tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18507391428136977232024-03-13T11:41:13.063-07:00Paths From Pooks SoulA blog following Keargan, aka "Pookie", as navigates a world with early onset pediatric schizophrenia. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-25873408218632636182019-09-23T18:27:00.000-07:002019-09-23T18:27:04.681-07:00Magic Monster SprayWhen my eldest two children where young, I had a spray bottle of water. I put in a couple drops of food coloring and told the kids it was "magic monster spray". I would get rid of the monsters under the bed, in then closet or just the ones they heard.<br />
<br />
It always worked.<br />
<br />
Except with Keargan. He insisted the magic didn't work. That he could still hear the voices, and see here monsters. Most of his nights were spent in my room.<br />
<br />
Apparently Magic Monster Spray doesn't help with the voices that rage inside his head due to his schizophrenia.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-12013203837481588802015-01-04T11:07:00.001-08:002019-09-23T18:27:20.859-07:00Dear Suicidal Teens (And How Dear You Are, Indeed)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Cousine; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Dear Suicidal Aspie Teen (Or Autistic Teen, Or Teen With PDD-NOS, Or ADHD Teen, Or OCD Teen, Or Bipolar Teen, or Depressed Teen, or Gay Teen, or Trans Teen, or Bullied Teen, or Abused Teen, or Whoever You May Be):<br /><br />I can’t promise that you’ll wake up one morning and your world will be filled with endless sunshine (or moonlight, if that’s more your style) and happiness and prosperity and that you’ll never have another self-loathing or suicidal thought ever again. I can’t promise that you’ll ever be the most well-liked person in your school or workplace or that you’ll never be bullied or loathed or put-down ever again. I can’t promise that your world will be any less overwhelming, any less dizzying, or any less difficult to live in than it is now. I can’t promise that you’ll become the next Nobel Prize winner, the next Pulitzer-winning author, the next Grammy-winning musical artist, the next Oscar-winning actor or actress, the next gold-medal Olympian, or what-have-you. I wish all of these things for you, of course, but I’m no psychic; I haven’t a clue what your future holds.<br /><br />But having dealt with suicidal urges since the age of twelve, I do know this: <b>staying alive is worth it.<br /></b>Now, some of you may be thinking, “Yeah, well, staying alive may be worth it for <b>you</b>, but you don’t know me, and you don’t know the hell I live in.” And, indeed, I do not. I don’t know if you having a loving family or supportive friends; I don’t know if you have family or friends at all. I don’t know what it’s like to have your exact sensory issues, your exact deficits, your exact anxieties and fears, your exact tics and stims, your exact pain, your exact loneliness, or your exact regrets. I don’t know if you’ll ever graduate high school or college, and I don’t know if you’ll ever get a job (fun fact: I turn 20 years old in a month, I’m a straight-A student who supposedly has “decent social skills,” and I have never been employed a day in my life. It’s not just you, I promise). I know what it’s like to have <i>my</i> PDD-NOS, to have <i>my</i> weakness and inadequacies and painful memories and regrets, but I don’t know what it’s like to have <i>your</i>struggles, and I’m not going to pretend that I do.<br /><br /> But I know what you do have: you have yourself, and that “you” deserves a chance—a chance to try, a chance to experience, and a chance to find beauty in this world. See, there’ll be moments that you’ll be glad that you stuck around to experience. I can’t promise that the moments will be particularly abundant, but I can promise you that they’re there. There’ll be a song that you never heard before that sends chills from the tip of your head to the core of your being. There’ll be a time when you help a stranger, perhaps even an act so small, so inconsequential to you that you have no idea it was an act of kindness at all, and that stranger will tell you that you made their day, and your heart will beat a little lighter for a little while. There’ll be that hobby that you get into, a hobby that you may or may not ever be “good” at, that will fill you with awe and, well, fun! There’ll be a way that the sunset scatters across the clouds, a way that the leaves tumble from the trees or that the wind sweeps across a field of tall grass, a way that the rain will dance along the rooftops, that will take your breath away, even if for only a second. There’ll be a contest that you enter that you swear that there’s no way you will win or place in…but you do<b>, because you’re more incredible than the self-loathing thoughts in your head will ever let you believe.</b> There’ll be battles that you win, discoveries that you make, and joys that you have that bring you happiness just when you thought that happiness could no longer exist.<br /><br />And maybe it’s presumptuous of me to assume that the little moments of happiness are worth dealing with whatever pain you are dealing with. But consider this: maybe you’re somebody else’s small miracle, somebody else’s stranger, smile, random occurrence that makes their day or even their life, and maybe your dark thoughts are being conniving little jerks that aren’t letting you see this.<br /><br />Sometimes, you mean a lot more to a person than you’ll ever be able to believe.<br /><br />Throughout most of my adolescence, I swore that my father merely tolerated me because he had to and that his life would be indefinitely better without me in it. It wasn’t his choice for his wife to give birth to his child when he was 48 years old, when his other children were already grown up and getting on with their own lives and when retirement was just over the horizon. It wasn’t his choice for that child to be “developmentally delayed” and for that child to need speech therapy and special education. It wasn’t his choice for my mother, through no fault of her own, to be forcefully removed from our family picture when I was six. It wasn’t his choice to have a daughter who threw deafening tantrums in the middle of crowded supermarkets and for strangers to judge his parenting skills. It wasn’t his choice to have a teenager that bit and scratched herself, that would almost get them both killed with her inability to distinguish “No!” from “Go!” from the driver’s seat of her small car, that made him stay up late at night sobbing with worry. It wasn’t his choice to have a kid like me. I thought that there was no possible way that he could have truly<i>loved </i>me—all I ever seemed to do was drain and irritate him, and he didn’t deserve the trouble I put him through.<br /><br />And I told him this in a therapy session one day; I told him how sorry I was for ruining his life and how I wish that I could be a better daughter, one that didn’t make things so worrysome for him. He was absolutely flabbergasted; he swore that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. Many days, I highly doubt that this is at all true, but the way his eyes almost glistened with tears (note: this is a man who passes large kidney stones and attends family members’ funerals without even hinting at a tear) that day tells me that I must mean <i>something</i> to the guy. He said that I keep him young, that his later years would have been so much less colorful without me in it. Now, I’m sure that I age him much more than I refresh him, but maybe the goofy poetry that I write inside of hand-made cards serves as a Fountain of Youth running behind those wrinkled eyes. Also, I’m his personal tech support; I’m the one that taught him how to use an iPhone and how to set up a Facebook account. That has to count for something, right?<br /><br />See, we humans aren’t too good at telling our fellow humans how much they mean to us. It may well be that where you look in the mirror and see a burden, an aggravation, a chronic screw-up, others see a joy, a blessing, a person worth having around and a person that makes their lives better simply by you being in it. When you see yourself as unlikable, you may wonder how anyone else could possibly like you, either—I, personally, tend to expect that everyone sees me as bothersome or annoying and am often very taken aback when someone admits any sort of fondness towards me. But <b>you <i>are</i> likeable, and chances are that there’s at least somebody out there who has a fondness towards you and who would be sad if they could no longer experience your presence. </b><br /><br />And I know that you can know and believe all of this and that it still won’t take the thoughts and feelings away. I still feel absolutely worthless and useless many days, and I still don’t particularly like myself as a person sometimes. Knowing all of this about the beauty of living and about how loved I really am doesn’t do much to keep the images of a knife cutting through my throat or my body dangling from a tree by a rope from popping up from time to time. It’s an on-going battle, one that you may have to fight every single day or even every single hours. It’s not at all a fair battle, it’s not at all an easy battle, and it surely isn’t a fun battle, but it’s a battle worth fighting, and it’s a battle that you’re more equipped to fight that you may ever feel that you are. And the good news is that there are so many people fighting this battle alongside you and that would be more than happy to help you recharge your ammo. There’s the National and Regional suicidal hotlines for your area (United States: 1-800-784-2433 ; U.K: 08457 90 90 90 ; here’s a pretty comprehensive list: <a href="http://www.reddit.com/r/SuicideWatch/wiki/hotlines" style="color: #488ac7; text-decoration: none;">http://www.reddit.com/r/SuicideWatch/wiki/hotlines</a>), as well as several online chatrooms, such as <a href="https://www.imalive.org/" style="color: #488ac7; text-decoration: none;">https://www.imalive.org/</a>. There’s the members of this <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/AspieLife/" style="color: #488ac7; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Aspie Life group</a>. There’s me, if that’s anything. There are so many people who want you to win this battle, who want you to live, who want you to experience happiness and success and all that life has to offer. There are reasons to keep fighting. I promise. </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Because I know that I can’t promise that you’ll ever win a Nobel, a Pulitzer, a Grammy, an Oscar, or an Olympic gold medal, that you’ll ever have an abundance of friends or your dream career or a lover or even a degree, but, you know, you just might, and the only way to find out is to stick around and see. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Submitted January 4th, 2015 </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Author: Paula Gomez</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1" style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Click blue link for: <a href="mailto:lilp92@gmail.com" style="color: #488ac7; text-decoration: none;">Email Contact</a></span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-17259579750425539622013-02-26T16:07:00.002-08:002019-09-23T18:27:41.801-07:00Asperger Syndrome Suicide
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You wake on a typical weekend morning.
Your children are sleeping as you prepare breakfast. At 8:30am you
head upstairs to check in on your 14 year old son. A child with a
huge heart and beautiful smile, your heart breaks for him often. He
has Asperger Syndrome and struggles with the feelings that come from
not being accepted by your peers. He is very intelligent, which only
seems to fuel the problem. Even adults look at him, and due to his
intelligence, expect more from him then he is capable of. How do you
explain to a child that only things logically, that the reason people
shun him, or get frustrated with him, is simply because he is
different? There is no logic in that, yet it is the simple truth,
unfair that it may be.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These thoughts bombard you as you
slowly walk up the stairs, wondering what today might be and how you
will be able to help your son. You open the door as you call softly
to him to wake up. With a start you realize that he isn't in bed. You
step back into the hallway, figuring he was in the bathroom, or maybe
downstairs somewhere. You call for him several times, with no answer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You aren't really worried. It's not
uncommon for your son to get up and go walking. It helps to soothe
him, comfort him. You hope he grabbed something for breakfast before
he left. He's struggled so much lately, he doesn't understand why
people treat him the way they do. He doesn't understand why the world
is so different then what he can understand or relate to. As you head
back into the kitchen, you pray again the prayer you've said so many
times, “Please God, help me find a way to help my son”.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Your laptop is sitting on the table.
You slide it over to you and post a quick comment on Facebook, asking
anyone that may know where your son is to get in touch with you as
soon as possible.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The hours tick away and you still
haven't heard anything. Your son doesn't typically stay gone for this
long, and you are starting to worry. You've had this nagging feeling
that something isn't quite right ever since you discovered that he
wasn't in bed this morning. You've been shoving it aside, but now
your starting to wonder if you should pay more attention to it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
An associate from work calls you. It's
doubtful she's heard that you posted on Facebook asking for info on
your son's whereabouts, and you don't really want to get into it on
the phone with her. You answer the phone, and in a style true to her,
she starts babbling about traffic being backed up on the interstate.
She is talking over excitedly and very fast. To fast for your ever
growing stressed emotions to keep up with. You vaguely hear her tell
you how traffic was stopped because of a body found on the side of
the road, and how it'd been there for hours before anyone bothered to
call 911. You finally tell her that it's been a very bad morning for
you, and that you have to get off the phone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
No sooner have you hung up your phone
then panic seizes you. Didn't your friend from work just say that the
body found had red hair? Surely she'd have said it was a teenager or
a child if it was your son. But, she said it had been there for
hours....hours! Oh no, she also said it was near where you live! That
can't be your son. Oh please Dear God, don't let that be your son.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You quickly snatch the phone back up
and call the local police department. You explain that your son, your
son that has red hair, is missing. Your transferred to an officer,
who asks you a ton of questions and then quietly tells you that two
officers are already in route to your home to get a statement.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There is a knock at the door. You
didn't hear the car pull up over the phone conversation. You quickly
run to the door and yank it open. As your mind registers that it is
two police officers, you stand on your tip toes to look over their
shoulder, praying that your son is standing behind them.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The tallest of the two officers look at
you with pity and an emotion that can only be sadness as he asks you
to step inside and find a seat. This can't be happening! Something is
wrong! Where is your son? That body on the side of the interstate can
not be your son!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You listen to the officers' words, as
if you are detached and standing a few feet away from yourself. It
seems that your son is the “body” that your friend told you
about. The police haven't pieced it all together yet, but it appears
that your son jumped from the bridge that goes across the interstate
at around 3:30am. He was hit by a tractor trailer. Through the next
several hours, until sometime in the afternoon, traffic went on as
usual. People noticed what appeared to be a “large animal in a pile
of clothes” but didn't have time to report it. Others thought it
was a body, but again were to busy to pick up their cell phones and
call 911, much less turn around to check. It wasn't until afternoon
that someone stopped and called 911 to let them know that a body was
on the side of the interstate, where it had lain since
3:30am.....alone and hit by several vehicles. The clothing matches up
to your son's clothing. There isn't any reason to do an
identification, the police will use medical means to finalize that it
really is your son. The police are certain it is suicide.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next day, our best friend stops by
to let you know that the story was in the newspaper again. This time
the article states that the body that held up traffic for hours was a
14 year old that committed suicide. At the very bottom of the
article, almost as an afterthought, it reads, “the teen was taking
regular medication for Asperger's Syndrome and autism”. You look at
her incredulously. Your son committed suicide due to the challenges,
and lack of treatment, he faced having Asperger Syndrome, and it was
only mentioned at the very bottom of the article as an afterthought?
