hawaii. Meaning, also, that I am in a bit of a funk tonight.

I do, however, have a raspberry cobbler in the oven, because that is one thing I can control tonight. Dessert.

From the Wolf Den: Firsts

I have tried not to think too much about "firsts" anymore where Wolf is involved. Our "firsts" are not like other people's firsts, and it used to drive me nuts. Baselines and standards, and all that.

But today was the first day of Wolf's senior year. A first worth remembering, because Yukon and I were not sure this day would arrive on time, if at all. But it has.

Wonderful N. at Arctic Manor sent me a message last night saying Wolf had organized his stuff a few times and was subsequently wandering around nervously, not wanting to go to bed. I had called earlier in the evening and listened as Wolf shared his list of new school clothes and supplies both N. and I had purchased over the last week. This was a big day.

It was an anxious day for me; wondering if the school would meet his academic needs as I knew it would his behavioral ones, for better and/or worse. Would the other kids be a hinderance rather than a motivator? Would staff truly understand Wolf's intellectual capabilities yet be ready to support the emotional fragility and anxious behavior?

I received an email from the school administrator around 4 p.m.

"Just wanted to let you know that (Wolf) had a very good first day. He easily made friends and is excited about the class he was placed in. He feels he has a lot in common and is on the same level as his classmates. We should be on track for (Wolf) to graduate on schedule, if not earlier."

We've never had a first day like this first day. Ever.

From the Wolf Den: More Than This

I drove out of the hotel parking lot this morning with more than just coffee fueling my tired body. It was bound to be a full one; taking Wolf to the El Dorado Gold Mine to show him the ins and outs of Alaska's chief mineral mining process, visiting the Fairbanks School District to sign papers releasing them to do necessary testing, and taking Wolf to a potential school where, I knew, a fight was imminent.

My expectations were unfounded, however, for as much work as Wolf needed to do throughout the day to maintain his behavior standards and not break down into tears when we arrived at the alternative high school to where he will be placed, Wolf did fantastic.

Not to say that he didn't have his difficult moments; kids with Asperger Syndrome always will. But he rallied, pulled back, and was willing to listen to what we adults had to say.

House Parent N. accompanied us to the gold mine and had a great time. New to Alaska from Kansas, N. had not panned for gold before and found the opportunity sort of fun, and quite educational. It was nice, too, to see how N. managed Wolf's actions and words, and I'm sure it was nice for him to see the same from me.

School is going to be different for Wolf. It concerned we adults that asking him to mainstream into a large public high school when he has never before had such an opportunity would be crazy, and potentially set Wolf up for failure. So we are enrolling him in a small (23-student) high school operated in partnership with the School District and a family service organization.

Once Wolf found out it would not be like CHYC-unlocked, he calmed down, checked out the classrooms, and met the teachers, all of whom are absolutely incredible individuals. I continue to feel blessed by the amazing people we are meeting up here. Everywhere we go. All the time.

As a reward, I took Wolf to buy some "necessary" school supplies, consisting of graph paper, a zip-up binder, and a stash of pens/pencils. Since he's not had the chance to buy supplies in quite some time, this was a special event, indeed. I sweetened his behavior pot further by buying him a model and the necessary accoutrements, and when I left Arctic Manor this evening, he was peacefully organizing his new Titanic model.

I feel as if we both are waking up and seeing each other for the first time after a long, long, winter.

From the Wolf Den: With the Freedom Comes the Pain

As we are joyful at Wolf's presence back to Alaska, we are also reminded of how difficult this transition is for a young man with Asperger Syndrome.

Arctic Manor continues to be a fabulous option for Wolf, if he will allow it to be so. In a typically Asperger Syndrome sort of manner, Wolf is struggling with both the loss of old boundaries and the tightening up of new ones. There have been so many signs that perhaps he did indeed absorb some of the skills taught to him by CHYC, but, when presented with stressors in a very real world in which he now lives, his coping approach doesn't exactly match the situation. Unfortunately.