A Sargent said that your son was taking medication for Asperger
Syndrome when there are no medications available to treat it, as if
it's something that requires a magic cure? Why wasn't it mentioned
that your son being treated like an outcast and different, not just
from his peers but from adults, impacted him daily? Why didn't the
article talk about how tons of parents around the country are finding
themselves without the resources or tools necessary to help their
children? Why didn't the article list the few available resources for
this area? Why didn't it reach out to other families going through
something similar, other families that every day fear their teen with
Asperger Syndrome might also commit suicide?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wish I could say that I just made up
this story. However, I am saddened beyond words to say that I didn't.
This happened here over the last few days. As a mother frantically
searched for her beloved 14 year old son, motorist to busy to call
911 were driving by his battered and tattered body.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A newspaper quoted Sgt. G.A. Barger of
the North Carolina State Patrol as stating that the child was taking
medication for his “Asperger Syndrome and Autism”. To date, there
are no medications available to treat Asperger Syndrome. There is no
cure for Autism, and many parents advocate that a cure isn't needed,
merely the perception of “typical” people to change.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
People have already started to judge. A
mother states that she has a child with Asperger's and she doesn't
understand why the article mentions it at all as her son is “bright
and a joy to be around”. She wonders what Asperger Syndrome has to
do with his suicide, or any other news article that has mentioned it
recently. Another mentions medications and how they only “make
things worse”. Another poster states that anyone with Asperger
Syndrome wouldn't want that for the rest of their lives. Yet another
newspaper article states that the child “<i>suffered</i> with
Asperger Syndrome”.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There are so many things I want to say.
I want to scream that children with Asperger Syndrome wouldn't suffer
if it weren't for the judgements, criticizing, and mistreatment from
“typical” people. I want to scream that there is not a medication
for Asperger Syndrome. I want to scream that Dan Akroyd, Bill Gates,
Daryl Hannah, Satoshi Tajiri, James Durbin, Paula Hamilton, Peter
Howson, Clay Marzo, Les Murray and others all have Asperger Syndrome.
There are so many more, Al Gore, James Taylor, Bob Dylan, Robin
Williams, Andy Kaufman, Hans Asperger, isaac Asimove and more. Do
they seem to “suffer”, need “medication”, or need a cure? I
want to scream that popular belief feel that Abraham Lincoln, Bobby
Fischer, Benjamin Franklin, Marilyn Monroe, Henry Ford, Isaac Newton,
Jane Austen, Vincent Van Gogh, and Virginia Woolf all had Asperger
Syndrome. How can all these people be broken and need a “cure”?
How can all these people not want to live simply because of their
diagnosis?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I want to scream at the world that I am
the mother of the sweetest, kindest, most caring teenage son. I want
to scream how his intelligence level is through the roof, but how he
lacks an understanding of social concepts. I want to scream out how
he tries to engage his peers in conversation, but the “typical”
teens shun him simply because he is different and different isn't
“cool”. I want to scream at the world that different is not bad
or wrong.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet, instead I will stand here and
speak for the family that is to grief stricken to speak for
themselves. I will stand and say that my son has Asperger Syndrome
and that his life has been difficult. I will stand and speak out and
let others know that my son's life, and the life of other teens with
Asperger Syndrome, is difficult because others refuse to accept
different as being acceptable. I will stand and tell others that you
can not say you are scared of someone with Asperger Syndrome because
of what one child with Asperger Syndrome did months ago, but instead
you should stand up and help find a way for these children to have
available the resources they need to help them succeed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I am the mother of a child with
Asperger Syndrome.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I am proud to be the mother of a child
with Asperger Syndrome.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I support ALL parents of children with
special needs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I won't ever quit speaking up for my
children's needs.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Always remember, if you've met one
child with Autism, then you've met ONE child with Autism. No two
children on the Autistic spectrum are alike, no two children with
Asperger Syndrome are alike. One thing they all share though,
resources are not available to help them reach their full potential.
Nor do they experience the acceptance in society that they should.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please, don't be one of the passive
people that sit by and judge and criticize. Stand up today and speak
out.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For resources regarding Autism Spectrum
Disorder, you can follow the links below:
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Autism Speaks <a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services/resource-library">Resource
Library</a> which has many books, websites, blogs and videos for
families to use.
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
Autism Speaks <a href="http://autismspeaksnetwork.ning.com/">Social
Network</a> for on-line chats with other parents in similar
situations. Some use it to pose a specific question and get feedback,
while others utilize it as a support group.<br />
Autism Speaks Tool Kits
<a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services/tool-kits">http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services/tool-kits</a><br />
Autism Speaks Family Services web link -
<a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services">http://www.autismspeaks.org/family-services</a><br />
<br /><br />
<br />
Other Resources:
<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.yourlittleprofessor.com/friendship.html">http://www.yourlittleprofessor.com/friendship.html</a><br />
<a href="http://www.yourlittleprofessor.com/teen.html">http://www.yourlittleprofessor.com/teen.html</a><br />
<a href="http://teenautism.com/category/puberty/">http://teenautism.com/category/puberty/</a><br />
<a href="http://www.aspires-relationships.com/">http://www.aspires-relationships.com/</a>.
It seems to have a wide variety of resources that may be helpful.<br />
There is an excellent online support group called GRASP – The
Global & Regional Asperger’s Syndrome Partnership.
<a href="http://grasp.org/page/grasp-support-groups">http://grasp.org/page/grasp-support-groups</a>.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
You can contact me at any time for questions, support, or
information at pathsfrommysoul@gmail.com<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-87676163183018362182012-03-05T10:48:00.001-08:002019-09-23T18:27:41.906-07:00Light it up Blue for Autism<br />
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"In celebration of World Autism Awareness Day on April 2, Autism Speaks will again seek to turn the world blue. Our third annual Light It Up Blue initiative is fully underway with over 350 buildings already committed to turning blue.</div>
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Among the landmarks that will be turning blue on April 2, 2012 are Rockefeller Center, Top of the Rock Observation Deck and Madison Square Garden in New York City, Hôtel de Ville in Paris, France, the famous Tokyo Tower in Japan and Canada’s CN Tower, the Sydney Opera House in Australia and Michigan’s Mackinac Bridge.</div>
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Visit our website to learn <a href="http://www.lightitupblue.org/site/c.cuLQK8OVLnK6E/b.7080697/k.861D/Participate.htm" style="color: #2970a6; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" target="_blank">how to participate</a> and check back in early March to <a href="http://www.lightitupblue.org/site/c.cuLQK8OVLnK6E/b.7080639/k.BF2E/Home.htm" style="color: #2970a6; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">LightItUpBlue.org</a> to register your events and see a full list of participating buildings.</div>
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Last year we had over 2000 buildings and landmarks turn blue. With your help, in 2012 we will more than double that number!!" (taken from <a href="http://blog.autismspeaks.org/2012/02/22/liub-2012-kickoff/" style="background-color: transparent;">http://blog.autismspeaks.org/2012/02/22/liub-2012-kickoff/</a>)</div>
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Lowes has blue bulbs available. Please stop by to get your blue bulbs and light up your own home to raise awareness for Autism. Thank you. <img src="http://autismspeaksblog.files.wordpress.com/2012/02/paris-city-hall_lit-blue-in-advance.jpg?w=555" style="background-color: transparent;" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-11278700378408767492012-01-31T12:10:00.000-08:002019-09-23T18:27:41.725-07:0015 Years Later<br />
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It's odd the things you remember in life.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I was in the passenger seat of an old, green Ford pickup truck. We were in the drive-thru at Burger King and I was insisting there was no way that I could eat anything, not even a bite. Yet, it was argued that I was pregnant and I needed to keep my strength and my sugar up. A song came on the radio and as I listened to the lyrics I began to cry. Tonight, writing this, I remember what food I was given at Burger King. It was a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant. I remember what I was wearing....a black shirt with a gray striped dress over it. Yet, I can't remember that song.</div>
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We went to meet our group of friends before heading to the funeral home. I knew I wanted that song to be played at the funeral. Pam agreed, and it was played. Yet now, almost 15 years later, the name of the song won't come to mind.</div>
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Exactly 15 years ago today, a beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed, six year old boy was murdered. Six years old....the same age my son will turn in three weeks. My son, who has blonde hair and blue eyes. My son who climbs, jumps, flips, and does stunts proudly and with no fear.....just like Jordy did 15 years ago. My son who asked today if he could watch Power Rangers on Netflix. Power Rangers....a show he's never seen, but that was Jordan's favorite.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Jordan's picture sits on the cabinet in my dining room. The picture frame has a motherly angel down the side of it. An angel.......the first time I saw Jordan the sun was shining on his blond curls, and I thought to myself that he looked like an angel. Those words would come back to me when I heard of his death.</div>
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I should've known. There aren't many things that can make multiple grown men cry. Yet, all they told us was to go to the pay phone and call Dan. So, we did. I remember thinking it was someone in their family.....their aged father perhaps. But I remember when I heard the person beside me say, “No, it can't be. Are you sure?” Then they looked at me, and suddenly I knew....it wasn't his family member. This was someone I loved. Yet, when he said the name in that horrible sentence, I didn't want to believe. Yet, somehow I felt it......inside.....where the core of all you are exists.</div>
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I was sitting in the passenger seat of a car, a small gray Honda. I doubled over in physical pain. I felt it.....the pain....it was driving through me. I raised my head and looked out the windshield. It was dark out, late. Most people were sleeping. Yet, I noticed lights coming on. Inside lights, then porch lights. I looked around for the source of what was waking everyone. I could hear it.....it was this primal scream that sent chills down my spine. It scared me. Even after I was taken back to the house and calmed down, I still didn't realize the screams I heard were my own. That would come to me later.</div>
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Each year, right after my birthday, I start to think about Jordan. I think of him often through the year, but towards the end of November I remember. Jordan's birthday is towards the end of November. The holidays. I think of him all through Christmas. He used to lie on the living room floor with me to watch the patterns the lights made on the ceiling. Then, into January....this month. Today.....15 years.</div>
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The news reporters all called it, “the worst case of child abuse in North Carolina history”. None of us would argue that point. We saw, we knew, we had tried to save him.</div>
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She is behind bars. Two consecutive life sentences and up for parole 25 years after her conviction date. She still claims to be not guilty. Facing the feelings I felt towards her was almost the end of me. God showed me that hating someone, seeking revenge.....that only destroys the hater and not the hated. I almost lost myself learning that lesson.</div>
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There are lots of lessons to be learned. There are some lessons that should never have to be learned. Jordan's death taught us all lots of lessons that we didn't need to know. It taught us a level of grief that to date has yet to exist anywhere else in my life. I'm sure those that love Jordy would agree.</div>
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I know that no matter how I write the words that come next, that they won't be able to convey the emotion behind my pleas. I know that words can't show you the tears that I shed as I type this. I know that words can't make you feel that pain that is still there.....in the core of my very being. I know that words won't allow you to hear the longing in my voice when I beg you to please do this one thing for me....for Jordan.</div>
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If you suspect child abuse, please please please seek assistance. Do not just pick up the phone, call your local Child Protective Service office, make a report, hang up and walk away. FOLLOW UP!! Call back, make sure it was investigated, make sure that the workers know you aren't going to forget. Let your presence be made known. Is the child in school? Report it also to the school. Is the child in daycare? Report it there. Do you happen to know who the child's pediatrician is? Report it there. Is the child school age but not in school? Report it to the truancy officer. Call the police. Call and report it to everyone you can. Each person you report it to will have to document the report and possibly investigate the allegations themselves. By reporting it to multiple people, you just gave that child that many protectors! Keep a ledger documenting what you saw....dates, times, who was with the child, what the abuse/injury was and never let that original out of your site. Include the dates, times and names of the people you reported the abuse to. Make copies to give to those who need it, but hold on to that original so that you hold those dates and times. So that if something else happens to that child, there are people that can be called who are able to move quickly to help the child. So that if the child is not protected by those in charge of protecting children, then there is a record of who to hold accountable.</div>
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Between 2006-2010, the average child mortality rate due to homicide was 52. That's 52 children dying each year as a result of child abuse. Homicide. Murder.</div>
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You can make a difference. You can save a life. You can do it for any reason you want, or you can do it for Jordan. It doesn't matter to me at all what your reason is, just please.....if you suspect child abuse, do something about it. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-21827796403750059772012-01-25T08:10:00.000-08:002012-01-25T08:11:29.968-08:00UpdateI apologize for being so slack and not keeping this blog updated more. We went through a spell where Keeg, Pook's older brother was battling his health condition again that kept me busy. Then we had a family crisis and after that, I ended up in the hospital for a week and am only just getting back to my self!<br />
<br />
We've had quite a few things happen in the last several months. First, I'll start with the chiropractor visit. We discovered that the top vertebrea in Pook's neck is slanted at a sharp degree upwards. This could, in fact, be blocking signals from flowing from his brain to the rest of his body like they should! This is big news for us.<br />
<br />
You see, Pook's head has always been super super sensitive to touch/pain. However, from the neck down, he feels no pain at all. He's cracked his elbow when ice skating, and never once said it hurt! He sliced through the tendon in his pinkie finger, and never complained of pain! His neurologist has long said that he felt there was something blocking the signals that are supposed to flow freely between his body and brain.<br />
<br />
So, can chiropractic help? We're hopeful that it can. So far, we have noticed changes in Pook, but have no way of knowing what is due to chiropractic and what isn't!<br />
<br />
Now, let's talk about phonics. Pook still doesn't comprehend that each letter makes a distinct sound, or that putting those sounds together forms words. However, he is recognizing sight words on his own. He knows and can spell many words now, some of which are off, on, out, and exit. He picks the words on his own and once he says he knows it, he's retaining the information!! As you may recall, Pook typically gains new information but then looses it. Hopefully that's not going to happen anymore!<br />
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Also, Pook's memory has always been above and beyond, but now he can articulate the things he remembers even better. He has told us about events that happened when he was as young as 6 months old! He remembers details so vividly that there is no mistake that these are his memories and not something he just overheard. It's pretty spectacular (isn't God amazing!).<br />
<br />
Pook also is starting to understand different emotions and the part they play in his actions. This is a huge leap for him and it's making things so much easier! He's started to express guilt when he does something wrong, and genuinely feels remorse for his actions that hurt others. There is still a significant delay in the amount of time between the actual action and his emotions catching up to it, but we're getting there and that is a start.<br />
<br />
At this moment, it really seems that his Auditory Processing Delay is causing most of his frustrations. He acts on impulse, and then will cry for long periods of time upset about his action. He tells me, "I not want to do that, my body made me" or say that his "brain made me". My heart breaks for him when this happens. He's starting to realize that his actions have a bearing on others, and to feel that he can't control these actions is very upsetting to him.<br />
<br />
He's only just now started addressing the issues he has resulting from the recent division in our family. He doesn't speak about his emotions, except to say that he misses Daddy. The rest of the emotions he discusses he puts on the other person. For example, if he was mad at me, he'd say "Mommy has a mad face". It can get confusing at times, but we're figuring it out!<br />
<br />
Overall, Pook is making progress each and every day and I am thrilled! He's come a long way. One of his medial specialist told me recently that he'd have never come this far if I hadn't started his therapies so young. I encourage each parent to challenge any specialist or insurance company that wants you to wait until your child is older for therapy. Early intervention makes such a big difference. Fight for your child, cause at the end of the day, you're the only one that will.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-58234643754875839932011-11-11T21:27:00.001-08:002019-09-23T18:27:41.855-07:00RIP Dixie<br />
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RIP Dixie</div>
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I don't know where to start. I guess
first I need to tell you how we met Dixie.
</div>
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Our family purchased a home in a very
rural area in March of this year. It's perfect....the location is all
we've ever dreamed of. We live in the midst of a forest, with a lake
nearby. Neighbors are practically non-existent and we never hear
sounds of traffic. Our lullabies are crickets, frogs and wonderful,
peaceful, calming sounds of night.
</div>
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About a week after we started moving
in, my friend James and I were traveling with my three children to go
pack up some more belongings at our former home. As we came near a
stop sign, we saw something run across the road. We weren't quite
sure what it was, but thought it might be a dog. Living in a rural
area means that it's not uncommon to see animals get dumped. We
stopped at the stop sign, opened the driver's door, and whistled. Up
came running Dixie. She was wagging her tail so much the whole back
half of her was swinging from side to side. Without hesitation she
climbed into the drivers door, under his legs, across the center
console and stretched herself across my 3 children's laps.
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I'd always told my daughter, Keara,
that when we bought a home, we'd get a dog. She'd waited 11 years.
When we bought our home, she told Pookie (our 5 year old son with
Autism) about our deal. He had prayed each night for a week for God
to give us a dog. When Dixie stretched out across his and his
siblings laps, he smiled as big as he could and with wide eyed wonder
told me, “Mommy! God gave me a dog!” Whose to argue with a
child's faith?
</div>
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A few weeks after Dixie came into our
lives, it was warm enough for the children to go swimming. You know
the time of year....when the air outside is warm, the sun is bringing
a warmth to your skin that you longed for all winter, and though no
adult would ever get into the still chilled water, the kids all think
it feels great! As us adults sat on the shore with Dixie, our
children frolicked and played in the lake. Our 11 year old daughter,
got caught in a current. Though she could paddle and keep herself in
the same spot, she couldn't get up to shore. As I was getting ready
to get in to bring her to shore, Dixie jumped in the water. To our
shock and surprise, Dixie swam out to Keara, placed her collar under
Keara's hand, and pulled her to shore. Everyone was shocked and
thrilled.
</div>
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Dixie seemed to also have been trained
as a therapy dog. Though we have no knowledge of her background, she
always stayed beside Pookie when he was out of doors. She would run
beside him on his bike, and even get in front of him if she felt he
went to far. He would lie down, resting his head on her and she was
content. When he would start to have a meltdown, she would come and
push against him.....calming him tremendously. She was in tune with
him on a level I'd never seen between child and pet.
</div>
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As time progressed, so did Pookie. His
neurologist wasn't surprised. He'd told me the best thing I could do
for him, and his older brother that has Asperger's, was to get them a
good dog. He said he'd seen children advance and make progress with a
dog that otherwise wouldn't have been accomplished.
</div>
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A few months after God brought us
Dixie, our daughter was attacked by a much larger dog. Dixie was a
cocker spaniel mix. The other dog was a German Shepard/Lab mix.
Dixie, despite being a fourth of this other dogs size, defended Keara
with a vengeance. I have no doubts that she saved my daughter's life.
At one point, Dixie stuck her entire snout into the other dogs mouth!
</div>
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Dixie became loved by all the children
that came to visit. Being that I have children on the autistic
spectrum and with health issues, I am often visited by other families
that have children with special needs. Dixie always connected with
them. She offered them a sense of security and calm in a world these
children often don't understand. Somehow, Dixie made everything OK.
</div>
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When my 14 year old with Aspergers,
Keeg, decided to walk to my parent's house, it was almost dark. I
hadn't realized he had left, but merely thought he was taking a quite
time in “his spot” in the woods near our house. When my daughter
and I began to look for him, it was getting close to dark. He didn't
answer, he wasn't in “his spot”, and we began to worry he was
lost. We walked the drive, calling for him, but to no avail. I
noticed that Dixie wasn't in the house, or outside. I knew that if
Dixie wasn't coming to us when we started to call her, then one of
two things was happening. Either Keeg was hurt and Dixie wouldn't
leave his side, or they were out of ear shot. This realization
prompted me to run back to the house so I could call 911. By now it
was dark, and it was cold out. Keeg was only wearing shorts and flip
flops. He has health issues and is unusually weak. I was panicked. As
I started to call 911, a call came through from my parent's. I heard
Keeg's voice say, “Hey Mom!” He hadn't realized the gravity of
what he'd done. He said that when he started to leave our property
and Dixie followed, he tried to run her home, but she wouldn't leave
him. He said she stayed with him the entire time. At one point he
said he saw some dogs and was scared, but Dixie barked a few times
and that was that. He had gotten scared on the way, and cold, but
Dixie kept him centered and moving forward. He said without her, he'd
have probably hid in the woods on the side of the road. But, Dixie
was there with him and so he knew it would be OK.
</div>
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After that incident, Dixie got it into
her head that she could leave our yard and try to get to my parents
where she'd walked with Keeg that night. Although she occasionally
wandered to our neighbors home (often invited by the renters that
stayed there), she never went the opposite direction unless leashed.
Yet, for some reason she figured that if she'd gotten to go that
night, she was going to continue. Finally, we quit letting her go out
with the boys unless she was leashed. She spent her time in the house
and at times would drive me insane. She was used to running and
jumping with Pookie, and since she didn't have that outlet outside,
decided to do it inside. Pook of course missed the same play, and
actively participated indoors.
</div>
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A week ago tomorrow, my husband was
involved in a terrible accident. He suffered a skull fracture and an
epidural hematoma, pooling blood and air pockets that put pressure on
his brain. He was air lifted to a hospital to be seen by a
neurosurgeon. We are blessed to have a large network of prayer
warriors, all who spread the word quickly and got many people praying
for him. He was blessed, and quite surprisingly to all, came home
after only 1 night in ICU, and 1 night on a general floor. He is in
pain, and has memory loss. He also doesn't remember much of what
happens in a day. He has to stay supervised for the most part, as
often he doesn't remember his injuries.
</div>
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While we were in the hospital, Dixie
was left alone. Although she was fed, watered, and taken out.....she
had not been alone since God brought her to us. I remember my horror
when we got home from the hospital. There was not a square inch of
floor uncovered. Toys from the kids rooms were scattered throughout
the house, mixed with the garbage that had sat in the can unattended
during our hospital stay. I couldn't believe one stressed out dog
could have created such destruction.
</div>
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I felt bad for having left her cooped
up and unattended. I let her out and stayed with her to make sure she
didn't run off. She stayed right around the house. Apparently her
extended stay inside, only being taken out long enough to use the
bathroom and only seeing someone for 10 minutes a day had fixed her
issue of running off. She stayed close to the house, only venturing
to the end of our personal driveway, then coming back. She was so
happy to see us.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next day, I had to run into town
to grab some groceries. I couldn't find anyone to stay with my
husband, but had to get him something to eat. I timed my trip so that
he'd be sleeping and rushed to get things done. I came back in aprx
30 minutes. As I rushed to come in and check on him, Dixie jumped
from the van. I checked on my husband, and went out. Dixie stood at
the end of our personal driveway barking. I knew she was barking at
the trespassing hunters. I'd seen their truck on my way in. Despite
continually asking hunters to leave our property and the property
adjoining ours, and explaining that we have to children with Autism,
they still continue to return. Dixie stood at the end of the drive
barking as I carried in groceries. Suddenly, she quit barking and
started wagging her tail. She got excited and her whole back end
started to move back and forth. I couldn't help but smile. Dixie
would get so excited when she was going to get affection that she'd
shake her back end so much she could barely run. She took off down
the drive. I assumed that someone we knew was coming down the drive.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was wrong. When I got the last of
the groceries in, I went to get Dixie in. No one had come up the
drive and I couldn't figure out what she had taken off the drive so
happy about. She wouldn't answer my call, and I didn't see nor hear
any sign of her.
</div>
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I found her later. It was dark and I
was driving out the drive. I just happened to get a glimpse of her
green collar as I drove by. My heart sank. I backed up and cut on my
high beams. There was Dixie, laying on the side of the drive in the
grass. My heart sank as I realized she wasn't moving. “She's been
hit by a car” I thought. Then I thought, “She's just hurt. The
vet can save her!” I jumped out and ran towards her.....and then I
saw it. An arrow.....extending out of her. She was dead. My husband
said he was so scared and worried for me. He said it was as if I
crumpled, but was still standing on my feet. He said he'd never heard
anyone scream like that. My heart was shattering....all I could see
was our beloved pet, our family, lying there with that arrow
protruding.
</div>
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I drove back home and called my best
friend. Halfway up the drive I stopped as my sobs and screams were
wracking me so much that I couldn't drive. I made it home and called
my best friend who advised me to report it to the police. I called
911 and was told a deputy was coming out. I drove down to sit beside
Dixie, worried that the coyotes or other animals would disturb her.
My husband insisted on coming with me, telling me he could never rest
knowing I was sitting there alone. I finally convinced him to go home
and lie down. I drove down the drive to turn around. There were
headlights coming towards me, but as soon as I spotted theirs, they
must've seen me. They turned around rapid fast and took off down the
drive. Instinct made me go after them and I was shocked to see a
small pickup truck, very similar to the one that was there when I'd
gotten home from the grocery store. I wrote down the tag number and
returned to give it to 911, hoping that the deputy coming out would
see them as he passed. When the officer arrived, I told him about the
truck. He had passed them on the way, but had not gotten the message
from dispatch. After getting all the needed information, he told me
that unless they confessed, he couldn't do anything. If they
confessed, the only thing he could do was give me the information so
that I could go to the magistrate for “destruction of personal
property”. I was dumbfounded. These hunters repeatedly trespass
posted private land, lured my dog from our property and shot it, and
nothing could be done. I was told that nothing could be done because
their was a leash law, and my dog wasn't on a leash when he was
killed. My heart sank. She'd been killed within 15 minutes of jumping
from my van. I saw her run down the drive happily to greet her
murderers, and never had a clue what was happening. I even remember
hearing the truck drive up and leave as I was calling out to her, but
never considered that any hunter would ever harm an innocent dog.