I cannot even to pretend to know what goes through Wolf's mind as he tries to manipulate in the fashion he is accustomed; in this case it is a staff member to whom Wolf finds a little too direct (bossy, as we are told) in telling him what to do, when, and how. In Wolf's mind, as in that of most people with Asperger Syndrome, he assumes this person, and all people, will submit and see things "his way." It is an extremely difficult existence, thinking one is the master of all and yet, it is actually the other way around.

Wolf knows he has freedom, but like a dog who escapes from his fenced-in yard and runs amok in the neighborhood, he has no idea how to safely and appropriately use it.

In looking at behaviors that are so immature, it becomes difficult to match the antics to the face we see. This is Asperger's at its most painful, and watching Wolf muddle his way through this most important time of new freedom reminds us further that the sand is slipping further and further into the base of the hourglass.

We can only take one deep, cleansing breath at a time, and wait for tomorrow.

From the Wolf Den: I'm Me and Nobody Else

How we've worked so hard to get here. Being Wolf, all day and all the time, is not easy.

I called him yesterday to check in from southeast Alaska, where Yukon and Bear and I are still ferrying around the Inside Passage.

Wolf was doing his morning chores, washing dishes along with another kid. He took a time-out to tell me that he wanted to get some clothes for school. Of course he does, and I said I'd help him take care of that when I got up there.

"Uhhh, well..."

I found this fascinating.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Well, nothing, exactly," came the reply. "I'm just trying to find a way to say something in a way that won't sound disrespectful."

Wolf wanted to buy his own clothes.

I high-fived him over the phone.

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.

The Best Day of His Life: Bear Learns to Ride a Bike

It's been a long saga of timid attempts by Bear to learn to ride his two-wheeler. A very cautious kid, he made sure Yukon was there for weeks, holding on to the crossbar. Yukon, anxious himself, made sure to provide short spurts of teaching intermingled with plenty of attaboy's.

I did things a little different. Not better, mind you, just different.

I remember teaching Wolf to ride his bike; a bit cautious himself, but more willing to take a chance and see what happened if he fell off. Which he of course did, but since I taught him on the two acres of lumpy pastureland upon which we were living at the time, it was a fairly harmless way of learning to ride a bicycle.

Bear had been grumpy all day, I'm sure due to one phase of growing up or another, at any rate, he stomped outside to ride his training wheel bike (we have several bikes to choose from, thanks to cool neighbors), and I began mowing the lawn. It was obvious he was ready to ride the two-wheeler, and it really didn't take much convincing to get him to straddle the fiery red and yellow bike and let me hold on to the rear of the seat. (key, here).

We had gone about 10 yards before it was obvious the only thing holding him back was indeed his cautious nature, so I loosened my grip to just below his lower back, so he thought I was still holding on. Hah.

Is there anything more liberating to a little boy than the moment he takes off, unaided by grownup hands, and pedals off into the sunset? Nope. I don't think so.

And three or so hours later, he's still out there, standing up to pedal and turning around like a pro.

We're on our way.

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: A Loss of Words

It's been a tough week for Wolf. One of the more difficult aspects of life at CHYC is that each kid shares a room with another resident, in part for logistical purposes, but more to increase social skills and the all-important concept of getting along with anybody.

Wolf has been sharing a room with one, two, and occasionally three other guys for the majority of his time at CHYC, and when he was transferred back to his original unit, we all hoped for a more harmonious situation.

Starting off well, Wolf's first roommate subsequently graduated and left the community, and, seeing glimmers of leadership beginning to emerge from our son, staff crossed their fingers and placed a new boy as Wolf's room partner.

Thursday morning Wolf called for the Hour of Power with an angry, resentful, and frustrated tone to his voice. It seems that Roommate New Guy got angry when Wolf and some other guys wouldn't let him play Dungeons and Dragons (don't get me started on that game with Asperger boys, but I'll save it for another post someday), and flew into a rage, stomping into the shared room and wreaking havoc upon Wolf's stuff.