Especially not hunters that had already been told that there were two
children with autism living in the home. Did they have no heart?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After the officer left, I made a call
to my best friend. With my husband having a brain injury, he isn't
allowed to lift anything. There was no way I could bury Dixie as I'm
not strong enough to dig through the hard clay rock. She couldn't be
buried until the next afternoon, when a friend of mine would get off
work and come do so. I had to get Dixie to the house and protected
from the wild animals of night. I drove down to where Dixie lay. I
could have walked there in less then 3 minutes, but it was very cold
and I needed the warmth of the van. I took my camera and using the
flash surveyed the area. I could see where the hunters had stood next
to Dixie in the tall grass, even as she stood in the grass beside the
drive that was mowed that very morning. The hunters and Dixie were on
the neighboring property to ours.......property that is private and
posted as no hunting allowed. Using my headlights and the flash of my
camera, I walked a bit further down and saw a well worn path the
hunters had been using to get from their truck to the adjoining
property. I came back and took pictures of Dixie. I wanted to make
sure that somehow her death would not be in vain, and maybe the
photos would help that.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I sat with Dixie until my friend could
arrive. As we lifted Dixie to place her on a piece of wood, I almost
choked. When we lifted her up, we could see the other end of the
arrow. We could see the angle, and how far the arrow protruded from
her. Although I had never doubted that it was intentional, due to her
having been shot beside our drive, it had never occurred to me
exactly how cold hearted these hunters had been. They had stood
directly over her when they shot her. They shot her through the heart
and the evidence of this was pooling around her. Dixie would have
been looking up at them with her adoring eyes, tail wagging so much
that her behind swung from side to side. How could they have looked
at that adoring face and brutally murdered her that way?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We laid her Dixie in the van and
brought her home for the last time. My husband had been building a
storage building next to our home. We put her in there and wedged a
large piece of wood over the door. I laid awake for hours in bed that
night. I just kept seeing those so called hunters standing over her,
with her excited to be getting attention, and the arrow piercing her.
Although I was glad it had been a shot straight through her heart, my
own heart felt just as pierced. I cried throughout the night,
muffling my sobs so as not to disturb my husband who was still in
immense pain from his injuries.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I woke the next morning going over the
needed chores to be done. Then the image of her laying beside our
drive pierced through my mind. I got up quietly, pulled on my shoes
and sweatshirt, and headed out with my camera. I walked this time.
Though still cold, I needed that extra minute to prepare myself. I
had noticed the night before that the end of the arrow with the
quills had been broken off. I had remembered hearing in the past that
hunters mark that end of their arrow with their initials or an
identifying mark. They do this so that they know who made “the
kill”. I searched the area where I'd found Dixie and as I walked
back towards where their truck was parked, I found the broken piece
of the arrow that had the quills. Dixie's blood was still on it. I
found two pieces, laying next to each other. Yet, the very end,
beyond the quills, was missing. The part where the initials would
have been.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I then thought back to their returning
that night. I figured it had to be the same truck, despite it having
been dark and my vision being limited. Why else would they have
turned around so rapidly and taken off like a race car driver down a
curvy gravel road when they saw me? I wondered for a moment why, as
I'd done the night before. I felt that they must've been coming back
to take Dixie's body. I still haven't thought of any other reason
they would have had to return.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I came back home and headed straight
to the shower. I thought back over the last week. Finding out my
eldest son has to have a lung biopsy done, my husband's accident and
injuries, and now Dixie. I felt.....fragile. My husband woke as I
came through our bedroom. I got into the shower and as the water
poured over me, I lost it. The tears wouldn't stop and I was grieving
for so many things. I was grieving for Dixie's life. I was grieving
having to explain it all to my children. I was grieving for their
heartache. I was grieving for all the children that loved Dixie and
would have to be told. At some point, though I didn't notice, my
husband opened the shower door, turned off the water, wrapped me in a
towel and held me. I was thinking of all the ways I might have saved
her. If I hadn't taken her with me, if she'd been on a leash in the
van before I opened the door, if I hadn't carried in groceries first,
if I'd gotten someone else to dog sit while I was caring for my
husband. I must've spoke these out loud because I remember my husband
telling me over and over again that it wasn't my fault.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That afternoon, my two best best
friends came over to help me bury Dixie. James had been there the
first time we saw Dixie, and now he was helping lay her to rest. It
was a very emotional time for us and anyone watching the three of us
would have surely wondered as to our sanity. It took a long time to
shovel through the clay rock. When it came time to get Dixie ready
and to lower her, my dear friends sent me on an errand so that I
wouldn't have to see. By the time I got back, the grave was already
half way filled in.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yesterday evening my children came
home. Due to their father's injuries, they had not come home yet. I
spent the evening consoling Pookie. After he fell asleep, exhausted
from his cries, our older two children came to me. They cried for
hours before falling into restless sleep.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dixie was a blessing to our family. I
will never be able to understand how anyone could take the life of an
innocent. I've never been able to understand how someone could get so
angry at another that they would intentionally hurt their children.
Maybe these so called hunters thought that by killing my children's
therapy dog, that I would leave them alone and let them hunt here.
Maybe they figured I'd settle for keeping my kids inside at all times
for fear of them hunting next to my home. I guess I'll never know
what they were thinking. Part of me hopes that they will always see
her beautiful eyes and her wagging tail begging for love as they took
her life. Yet, what I really want is for pets and children to be
forever safe from these people. I want to make sure that somehow,
these people are never allowed near my home again. I want to know
that my children can jump on their trampoline, ride their bikes, and
check the mailbox without being worried that they'll be mistaken for
game. My children always wear hunter orange vest when venturing into
the forest, even the forest on our own property. Should they have to
wear it just to jump on the trampoline or to check their own mailbox?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I pray that somehow, some way, our
home is restored to the dream home that we envisioned it to be. I
pray that the children with special needs, and even those without,
can come here again and not worry about whether or not they may be
within feet of a hunters bow or gun. I pray that once again this home
and these woods can become that which God intended it to be.........
paradise.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
RIP Dixie, You will always remain in our hearts. We love you! </div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-75392755516817438412011-10-09T07:57:00.000-07:002011-10-09T07:59:27.830-07:00Death? .... Literally!Death is never easy to explain to a child. However, for children with autism, it can be even more difficulty. Children with autism have a hard time understanding abstract concepts. Then, there is the fact that they take spoken words very literal. Then of course, with the processing delays that some children with autism have, it may be days, weeks or months before you find out exactly how what you said was translated to your child. I found out last night, several weeks after we had discussed death!<br />
<br />
"I love you Brandy!" Pook expressed to his best friends mother. She and I both melted and smiled. As she came towards him to hug him, he declared, "I'm gonna cut your head off and put you in my heart forever!"<br />
<br />
She froze. I froze. She looked at me and asked, "What did he just say?"<br />
<br />
"I'm gonna cut your head off and put you in my heart forever!" he said again, making sure we understood him.<br />
<br />
Frantically, I searched through my own memories. When had we talked about dying? When had we talked about heads being cut off? When had we talked about people being in your heart forever?<br />
<br />
Then, it hit me. I had told Pook several weeks ago during our talk about death, that when someone you love dies, they stay in your heart forever.<br />
<br />
With Halloween around the corner, Pook has noticed the gruesome yard displays and asked questions about them. Hence, the chopping off of head conversation and how it would resort in death. (I'll stay off my soap box about gruesome Halloween displays for the moment)<br />
<br />
So, in Pook's mind, if he wanted someone he loved to be with him forever, they had to die. Then they'd be in his heart forever.<br />
<br />
I have no doubt that my loving sweet child had no intentions whatsoever of harming anyone. He was just trying to tell her that he loved her so much that he wanted her in his heart forever. But then, I doubt we'll be seeing that sentiment expressed in his words on any Valentine cards! Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-16305450882281214422011-09-26T20:50:00.000-07:002011-09-26T20:50:37.125-07:00Central Auditory Processing DisorderPook was evaluated for Central Auditory Processing Disorder a few weeks ago. Today, the results of the evaluation was mailed to me.<br />
<br />
First, let's answer the question, what is Central Auditory Processing Disorder (CAPD). Part of CAPD is Auditory Decoding Deficit. A child with this part of CAPD has difficulty analyzing the difference between speech sounds. This child will have trouble with task that require him/her to discriminate and analyze sounds. A cihld may "mis-hear" words, such as mouth for mouse.<br />
<br />
Another part of CAPD is Auditory Integration Deficit. This means that their is poor communication between the left and right sides of the brain, and/or between various sensory centers in the brain. For example, if a child is given a pattern of series of tones (example: high-high-low), both sides of the brain must work together in order for the child to distinguish this. The right side of the brain gives the child the pattern and the melody while the left side of the brain adds the words "high" or "low". If a child can't name the pattern, but can reproduce the melody, it tells us that he or she has good melody skills, but poor communication between the two parts of the brain. We've seen this with Pookie often. He loves music and will often sing a song he has heard afterward. Although he has the melody perfect, the words never match up to what he has heard, even if he's heard it often.<br />
<br />
Another example is a child that has difficulty using rhythm and meter cues. For example, he/she can rhyme words, but has difficulty with pauses, beats, and rhythm of a song or nursery rhyme.<br />
<br />
So, now that we know a small bit of info about CAPD, let's see how Pookie did. Due to his age, his test were limited. He'll go back in 2 years to get more testing. In the meantime, here is what we do know.<br />
<br />
Pook was given three test, all in a sound booth with earphones on. The first test was where two different sentences were given to him at the same time. One sentence in one ear, while a different sentence was in another ear. On this test, he showed a definate strength in one ear over the other, but scored within normal limits. Honestly, I was surprised as I figure this would be difficult for me to do!<br />
<br />
The next test is where words are spoken at a slightly louder volume then the background babble. Pook had to tell what the word was that was spoken to him while he heard background babbling. Pook scored in the .1 percentile. Note, there is a (.) in front of that 1. So, 99.9 percent of children scored higher then him on this test.<br />
<br />
The last test performed is where pook had to repeat sentences that had been altered by compressing the time between sounds. Again, he scored in the .1 percentile.<br />
<br />
Pook has difficulty understanding speech in the presence of background noise. He has auditory processing deficits in both Phonemic Decoding and Integration. He needs speech therapy that emphasizes phonemic detection, discrimination, synthesis and analysis. He will benefit from repetition, repeating but nto rephrasing verbal communication. he'll benefit from reducing auditory overload by giving him "listening" breaks (periods of time where there is no auditory stimulation and it's quiet). Pook can not be given auditory and visual directions at the same time, but will benefit from either individually. Activities that use both parts of his brain, such as chess, gymnastics or dance would be good for him. He is to be given extra time for tasks and responses and should have OT for sensory integration.<br />
<br />
Recognizing these issues, and being given specific ways to help him should improve his (and the family's) quality of life. There is a new level of patience that I, and those who interact with him, is going to have to reach. A level of patience that I truly believe will only come through God Himself as not a day goes by that I don't feel my patience whittled away.<br />
<br />
I must admit, the fact that his percentile scores were .1 has been quite overwhelming. It tells me that Pook needs alot of assistance. It tells me that once again, I'll have to sink into research to find the best way to help him reach his full potential. It tells me that I must rely on others for their support and understanding.<br />
<br />
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<br />
On a different note, I can't help but wonder........ how is it, that with all these problems, he can still overhear a "bad" word, process it just fine, and then repeat it at the most inopportune moments? ;-) <br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-33782656400475402322011-07-28T19:54:00.000-07:002011-07-28T19:55:05.425-07:00Holy............<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Holy Crap!!!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Pookie! What did you just say?" I asked. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"I say 'holy crap'", he replied. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">I explained to Pookie that we don't say that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Several days later......................</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Holy Cow!" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Pookie, didn't I tell you not to say that?" I asked. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"No, you say not to say 'holy crap'. I not say 'holy crap'. I say 'holy cccccoooowwww'". He enunciation the cow very slowly so that I'd understand the difference. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Well, you can't say that either. You can't say holy anything. You can call God holy and that's it." </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"What can I say? Holy what?" he asked, seemingly confused. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Holy NOTHING!" I told him. He nodded, smiled, hugged me and said, "OK Mama."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Several days later..........................</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">"Holy Nothing!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">I give up. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-24818301256698369412011-07-24T19:39:00.000-07:002011-07-24T19:40:06.411-07:00Red Red Red<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Pook has never really been fond of red. He won't eat a red sucker, won't wear red unless it's camouflaged as something else (like spiderman), and won't eat red foods except for strawberries. He hates blood because it's red. Yet, today, he reached a new level of aversion to red. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Yesterday Pook was swinging on a rope. The rope scraped the top layers of skin off of both his middle fingers. Nothing serious in the scheme of childhood injuries and even less serious compared to the injuries he's had. Today though, the layers of hanging skin dried out and necessitated being cut off. This revealed the new and somewhat still raw flesh underneath. This flesh was..................you got it...........RED. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Hence began the several hour long battle. Pook insisted that we take him to the doctor to have his two fingers cut off. Yep, you read right. CUT OFF. He kept screaming that he didn't want the red touching him. He had to have the red off. He begin biting his fingers, clawing his legs, and slamming into the sliding glass door. I held him providing deep sensory input as long as I could, but after a lengthy period of his not calming down, we decided to strap him in his car seat and go for a ride. (while in car seat injury to self is minimal and easier to prevent) We took him to a playground and got him a slushy which helped distract him temporarily. However, in the bathtub at home later in the evening, he saw his fingers again and melted. We spent the next hour holding him with his begging us to take him to the doctor to have his fingers cut off. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">Pook finally fell asleep in a state of pure exhaustion from his thrashing and screaming. I DREAD tomorrow morning. </span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-28914633103155324082011-07-23T09:13:00.000-07:002011-07-23T09:15:18.231-07:00Shoes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Every mother that has a child with sensory issued understands the dilema with shoes. Shoes "feel weird", "hurt", and overall just don't want to be worn. We've learned to get very creative. One summer, Pookie wore golashes all summer long. They literally fell apart! One winter, he wore slippers. As an infant he wore moccasins. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Two weeks ago, a friend gave us some hand me down clothes. Pookie never wears "new" clothes because they are to rough for him. I'd have to wash them every day for two weeks to get them soft enough that he'd consider wearing them, and even then it's usually no. So, we live on second hand and hand me down clothing for him. With the clothes came a pair of new balance tennis shoes, barely worn, with shoelaces. Shoelaces have always been avoided due to his obsession with ropes and strings (we all still hide our shoes with laces). Pookie however loved that his "best friend" gave him these shoes and wants to wear them all the time. He insists that they make him "special" and they are "good cause N on the side". </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">HOWEVER, Pookie can not stand that the shoelaces never tie perfectly. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Step 1: Stretch out the laces and make sure the tips line up with each other. If not, relace the shoes until they do. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Step 2: When making the loops, they must be of equal size with each other. This can not be close, or almost, but PERFECT. You must try over and over and over again to make it just right. We often don't make it past this point and end up in full melt down mode. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Step 3: After getting the two loops on the shoe to match, you must then get the left over laces to be the same length. This is extremely difficult since if you pull one lace, it shortens the loop. This means the loops are no longer equal and we proceed to either Step 1 or 2 depending. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Step 4: Once the two loops and laces match on left shoe, repeat steps for right shoe. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Step 5: Now it's time to make sure left shoe and right shoe have loops and laces the same size. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">EVERY time he wears these shoes, he has a complete meltdown and we run late. I've tried hiding them, but he insists he has to have his "N shoes". Today, after he calmed a bit from his meltdown I said, "I have an idea. Let's go to the store today and buy you some shoes like that without shoelaces". Translation: We'll pick up some athletic shoes that don't have laces. What Pookie translated it as: We'll go buy a pair of shoes that looks EXACTLY like these but that do not have shoelaces. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">So, if any of you happen to see a pair of New Balance sneakers, gray black and orange, with no laces......how bout letting me know. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-51645740090190781972011-07-22T12:41:00.001-07:002011-07-22T12:42:06.302-07:00OVERWHELMED in Holland<br />
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Today's blog is so intricately woven with multiple aspects of my life, that I'm going to post it on both Paths From My Soul and Paths From Pooks Soul. I'm pretty sure this blog rivals all my other to be the longest post yet.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I honestly don't know where to start. There is only one word to describe how I've been feeling lately...........</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">OVERWHELMED</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I know that God is going to carry my family through this time as He has all others. My faith is not doubting. I just know that the journey through is hard and difficult. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">It's hard to believe all that has happened in 2011. I decided to come off all my prescription medications and now only take Ibuprofen and use Lidoderm Patches. I take tons of vitamins and supplements. I feel that I have a much higher quality of life, though the pain can be enough for me to consider ways to render me unconscious at times. I refuse to take immune suppressants, steroids, narcotics, muscle relaxers, or any of the other junk most docs try to pump me full of. Stopping all meds has been an emotional time for me. I still have so many days where I feel like I'm going through withdrawl. I never thought the negative effects would last this long. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I've also started to have a significant worsening of my<a href="http://www.chemocare.com/managing/central_neurotoxicity_memory_loss.asp"> short term memory</a>. I ask hubby each night to tell me what we did the day before, in an effort to jog my memory and keep the information where I can recall it. It does seem to help a bit, but the majority of my days are lost from memory. I write down everything I do in a calendar, in the hopes that I can recall it. Due to the memory lapses, I find that I often offend people I don't intend to. I have always been a person of my word, yet here lately it seems I find myself not following through on things I've said I would do. Not because I don't care and don't want to..........but because I don't remember. My memory loss has terrified me so much, that as soon as a thought pops into my head, I say it for fear of forgetting it. This comes across as so terribly rude and I don't know which is worse.......interrupting to get the thought out before it's loss forever into the abyss or taking notes every time I speak to someone (I do this with EVERY phone call, therapist and doctor visit, etc). Those closest to me have noticed the differences that have come over me in the last several months, but I think they are at as much of a loss as me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">My physical body is going through an upheaval. If this hadn't happened so many other times through the years, I'd think it was due to my stopping the prescriptions, but I know better. The pain has started to settle deep within my joints. My<a href="http://www.nhlbi.nih.gov/health/dci/Diseases/raynaud/ray_what.html"> Reynaud's</a> is attacking me even though it's hot weather instead of cold. The shooting stabbing pains in my head are coming with more frequency even as my vision issues have resolved themselves. The strength in my hands are almost completely gone and though I'm mentally clear enough to drive most of the time (I do still have days where I end up completely lost on a road I've traveled thousands of times in my life), the pain that results from driving is agonizing. I'm hoping a vehicle in better shape will not be as hard to handle (the frame on the truck is warped and it always pulls to one side while driving, plus transmission issues require changing the usual automatic gears by hand). </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">The housework is piling up and I can't stand looking at it. Keara is a champ at helping me around here, but I think she's completely overwhelmed and I regret that she seemingly has no childhood. Between her caring for her younger brother, caring for me, and helping me carry the burden of chores....there isn't much time left for her. Time for her to spend with me alone....that doesn't even happen anymore. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Yet, honestly.....the most stressful thing in my life right now isn't even my health or my ability to do all that needs to be done. You see, I went on and on above because I hesitate to really reach into the depths of my being and write the part that is tearing away at me piece by piece. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Most of my readers know that our 5 year old is <a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/">Autistic</a>. It's <a href="http://autism.about.com/od/whatisautism/f/whatishfa.htm">high functioning</a> which is a blessing in that he can reach a much higher potential then many children with <a href="http://www.autismspeaks.org/">Autism</a>. It sometimes makes it harder when dealing with other people because the vast majority of people assume that if you look "normal" then you should act "normal". I've witnessed this first hand myself. When I had to use my electric wheelchair, people treated me different. It drove me crazy at the time because there was so much I wanted to do for myself that others wouldn't let me. Other people's expectations for me altered because they saw me in a wheelchair. They had more compassion and were even willing to volunteer things like bringing us meals, helping clean the house, and babysitting in our home so I could get a break. Once I was able to walk around again, even though I still battled the exact same health issues and was still severely limited in my abilities, the expectations of others jumped right back up to the point prior to my ever getting sick. This is where Pookie is. People look at him and see a bright, active child. Therefore, they expect him to behave like a typical child. They don't know that the evaluations that we've recently gotten back say that he has "mild to moderate autism", "impaired vocabulary", <a href="http://www.braincenteramerica.com/visuospa.php">visuospatial</a> issues,<a href="http://specialed.about.com/od/speechhearing/a/langproc.htm"> processing delays</a>, severe <a href="http://www.sensory-processing-disorder.com/sensory-processing-disorder-checklist.html">sensory integration issues</a> and more! Worse yet, many don't seem to care even if they do know!! They don't look at Pookie and see how far he has come. They don't see how much he really does care of how after he hurts someone, he comes and tells me he wishes that he never hurt anyone. They don't know that he cries beside me saying he wishes he were dead because his body does things he doesn't want it to do (this is due to processing delays...he acts impulsively because his brain processes the information to slowly and only afterward does his brain process the alternate ways he should have dealt with a situation). </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Don't get me wrong...........we have some really great, exceptional friends in our lives who are very supportive and understanding. They've made all the difference. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Yet now (finally, the meat of this post), I don't think any of us know what to do with the latest diagnosis. Not of Pookie, but of my eldest son. You see, Keeg has, up until recently, been the perfect and most exceptional child. I know you think I'm biased (and I am) but there was just so much about him that was unique. At 2 1/2 years old, he taught himself to read!! I was teaching him letters and sounds and he already was reading Doctor Seuss books. By the time he was in Kindergarten, he had already tackled his first<a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=Isaac+Asimov+&ie=utf-8&oe=utf-8&aq=t&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a"> Isaac Asimov</a> novel (not an easy read for many adults even). He was super bright when it came to intellect and I watched him carry on conversations with his medical specialist that blew everyone in the room away. I can not tell you how many times someone told me that he was the smartest child they'd ever seen. I was PROUD. It seemed like no matter all the wrong I'd done, I'd been blessed with a child that was an enigma. Keeg always battled some pretty severe health issues, but his behavior was always above and beyond. He was the child you look at in the store and stop the mother just to say, "You have the best behaved child I've ever seen". He was the child you told once and once only. He was the child who always seemed to know who was upset and would ask what was wrong. He was the child who always did his schoolwork, always kept his room clean, and always ate his vegetables. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">A year ago I started having issues with him. He was always reading. He'd read the tags in laundry, he'd read the labels on the cans in the pantry, he read and read and read. He could no longer complete tasks or chores because he stopped to read everything. I even caught him a few times reading the garbage in the kitchen can. He'd walk by and it would catch his attention so he'd stand over the can, peering in and reading. I would have to tell him over and over and over again to do something before he would complete it. He would tell me he didn't hear me, or didn't remember. I would ask him to complete a chore and hours later would be appalled that it wasn't done, even after he told me he completed it. He'd walk into the room, look around and dumbfounded ask me, "what else needs to be done?" I was at my wits end. How could the once perfect child suddenly be this rebellious, disobedient teenager?? I talked to friends with teens and they assured me that this was just part of growing up and eventually (albeit a long eventually) he'd outgrow his rebellious streak. How did I not see what was really happening? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">About 4 months ago, Keeg and I were home alone. I told him that I was going to give him a chore and I was going to observe his completing it. Each time he stopped to read, I would redirect him. He was to try his best not to read, and if he read something and I didn't notice, he needed to tell me. About 3 minutes into this, he was crumpled on the floor, tears streaming down his face, his hands pulling at his hair, and saying, "I can't do this! I have to read! I have to! I have to!" I sat, completely blown away. The agony in his cries froze me. Something was wrong....terribly wrong....and I didn't know what it was. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I talked to several professionals I've become friends with through the years and heard lots of different ideas. I decided that the first step was to get him in with a professional therapist. Someone that would address the needs of our family and help Keeg deal with the stress he was going through. I got a referral from a friend and set up our first appointment. The doctor had me feel out a bunch of assessment forms online for Keeg so that he could review them before our appointment. When my husband and I went to meet the doctor, he handed me a scholarly article to read about <a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/asperger/detail_asperger.htm">Asperger's</a>. Confused I looked at my husband. Why would he give me this when I'd already told him our youngest was diagnosed with <a href="http://autism.about.com/od/whatisautism/f/whatishfa.htm">High Functioning Autism</a> and not <a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/asperger/detail_asperger.htm">Asperger's</a>? The doctor let me know that the information wasn't for Pookie...........it was for Keegan. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">The foundation of my world shook. Reality started to spin and meld. I sat in the midst of the chaos, frozen in a warp that wracked my awareness of all. This isn't what I was supposed to hear. I was supposed to be told that he was <a href="http://www.add.org/">ADD</a> with maybe some <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001926/">OCD</a>. That's what I was prepared for. <a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/asperger/detail_asperger.htm">Asperger's</a>??? NO NO NO....my youngest son is on the Autism spectrum....not my oldest! I pushed myself to read the article he had handed me, floored to find out that it addressed how it's actually COMMON for children with Asperger's to not be diagnosed until they are in their teens. I managed to make it through the appointment, and back out to the truck. My first words to my husband after we pulled away was, "How could I have missed this?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I grew up with family members and friends that had special needs. I went to college for Early Childhood Education with a special interest in Special Needs. I've volunteered, helped out and fund raised for various organizations that help with Special Needs. I've spent the last 5plus years studying Autism Spectrum diagnosis, Asperger's included. And then the lighbulb went off............how many times did I pull Keegan over to me while researching and say, "Hey, this sounds like you!" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Looking back..........I missed so much. The way that Keegan never really cared much for affection. Yes, he'd let me hold him, hug him, and give him kisses as a child. But deep down I always felt that he was only tolerating it for my benefit. The way that his room always stayed so clean because he didn't really own much of anything. He would always ask me to give his toys to children that didn't have any. Proud as can be, we'd do so. It's only in hindsight I see that it was because he didn't care for the typical toys children played with. His room has always been minimal in decoration and toys. For as long as I can remember he's only wanted an alarm clock with radio, a lamp, his hotwheels and a chess set. Looking back, I can see how unusual this is for a 5 year old.....but at the time I just saw it as a sign to his immense intellect. Keegan has always been particular about his clothing. He has always preferred khaki pants and shorts after he went to a charter school that required school uniforms. He likes long socks with the tops pulled straight up his legs. Keegan never really had any sense of style, but being a single mom that didn't really have any other Dads to chat with, I just thought it was a guy thing. There were always gross motor skill delays and clumsiness...........he had really big feet and I chalked it up to that. I never noticed that Keeg didn't recognize personal space until he was older. When a small child sits down immediately next to someone, it's cute. It's not a red flag that he doesn't realize that people have personal space. Keeg has never known a stranger.....NEVER. It's not uncommon for his interactions with someone to start off with 20 questions. I just thought he was curious and trying to feed his intellect. When my husband and I married two years ago....Keeg had pretty much spent his life caring for me and his little sister (due to my own health issues). He'd been the man of the house. My new husband, his now step-dad, sat him down before our marriage and told Keeg that he was proud of him for all that he'd taken on through the years. He was proud of him for the way he took care of me and his sister. Now, he could just relax and be a kid! He could play and have fun. Once Keeg accepted this, play he did. My husband asked me then if I noticed Keeg's play. Did I notice that he played like a young child? Did I think there was something wrong? Did I notice that Keeg had gone from one end of the extreme (never playing) to the other end of the extreme (continuously playing)? Did I think it unusual that Keeg's imaginary play was immature yet intensely intelligent at the same time? Nope.........I didn't think there was a problem. He'd spent years taking care of me and his sister and now was just letting out all those years of pent up play. Besides, he was altering his play to match that of Pookie to help keep Pookie entertained. He just continued the same games when Pookie was otherwise entertained, right? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I could go on and on. You see, I've had 3 weeks and 2 days since the first doc told me he thought Keeg had Asperger's. Since then we've met with a pediatric neurologist who has all but confirmed the original therapist ideal. He's scheduled the appointments necessary to get the "official" diagnosis. Keeg was admitted into the hospital for unrelated tests, and numerous nurses and therapist he came in contact with assumed he'd been diagnosed with Asperger's long ago. (My mind screamed REALLY? REALLY? REALLY? the entire time). A child life specialist told me that her brother has CP and mild mental retardation and that Keeg reminds her so much of him. She said their mannerisms are identical. She said this with the sweetest affection for Keeg and her brother that I was deeply moved, yet inside I could feel the vibrations resonating through my body as my brain screamed "WHAT? MY SON? HOW DID I MISS THIS?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Thursday, Pookie went for another evaluation with a speech therapist. I had to meet with the OT there so when Pook didn't want to go back with the therapist alone, I sent Keeg with him. When it was time for me to meet with the therapist, she wanted to make sure I'd realized that Keeg had special needs as well. Again, my mind screamed "DID EVERYONE SEE THIS BUT ME?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">There are always times in a parents life that you feel like a failure. That there were things you missed, things you should have done differently, things you should not have done at all. Yet, I can honestly say that nowhere in my 14 years of parenting have I felt so totally off the mark. My son has lived with me for 14 years....his entire life....and despite all my knowledge and training, I missed that he has Asperger's. I don't care that it is COMMON for children to miss diagnosis till teen years...........THIS IS MY SON. My firstborn. It makes a difference somehow. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">Each day I make so many mistakes. I am trying so hard to change my perspective, to see Keeg as who he is and not what I always dreamed he would be. I'm trying so hard to realize that I'm in <a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/">Holland</a> and that <a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/">Holland </a>has so many things to offer (click on the blue word <a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/">Holland</a> if you don't know what I mean). I have to stop myself and apologize a thousand times each day because I realize I reacted to him without realizing his actions weren't intentional, that he didn't understand, and that he was doing exactly what I said just as literal as I said it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I try not to think about his future right now. Don't get me wrong.......I'm doing everything I need to so that he gets the best of everything and reaches his full potential. I know that he can still be and do anything he wants to and that Asperger's is not a limit on this. Yet, since before he was born I'd dreamed of his future. When he was 2 he told me he wanted to be a doctor and didnt' sway from this except for when, at age 4, he decided to be a missionary. He talked of working at NASA so that he would have the means to reach the goal of missionary doctor. Those dreams haven't changed...........but the paths to get there are forever altered. It's not a bad thing......... but change is always hard for us adults. Selfish as it is, my life was always so chaotic there were only a few constants I felt I could depend on and those were God and my children. That hasn't changed.....but for me to be the mother Keeg needs, I have to change my entire perspective and outlook. I have to let go of my dreams to visit Paris and find the beauty of Holland. Ironically enough, when I read "<a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/">Welcome To Holland</a>" the first time I didn't really understand the full impact of it. I'd known since I was pregnant with Pookie that something "wasn't quite right" and the moment he was born it was obvious he had some type of special needs. I read "<a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/">Welcome to Holland</a>" shortly after Keeg's initial diagnosis and suddenly it all made sense. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">I know that through all these things God will make sure our needs are met and dreams fulfilled. This is going to be a beautiful and joy filled journey. Yet, we all must mourn the things in life we have lost..............even when the door God has opened for us is so much more beautiful, amazing and breathtaking. </span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-83192829621726351252011-06-30T19:07:00.000-07:002011-06-30T19:07:21.035-07:00"Official Diagnosis" and older child on the spectrum???<div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pookie "officially" received his diagnosis Wednesday, June 22nd at aprx. 2:15pm. Although the doctor felt he was close to being diagnosed as having <a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/pdd/pdd.htm">Pervasive Developmental Disorder</a> with SO..........she said that due to a few "oddball" characteristics, he was getting a diagnosis of <a href="http://autism.about.com/od/whatisautism/f/whatishfa.htm">High Functioning Autism</a> instead. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">Am I surprised? No. Is it still a blow to me? Yes. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not really sure why this hit me hard at all. Since Pook was a year and a half old, I suspected that he would end up with a diagnosis on the <a href="http://www.nichd.nih.gov/health/topics/asd.cfm">Autism spectrum</a>. Although I went back and forth with specialists along the way suggesting High Functioning Autism, PDD, or Asperger's, we all knew he was somewhere on the spectrum. I've pushed for him to get the early intervention he needed with therapies and geared them towards Autism as I found these therapies helped him reach his potential. High Functioning Autism isn't a new concept for me regarding Pookie. I've realized a diagnosis on the spectrum was coming for the last 3 1/2 years. Yet, after hearing the "official" diagnosis, it was as if something inside of me fell flat. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">I've discovered that throughout the years, secretly inside, in a place hidden from even myself, I was hoping. I was hoping that maybe the problem was my parenting skills. Maybe, somehow, I'd gone wrong with the third child. Maybe it was because I had health issues that limited me the first years of his life and his "oddities" was a direct result of this. I hoped that when others said, "He's just spoiled" or "You let him get away with to much"........part of me actually hoped this was true. If it was me, then that could be easily changed and dealt with. If I was responsible, then his future was simpler. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">It wasn't me though. I'm not saying my parenting is perfect or that I've "succeeded" as a parent. Merely that my son's wonderful oddities aren't "my fault". With that realization, the landscape of his, and my, future has changed. It's not a bad thing. Just different. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">As I spent the last week thinking about Pook's official diagnosis and exactly what that means for us, I was given another tentative diagnosis for my soon to be 14 year old son. I went into the appointment expecting to hear that my eldest was possibly ADD or maybe that he was <a href="http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/obsessive-compulsive-disorder-ocd/index.shtml">OCD</a>. Yet, when the counselor suggested <a href="http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/asperger/detail_asperger.htm">Aspergers</a>, everything in my world froze. My brain sputtered and gasped for understanding. HOW?? He's almost 14 years old........how could I not have noticed he was on the spectrum? How could I have spent the last 3 and a 1/2 years researching Autism spectrum disorders and not have noticed? How many times did I draw my husband over while researching and say, "He, doesn't this sound like Keeg?" How could I have not made the connection? </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">ASPERGERS......with this suggested diagnosis, the landscape of the future didn't change. Instead, the future moved to a far distant planet I never considered before. This just doesn't fit. Keegan taught himself to read by age 2 and 1/2. While I was teaching him letters and sounds, he was already reading Dr. Suess books and just didn't reveal it to me. By the time he was in elementary school he was reading high school level books. He breezed through math and grasped science concepts beyond his years. He learned how to play chess after sitting through one single game and spent the rest of the night beating adults that had been playing for years. He started working in college textbooks just this past year, at the age of 13. How how how could this be? </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet, the more the counselor talked to me and explained characteristics and signs of Asperger's, the more ti all seemed to fit. The lack of concept of personal space and how more often then not you have to remind Keeg to "back up" when he's talking to you. How he never seems to notice that a conversation has, or should have, ended. How he misses social cues, facial expressions, and has never been embarrassed, even when it seemed he should have been. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, while scheduling Pook's evaluations for increased therapy services, I am now also scheduling evaluations for Keeg to determine if he, in fact, does have Aspergers. Even though I can see the signs, and see the possibility, I know that deep down inside, in a place hidden even to myself, I'll continue to hope that it's just me. That maybe I haven't parented correctly and the oddities that Keeg is exhibiting are in fact a symptom of my poor parenting. </span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;">Until the "official" diagnosis comes...............</span></div><div style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-size: large;">In the meantime, I'm going to continue to read <a href="http://www.specialkidstoday.com/articles/essays/welcome-to-holland-4719/2/#">"Welcome to Holland"</a> over and over again. Tonight, I printed it and am posting it above my computer desk. Yes, the landscape of the future has altered and changed for our sons........but it's a beautiful landscape nonetheless. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EuY7RjbnMUAojLpXp_vdxH1bmJiw74GiRCxCTJg0tTEyfTGxQr3ZyHWPcdgztKlYtmN5qAqjhsKcfbQ0ckl58GI5mheLCAPLn0v8C88Zsslat9yBRjs9YNr7PSY9XRtjxDApQKuLmlI/s1600/pook+and+gravy%252C+building+for+4h+and+more+029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0EuY7RjbnMUAojLpXp_vdxH1bmJiw74GiRCxCTJg0tTEyfTGxQr3ZyHWPcdgztKlYtmN5qAqjhsKcfbQ0ckl58GI5mheLCAPLn0v8C88Zsslat9yBRjs9YNr7PSY9XRtjxDApQKuLmlI/s320/pook+and+gravy%252C+building+for+4h+and+more+029.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-31147940711244738252011-05-18T19:58:00.000-07:002011-05-18T19:59:00.837-07:00Sensory Seeking ChaosI knew it was coming. It's been raining for several days on and off, highly limiting the amount of time Pook has been able to play outside. Playing outside is a MUST for him. He has a trampoline, a basketball goal, a bicycle and a dog......all of which provide great sensory input for him.<br />
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Add to the fact that the weather has prevented his outside play, we also have been living in the midst of a large swarm of very noisy Cicada's for three weeks. It sounds as if a house alarm is constantly going off. There have only been two times through the three weeks the Cicada's have not been playing their "song".....when it rains, and at night time. Of course, Pook isn't normally outside during those times anyway!<br />
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So, I've been waiting for him to melt...somehow, someway. Today was that day. I woke EARLY this morning to Pook's face directly in mine. He was talking very loudly and telling me to do something (I'm still not quite sure what). He was adamant, loud, and very pushy. He seemed to have completely forgotten any concept of personal space.<br />
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Our day was filled with him mouthing all kinds of objects that should not go in a mouth. He jumped around everywhere and climbed on everything in sight. He slammed doors over and over again and repeatedly returned to the kitchen for big metal spoons to bang on the counter tops. He banged on windows, walls, floors.....everything he could. He banged with sticks, toys, belts....all of it.<br />
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When I had to make a business call, he ended up screeching over and over again right next to me. May God bless the wonderful patient woman on the phone who was handling the call!! Despite my attempting to go to another room, my screeching son followed me, close to my heels.<br />
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His diet today has been awe inspiring. He has eaten at least 8 oranges (though I suspect much more), a bit of peanut butter with shredded cheddar cheese mixed in, Taco Bell Fire Sauce and Texas Pete Hot Sauce. The latter two he ate straight from the packs and bottle. Oh, and he also ate an apple juice popscicle.<br />
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He refused to shower, telling me that he was a Ninja and his Mommy told him he's not allowed to take showers at other people's homes. He also got into the fridge and jugged almost an entire 2 liter of his fathers caffeinated beverage. He refused to have anything to do with his bedroom.<br />
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Just watching Pook today exhausted me!!<br />
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Then, Daddy came home. I'd printed out an article for Daddy last night from Hartley's Life With 3 Boys. The article, <a href="http://www.hartleysboys.com/2011/03/you-cant-always-get-what-you-want-by.html">"You Can't Always Get What You Want"</a> by Alysia talked about the specific sensory play that her husband has with their son each morning to start the day. When hubby came home this evening, I handed him the printout, pointed to the first picture and said, "Let's try this". We explained to Pook what we wanted to do and was met with a crying and resolute "NO!". So, I sat down and showed him the picture of the father and son. Well, apparently if it's good enough for them, it's good enough for him! I laid on the bed, relaxing for the first time today, and watched as Daddy pulled Pook up into the air and Pook transformed his body into an "X". For the first time today, Pook smiled and from there his smiles turned into giggles and laughs. His intense gaze that he'd had all day begin to soften. Dad was able to get him into the shower shortly therafter and cuddled with him (while providing deep rubdowns) on the couch until he fell asleep.<br />