Wolf was willing to let go the bedding flung around the room, the Pokemon cards hitting the ceiling and such. What really hurt was the books. His favorite titles (and some of mine) ripped in half, torn with a retaliatory fury. As an avid reader and the mother of one, the idea of someone sacrificing books in the name of his own personal insecurity gave me great pain, and I could empathize with Wolf in a way we have not, to this point, been able to connect. I got it. I get it. I am angry too.

The other boy has been dealt with, for sure. But that's not entirely the point. Yukon, Therapist B. and I have all been working really, really hard to help Wolf understand that stuff like this (figuratively or literally) happens all the time in life. And sometimes we (figuratively or literally) are at a loss for/of words. And wow, does that hurt. But not fighting back and carrying on is so hard to explain to a child who thinks in the now and not the later except from a revenge sort of mantra.

But then, my words are sort of lost right now, too.

From the Wolf Den: Listen To Me

I like to think I listen to my children, but in reality I probably don't as much as I should. In 17 + years of parenting there is a lot of listening; to joys, fears, irrational explanations, complaints.

We have a lot on our minds, we moms and dads, and sometimes we're way ahead of our kids when they rush through the door at the end of the day, thinking already about what to thaw out for dinner or how the heck we'll manage to drive to running club while juggling a teleconference.

Kid says to us "Guess what happened today?" and before he even has time to throw his backpack on the floor we're already interrupting to say "Put your backpack in the proper place and take off your shoes and don't forget to start your homework!" Kid goes to do all these things, and we both forget what happened today.

Guilty.

It's even more complicated with Wolf. With so much of our communication over the phone and so many limitations currently placed upon his worldly experiences, it's hard sometimes to listen. Add in an endless explanation about the current Obsession of the Week and sometimes 15 minutes feels like 50. This weekend was one of those conversations. Memorial Day crowd over at the house, a beautiful day, and Wolf wanted to talk about the Enterprise.

Guiltier.

But we try, and to be fair, Wolf does, too. Knowing that sometimes he falls back into a comfortable form of communication when stressed or tired or upset means Yukon and I must be the ones to ask the questions and do the engaging. Active listening at its best.

Bear calls me on it all the time. "Mommy, you're not listening to me!" And perhaps I'm not. Perhaps this child is the one to be my reminder when Wolf comes home and requires more listening than other kids.

Listen to me.

Listen. To. Me.

Disney Dreaming: How Would Wolf Handle the Magic Kingdom?

Yukon and I knew we might be heading into hot water with Wolf when we conducted our weekly Hour of Power via the room phone from the 9th floor of the Disneyland Hotel suite thoughtfully provided for us by Disney.

Wolf, I'm sure, feels bad sometimes when Bear gets to go places he doesn't, and justifiably so. I'd be ticked if it were me. Disneyland is the top of most kids' fantasy vacation list, and our oldest son's was no different.

I'd spent two whirlwind days exploring Disneyland and adjoining California Adventure with six year-old and 49 year-old children. Park work, part play, it was my job to find the undiscovered, or at least unwritten-about "little things" at both parks. Thinking about Wolf was constant, but not always despairingly so.

I learned this about Disney: If a child wishes to visit the park and has particular needs, be they physical, mental, social, or otherwise, Disney will make sure it happens. We saw kids in wheelchairs who had broken legs two days before leaving home for the vacation of a lifetime. Kids undergoing chemotherapy, kids with cerebral palsy, sight-impaired children, children in foster care; they were all there, and all were treated with respect and dignity and, most important, just like everybody else. Isn't that what all kids want?

It is comforting to know that should we decide to take Wolf to Disneyland, they would take care of him. And us.

Bear Blows 'Em Away. What I Learned from Wolf.

As my children grow up and begin to manifest their unique talents and skills separate from what I as their mother think ought to be said unique talents and skills, I am amazed. Amazed that they have managed to do so despite my prodding and pushing to do other things. Funny how parenting is like that.