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I came to terms a long time ago that I couldn't give Pook quite the sensory input that his Daddy could give him. I'm OK with that, except when Daddy isn't here!<br />
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Don't get me wrong....sensory seeking days aren't all bad. Today we found a tick on the inside of Pooks thigh. Dreading having to remove it, I laid him down on the bed and got the tweezers ready. First pull....nothing. Second pull....nothing. After several times attempting to get the tick to disengage itself from Pook's thigh, it finally came loose. Pook didn't bat an eye. He just laid there and talked to his sister about various subjects. I'm sure we wouldn't have had the same response from him on a different day!!!<br />
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Raising a child with special needs is filled with exhausting days like today. Yet, I am blessed beyond belief to have Pook teaching me each day things I would have never even noticed without him.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aK1h3jQ-vKGyo54gfTvD0kkbP061ckCmY4-qv0iXUvBsnj8Ah0N5uGYw_zN_rQsN0fOW17AeuBu7z2vFKXXcP1VVmfHKpOQERbrq9LFlm4zIrgjNJlKUtRCbSEPJls-2E1id-qjSC7A/s1600/need+to+sort+cicadas+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aK1h3jQ-vKGyo54gfTvD0kkbP061ckCmY4-qv0iXUvBsnj8Ah0N5uGYw_zN_rQsN0fOW17AeuBu7z2vFKXXcP1VVmfHKpOQERbrq9LFlm4zIrgjNJlKUtRCbSEPJls-2E1id-qjSC7A/s320/need+to+sort+cicadas+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-26396993663091096172011-05-17T12:21:00.000-07:002011-05-17T12:21:53.697-07:00What to title this one???<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Since early childhood, I always said I wanted to grow up and have 12 children. After seeing the way children with special needs was treated, I often prayed and asked God to let me have the children with special needs, as I knew I'd love them just as much as a "typical" child. Yet, after three children I ended up having a hysterectomy and knew I'd never carry another child in my womb. Yet, I still longed for 12 children and knew my heart was open to children with special needs. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">When I married my husband, not only was he willing to accept my three children from a previous marriage as his own, he also liked the idea of adopting more. We've talked about adoption on and off. We thought that maybe we needed to wait till Pookie was older. We wondered if adopting would take us away from providing care and attention he needed. We discussed the impact it would have on our older children. Then, we watched "My Flesh and Blood". It's a 2003 documentary that is now showing on Netflix. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Suddenly, we wondered what it is we are waiting for. Like the woman in the documentary, we can't provide the children with all the material things they would desire and maybe even a few things they might need. But, we could show them that they could be part of a family, loved, cherished....where no one would leave them. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">So, today, I started exploring adoption websites. Upon my first Google search, in the search results, this is what I read:</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">"Requirements for adopting a child with special needs tend to be less restrictive than requirements for adopting a healthy infant."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">WHAT????????? Is this serious? I clicked through to the link and yep, sure enough....that's the truth. I knew that children with special needs weren't placed in homes as often as typical children. I knew that the older the children with special needs got, the less likely they were to be placed. I knew that many children with special needs growing up in the system end up institutionalized, not because they don't have the potential to do more independent, but because there just isn't anyone there to love, cherish, and support them. Yet, at what point in time did adoption agencies determine that it's OK to place a child with special needs in a home that a typical child wouldn't be able to be placed in??? </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">I am the parent of a child with special needs. As a result, there is so much more that we need now then before. Support, access to specialists and medical care, networks with others that can relate, it goes on and on. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">I'm seriously interested in knowing exactly what restrictions are not in place for a home that is going to have a child with special needs placed in it versus a home that is having a typical child placed. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-7809652210965761462011-05-11T14:54:00.000-07:002011-05-13T13:33:32.119-07:00New stages, new diagnosis, and moreI'm getting really bad at keeping up with updates. Blame it on buying a new house and moving.<br />
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Pook has gone through some significant changes recently. Some have been profound, both good and negative. First, Pookie is becoming aware of his own emotions. He's finally feeling emotions and being able to articulate them. However, the emotions seem to be coming from events that happened weeks before.<br />
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Pook also is becoming aware of the fact that sometimes he hits and kicks. It seems he has two levels of "meltdown"...one when he realizes in the moment that he is in the process of hitting/kicking/throwing/etc and another where he has no recollection at all. With the first one, he says that he doesn't want to hit/kick but that his body does it anyway. Although this highly frustrates and upsets him, I feel it's a tremendous achievement and will aide us in helping him achieve his full potential.<br />
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Pookie is also now aware of various ways that he differs from others. Unfortunately, he's having a very hard time accepting those differences on top of his overwhelming and seemingly sudden emotions. His response has been that he wants to die. I can't begin to express how scary it is to have a 5 year old tell you this. I am completely overwhelmed and out of my league on how to handle this. However, I am staying focused that his emotions and thoughts are the ones important right now and that God will carry him through this. We are also blessed that Pookie has a great team of specialists he works with.<br />
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All this brings us to the latest possibility regarding diagnosis. For those of you who know us or read the blog, you may know that Pook was diagnosed with Sensory Integration Dysfunction/Sensory Processing Disorder at a very young age. He is very sensitive to sounds, lights, etc. At the same time, there are many types of physical stimulation he craves constantly which explains his always climbing, jumping, spinning, and holding vibrating objects to his ears. He's also been diagnosed as having Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, however we are optimistic that this is directly related to his sensory issues and will not be a problem as his therapy progresses.<br />
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We previously felt that Asperger's would end up being Pook's "final" diagnosis. Yet the neurologist wants us to take Pook to see an audiologist that specializes in Central Audio Processing Disorder. I've done quite a bit of research and was surprised to find that between the Sensory Processing Disorder and the Audio Processing Disorder, all of Pook's symptoms are listed (except the OCD). Each of these disorders have very specific therapies outlined that will help Pook reach his full potential. <br />
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To read a full list of symtpoms of Sensory Integration Dysfunction/Sensory Processing Disorder, please go here: <a href="http://www.sensory-processing-disorder.com/sensory-processing-disorder-checklist.html">Checklist of Symptoms</a><br />
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If you have a child aged 5 or older that has Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD), or is typically developing and you would like to participate in an online research study, please click here: <a href="http://spdfoundation.net/sensory-processing-blog/2011/04/20/spd-and-asd-research-survey-ends-soon/">Cambridge Psychology</a> (You will be entered to win an Amazon gift card upon completion)<br />
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If you would like to read about the differences between Sensory Processing Disorder and Autism, please read here: <a href="http://www.spdfoundation.net/library.html#autism">Autism and SPD</a><br />
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If you would like to read more about Central Auditory Processing Disorder, you can find information at the following links:<br />
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http://www.ldonline.org/article/8056<br />
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http://www.nidcd.nih.gov/health/voice/auditory.asp<br />
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http://www.asha.org/public/hearing/disorders/understand-apd-child.htm<br />
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Please remember that it is very difficult for individuals who have "invisible" diabilities. Take the time to get to know someone before judging them. A child screaming and clawing at others in a store.......a woman in a wheelchair you saw walking perfectly fine the day before......a teen that bumps into everyone as she walks past never saying "excuse me"......a man who refuses to look at you when talking.<br />
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There are to many "invisible" disabilities to list here. I am sure that at least one of you knows someone with an invisible disability, whether you know it or not. Don't judge others.....instead reach out to them.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-2461146866329272112011-03-14T09:41:00.001-07:002011-03-14T09:41:16.243-07:002012 Olympics = Segregation??Everyone loves the Olympics, right?? Everyone, regardless where you are from, has at least heard of the Olympics, right? And now, each of us need to stand up and do what is right regarding the Olympics. The Olympics in 2012 will be held in London. As a result, lawmakers are attempting to pass new laws in an attempt to give a false image of the area. For example, some of the laws state:<br />
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"No person shall lie down or sleep in or on any public place."<br />
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"No person shall distribute any free refreshment in or on any public place."<br />
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"No person shall knowingly permit any person to distribute any free refreshment in or on any public place."<br />
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The legislatures responsible for these laws are passing them under the pretenses of helping the homeless. At this point in time, homeless people in the area benefit from "soup runs" where they have much needed nourishment provided to them for free. The concept is, if you stop providing much needed nourishment to homeless people in one area, they'll all leave and move to another area. (segregation???) I mean seriously, who wants to see a bunch of homeless people laying around when you're there to watch the Olympics?<br />
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Yet, lets look at everyone this affects. Let's say you are walking down the street in the area where this is to be banned. You see a single mother with three children. She looks tired and worn, yet still manages to smile when she speaks to others and her children. You can tell that she hasn't much money and you decide to go get each of the children an ice cream cone and give it to them. Oh, but wait.....you can't do that. The laws clearly state:<br />
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“refreshments” includes food or drink"<br />
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"refreshments are “free” if they are distributed without charge to the persons to whom they are distributed."<br />
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Maybe a nice gentleman holds the door for you and then has a seat nearby. You decide to give him a cup of coffee.....but wait, can't do that either.<br />
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Maybe you, like me, have health problems. Walking puts you in pain, sometimes so much pain that you need to lie down a few moments before proceeding. You find a bench that is empty, and proceed to stretch out, getting a few minutes of relief from the pain throbbing in your back. Oh wait....you can't do that either, it's illegal!!!<br />
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How about you men? Here you are, and your wife is shopping. We all know how long some women can take shopping!! You sit down, stretch out your legs, pull your hat down over your eyes, and decide to nap until she finishes. Ohhhhh....you can't do that either!!! It's illegal!!<br />
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Let's put yourself in someone else's shoes now. You've worked hard your entire life. You have always been self sufficient and paid for everything yourself. You never got anything on credit, likeing the feeling you got when making your purchases in cash. You had a secure, happy, confident life. Then your company went under. Through no fault of your own, you ended up unemployed in an economy that has no jobs available. You did fine until your savings ran out. Then you started to sell your belongings. When all was gone, you had no choice but to sleep on the streets. Your friends were all from the same company and ended up in similar circumstances. Though some had family to move in with and help, others were like you.....with no family nearby. The first night you ended up with nowhere to sleep, you walked for hours in disbelief. How did you end up here? What were you going to do? Sleep finally overcame you after the 2nd night you walked for hours. You sat down in an alcove to be protected from the rain. You only planned to stop a few minutes and rest, but sleep overcame you and you fell asleep. Just a few hours and you could be back up and on your way.....looking for work.....looking for ways just to survive......trying to figure out how to feed your stomach that rumbled and hurt with hunger. But wait.......you can stop and rest here, it's illegal. And the people who used to come and reach out to the homeless by offering them a meal are no longer allowed to. You'll remain hungry. Chances are you'll get fined before someone comes to let you know where you can go for food..........if you can walk that far as hungry and weak as you are. You see, homeless people aren't allowed in this part of town. They've been segregated to other places. Homeless people can't get help here...........the Olympics are coming and we don't want people to see the likes of you.<br />
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The Olympics are coming to London. Tons of people and businesses will flood the area, bringing in money and resources to the area. How easy it would be for the legislatures to use the Olympics to heighten awareness of homelessness. How easy it would be for the legislatures to use this as an opportunity to encourage others to reach out to help the homeless. Yet, instead, Westminster wants to run all the homeless people out and pretend that there are no homeless in Westminster.<br />
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Yet, you know the truth now. When you purchase that Tshirt that says "Olympics 2012" on it, will you think about the homeless that are being run out? Will you think about how if you were there, you couldn't offer a hungry man a meal....or children of lesser means ice cream? When you pick up that "Olympic 2012" ball cap, will you think about how ludicrous it is that a man waiting on his husband to finish shopping will be fined if he naps while waiting?<br />
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What if it were you? Show your compassion. Speak your thoughts on the matter b:<br />
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Print and fill out the consultation letter at the link below and mail it to: Alastiar Reeves: Rough Sleeping Team, Westminster City Council, Westminster City Hall, 64 Victoria Street, London SW1E 6PQ<br />
OR<br />
You can send an email to Alastiar Reeves stating that you disagree and why at areeves1@westminster.gov.uk<br />
OR<br />
You can call and voice your opinion by phone at 020 7641 2254<br />
<br />
Link to letter to print and mail: <br />
<a href="http://www3.westminster.gov.uk/docstores/publications_store/Draft%20Rough%20Sleeping%20and%20Soup%20Run%20Byelaw_Consultation%20Letter.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www3.westminster.gov.uk/docstores/publications_store/Draft%20Rough%20Sleeping%20and%20Soup%20Run%20Byelaw_Consultation%20Letter.pdf</a><br />
<br />
Link to the Law:<br />