With Wolf we tried all sports and activities, quickly finding that those requiring team spirit were not exactly successful. Duh. Children with Asperger Syndrome prefer singular sports and such, and Wolf did exactly that, enjoying Taekwondo and roller blading and Nordic skiing, as long as things moved along at his preferred pace. Fine with me, once I let him be. Ever tried to make a kid like something he a) has little coordination, ability, or social skills or b) hates because of a). Letting Wolf simply embrace the things he loved was the biggest motivator for raising Bear to do the same, minus all the slip-ups.

Bear does not have poor coordination or pitiful social skills. On the contrary, he is quite an athletic youngster which, if he belonged to other parents, could have driven him toward early learning on the baseball diamond or soccer field. But he doesn't, and we don't.

Bear likes to do the things he likes to do, and since we've already been down this road, we let him, within reason. He wanted to do taekwondo, but after three years became weary of the not-so-fun-anymore format, so at the end of our contract we let him quit. He likes to ski really, really fast but we keep that within reason too with family ski days and plenty of freewheeling time on the slopes. What he really likes, though, is to run. And run. And run.

He ran a race last week with me as his "guide". A 3k sponsored by our local running club and the first "official" race of the season, the Do Run Run was an out-and-back race with only three other kids and a bunch of grownups. Our only goal, if you can call it that, was to "run" the whole way, since Bear, like most kids, dashes out at the start only to huff and puff 50 yards later in exhaustion. Good enough.

We ran together, he and I, with his big old feet slapping the pavement but with a highly-qualified runner's stature, arms pumping evenly at his sides, steady pace, and head up high. Ran the whole way, Bear did, and when we arrived at the final 1/2 k mark, I told him to give it all he had for the finish line. So he did, passing all the other kids and a good number of adults to finish 4th. Overall.

Yukon didn't even have a chance to take his picture crossing the finish line because he assumed we'd be at the back.

Bear crossed the line, cheeks pink with pleasure and wiping his sweaty head with his Running Club ball cap, a treasured possession. "Can I have a cookie, now?" he asked.

From the Wolf Den: A Lesson in Suffering and a Light Through the Darkness

I just hung up the phone after talking my teenage son down from a ledge of darkness. I hope.

(Yes, all appropriate staff have been notified at CHYC of the current situation, before anyone becomes alarmed)

I almost wasn't here tonight to take this call.

Wolf called tonight and almost immediately I could sense all was not well in his world. It's so, so hard to gauge his mood, affect, and sense of self over the phone that my brain has to do a mental checklist of possible reasons for his lowered voice and muttered answers to "How's it going?"

He was still doing well on the Unit. Still on Level. School was going "fine". Medications were still okay. I'll bite: "So what seems to be happening to make you so sad-sounding?"

"I can't tell you because I'll disappoint you." Bingo. This is a tactic used by Wolf to preface a really, really big announcement that once probed and pulled and yanked, usually results in what's really on his mind. From a parent's perspective, however, there is no worse feeling than a child saying he can't tell something because he fears repercussions. My brain said "Oh Sugar." But not really Sugar.

I took a big swig from my Red Chair Ale (my mom-evening-alone-beverage), followed that with a big breath, and said in my best therapist voice, "Tell me about it."

What he told me factually doesn't matter. What he told me figuratively does. Bottled up inside that constantly-revolving and evolving brain of his was the "whys" of suffering, death, and pain. Still grieving the loss of his cousin a few months ago, Wolf is consumed. He is confused and is grasping at anything that will be sympathetic to the darkness he feels.

It is hard enough to explain death and dying to grownups; it is doubly so when explaining such to a young man in a child's body. Going back to the basics of love, life, and learning, I reiterated how much the people in his life love and cherish him for him, and nothing could ever change that. But also, that Life as a rule is full of suffering. Things are born and, if lucky, live full lives. But sometimes they do not. We talked about God and the power to change this fact if He wanted to. Yes, indeed. He could.

But, I asked, who would we be as humans able to make decisions about what we do and how we act, if God made all the decisions for us?

I don't know if I made any sense at all, but the whole exchange gave me pause, especially after the suffering in our family this spring.

I left Wolf with one final thought: You are never, ever, ever alone. Not for one second.