<a href="http://www3.westminster.gov.uk/docstores/publications_store/Draft%20Rough%20Sleeping%20and%20Soup%20Run%20Byelaw.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">http://www3.westminster.gov.uk/docstores/publications_store/Draft%20Rough%20Sleeping%20and%20Soup%20Run%20Byelaw.pdf</a><br />
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I please with each of you, contact regarding this matter. People can make a difference. Don't tell me that it doesn't affect you because you live elsewhere. This happens everywhere, every day!! It happens here in America. Just ask anyone whose been homeless......ask me!! Christ came here to let us know it's not our place to judge......it's our place to love.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-1745038579226942012011-02-28T09:28:00.001-08:002011-02-28T09:28:51.277-08:00The BeaconThe February 2011 edition of <a href="http://www.ecac-parentcenter.org/resources/documents/The_Beacon_Feb_2011.pdf">The Beacon</a> is now available to view. <br />
<br />
This monthly electronic newsletter is designed to provide parents with links, resources, information and activities of particular interest to the issues of children with special health care needs.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-91332763265647070932011-02-28T08:34:00.000-08:002011-02-28T08:34:40.022-08:00Dental Health Guidelines for Children on the Autistic Spectrum<a href="http://www.dental.washington.edu/departments/omed/decod/spec_need_pdfs/Autism-Parent.pdf">The Dental Health Guidelines</a> document is a printable pdf file, you can view Dental Health Guidelines regarding children on the Autistic Spectrum. This is from the United States Department of Health and Human Resources and provides a lot of good information! <br />
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<br />
Click <a href="http://www.dental.washington.edu/departments/omed/decod/spec_need_pdfs/Autism-Parent.pdf">HERE</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-26157106088856118752011-02-24T18:35:00.000-08:002011-02-24T18:35:52.720-08:00We're Not Alone<div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">"We" are not alone. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">Who are "we". </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">"We" is the mother that wonders how she'll ever be able to raise her child with the skills he needs in this world when his brain and body won't aide in this demand. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">"We" is the child whose sibling can go from hugging to hitting in less time then it takes to blink an eye. "We" is the same child that understands this behavior is beyond their siblings control, but at the same time can't help but feel that their sibling "never gets in trouble for doing bad things". </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">"We" is the newly married into family member that really doesn't understand what is going on and feels totally inept when it comes to actively participating in the life of the family member with special needs. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">I could go on and on about who all "we" is. Instead, I want to direct you to a blog presented by the Sibling Support Network. Here, you will be able to have a small glimpse of the world through people who have siblings with special needs. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">I encourage you to take a few minutes to read the stories posted on this page. To often the siblings of a child with special needs are forgotten. Although parents are offered assistance and support, most people don't realize the struggles and sense of responsibility faced by the siblings of the same child. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">I watch each day as my two older children face a greater sense of responsibility then any child should face. I see the struggle within them. Their longing for the freedom most children their age get, while feeling guilty that they'd want anything that would take away from meeting the needs of their younger brother. I see their love and compassion for their younger brother, even as they are tired from their day of helping avoid meltdowns and uncontrollable fits. I see their working each day to provide their younger brother with a calm environment, and their despair when despite their best efforts, he still "loses it". </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please, take a moment to go to the following website and peer through the eyes of someone that has a sibling with special needs. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://siblingstories.blogspot.com/">Sibling Stories</a></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-45289475075680734482011-02-21T12:47:00.001-08:002011-02-21T12:50:23.096-08:005th Birthday<div style="color: #073763;">Well, in 5 more minutes it will by my "baby's" 5th birthday. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I remember when my first child (now a teenager) turned 5 years old. It was such a huge feeling. I was the mother of a 5 year old. 5 indicates so much....the starting of school, the transformation from toddler to child, the first marker of a separation from mom. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">And now, my baby is turning 5. This is the third and last time this event will happen in my life. He is the last child I will have carried within the womb I no longer have. He is, and forever will be, my "baby". </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">Pookie has come a long way. He still does not have a precise diagnosis, something we hope to change this year. He still gets frustrated when people don't "hear" him (his explanation of others not understanding). He has never been able to quit moving, even in sleep. He is obsessed with ropes and often reminds me of Linus with his blanket. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">Pookie has taught me that life doesn't have to be scheduled. That sometimes a child really can not control their actions. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I've listened to him recently beg me to tell him why he does "bad" things when he doesn't want to. He looses total control when he's in an emotionally charged, or his senses are overloaded. Although I hope that his realizing he is losing control will help us in the path to be able to find alternative behaviors, my heart breaks at his agony. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I'm flooded with emotions thinking of all that his 5 years has brought him. I am heartbroken that for so long he's been unable to articulate any of his emotions, and now that he can it's clear he is fighting a battle within himself that I don't know how to help. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I want each of you to stop a moment and reflect on the judgment calls you've made in your life. I want you to think of the mother you saw shopping in the grocery store while her infant screamed. How you thought she should leave and come back later when her infant was calmed. Realize that it could have been me you saw......a mother who had no choice but to shop with her screaming infant........an infant who did not stop screaming until he was 16 months old. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">Think about the child you saw lying in the floor thrashing and screaming. You said to yourself that if it were your child you would know what to do. Yet, that to could have been Pookie. A child who feels pain at light and sounds when others don't even notice. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">How about the two parents who were holding their child down and fighting to get the straps fastened in his carseat? What did you think when you saw them? That could have been us........our hearts breaking when holding him down knowing that the straps were causing him agony, yet knowing we couldn't sit in the parking lot for hours, or days, until it wasn't so bad for him. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">Maybe you saw the child who starting hitting everyone when they spoke, only to have the mother hold him close, whisper in his ear while rubbing his arms and back. Maybe you thought that she was encouraging his behavior,when in reality she was offering feedback stimulation in an effort to help his brain process the information it was stuttering on. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I was that person before Pookie came into my life. I was the mother who had raised two very well behaved children. I was the mother who was stopped in the store by strangers to be told what "well-behaved" children I had. I was the one stopped and told how "impressed" people were with my little angels. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I was the person who looked at the screaming child and words like "spoiled" would come into my mind. I was the person who thought the child who slapped their parents deserved swift and harsh discipline and looked down upon the parent that seemingly condoned it. I was the person who looked upon seemingly ill behaved and ill mannered children and blamed the parents. I was the person who, if the child looked "normal", then the child should behave "normal". </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I am now the parent with the child that is sometimes judged as "spoiled". I'm am now the parent that is sometimes hit, kicked or bitten and judged as not offering strict enough discipline. I am the one blamed for not being an effective parent due to my child seemingly being ill behaved. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">Yet, I am also the parent that understands that my child begins each and every single prayer he says with, "God, please help me be nice." I am the parent that knows that my sons heart aches when he causes others pain and that he cried out to understand why he does these things without being able to control it. I am the parent that knows that seams in socks, tags in clothes, a soft wind, light, sound, or even the hum of a car engine causes my son pain in a way we can never understand. I am the parent who longs for others to understand. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">I am the parent that is pleading with you to stop and rethink the judgments you've made in your life. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #073763;">This week is "Make A Difference Week". I challenge you to change your thought patterns. The next time you see a parent shopping in the store with a screaming child, offer assistance. Can you help her load her cart with items while she holds her child? Can you help her through the checkout line or to load the groceries in her car? The next time you see a parent trying to strap a thrashing child into a carseat, again offer your assistance. Maybe you can get the child's attention for that split second it takes for the buckle to go "snap". When you see the child who strikes out at their sibling or parent and see the parents attempt to calm the child, walk up to the parent and tell him/her what a great job they are doing. </div><div style="color: #073763;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWd447ju4QW8pSXCi2DfRA_jcU41tkQuf96yrWG9Zy85JqLaP2dozFnU21mmPdAOP3F0RlD1JD25Bk-AMmnaev0ghIv8iGjmh966HXnU6qhEhiniqQTTy43SxCwELOY5Fey13w_0LTxg/s1600/pook+snake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWd447ju4QW8pSXCi2DfRA_jcU41tkQuf96yrWG9Zy85JqLaP2dozFnU21mmPdAOP3F0RlD1JD25Bk-AMmnaev0ghIv8iGjmh966HXnU6qhEhiniqQTTy43SxCwELOY5Fey13w_0LTxg/s320/pook+snake.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><br />
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</div><span style="color: #073763;">I challenge you, in honor of Pookie's 5th birthday to make a difference in the family of a child with special needs. Remember, not all special needs are visible. You can make a difference. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-19320147202950875442011-02-09T18:32:00.000-08:002011-02-09T18:32:57.527-08:00Upcoming 5th Birthday<div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wow! Pook will be 5 years old. It's amazing when I think of how far he's come. Only through God's strength and grace could Pook have ever accomplished all that he has. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">We've had a lot going on lately and didn't get around to planning his party yet. So, tonight I asked him what he wanted on his cake. I'm not sure why I was surprised at his answer. He wanted a monkey cake, same as last year. He even wanted to same number on it, but I talked him into getting a 5. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">His gifts are quite simple. He wants the same "vroom vroom" bicycle (Hot Wheels Bike at Walmart) that he's wanted since last summer. He wants a yoyo that lights up, simply because his sister just got one. He wants more playdough and accessories (I doubt he'll ever have enough). Oddly enough, the only other thing he wants is a whistle with a pull out magnifying glass. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">I realized, once again, that having a child on the Autistic spectrum can simplify life at times. More then likely, I'll be making that monkey cake for years to come. I'm sure each present during the years events will include playdough. Overall, makes for a pretty simple birthday party. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">And, as I do with each of my children's birthdays, I'll think back to the glorious day they were born. I'll look at all their accomplishments, all their special traits and uniqueness and I'll realize that my life would be utterly void with out him. </span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you God for bringing Pook into my life and allowing me to learn more about life through him then I ever dreamed possible. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-45944628004244010942011-01-31T15:12:00.000-08:002011-01-31T15:12:20.006-08:00Sensory Accomodation Suggestions<span style="color: #3d85c6;">I ran across this Sensory Accommodation Suggestion page online today that I thought some of my readers might be interested in. Unfortunately, I've been unable to locate the website I got it from. I'll post the link to that site as soon as I run across it again. Click <a href="http://steinerigroup.com/SPD/Sesnory_Acccommodations_V1.pdf?syxfs_force_rtnurl"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a> to see the suggestion page. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1850739142813697723.post-6276981071385072192011-01-31T08:09:00.000-08:002019-09-23T18:28:32.994-07:00In Memory of Jordy.........<div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Typically, this blog is about Pook and living with his special needs. Yet, 14 years ago today something happened that drastically altered not only my life, but the lives of so many others. I'm dedicating this blog to children who have lost their lives due to child abuse. Due to the emotional impact writing this blog has had on me, I did not go back and proofread or spell check it and most likely never will. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">***********************************************</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">14 years ago today..........I remember so clearly. It was late when I got home. There was a group of people there. I knew as soon as I saw them something was wrong. One of them opened the door and it was obvious he'd been crying. He told my then husband that he needed to go call his brother. Instantly, fear flooded me. What had happened? It must be one of his parents. What was wrong. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">We drove to the convenience store around the corner to use the payphone. I sat in the passenger seat, rubbing my hands across my swollen stomach that held my child. I was to be a Mommy soon. I leaned back against the head rest and smiled. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then, it happened. He gasped and made a choking noise. My head snapped up and I leaned toward him. "What is it?" I whispered frantically. He looked at me, shock and horror filling his face and said, "Jordy is dead". </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">I looked around as I suddenly heard screams like I'd never heard before. They sounded so raw, so animal like. I watched as the houses around us begin to light up. I saw curtains pulled back and people peeking out. I was looking around frantically, trying to figure out where the screams were coming from while at the same time trying to process the horrible news I'd just heard. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">I realized that someone was telling me to calm down over and over again. I was being told to quit screaming. It still took a while for me to realize the screams were coming from me. Those raw, animalistic screams were coming from my own mouth. When that realization hit, it only served to sear the heartache and pain into my being. My baby within me was rapidly moving around. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and let the tears and moans escape unhindered. Jordy was dead. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordan Bryant Bradshaw.......I remember the very first time I saw him. He was only a few years old. He and his mother were walking down the drive in front of the college. I didn't know either of them, but our mutual friends were there to pick her up and I was with them. The sky was brilliant that day. One of those days where big clouds cover patches of the sky so that when the sun shines through it is radiant and brilliant. The sun broke through the clouds and shone upon Jordy. His blond hair was radiant in the sun and it looked as if he was surrounded in an ethereal glow. I remember catching my breath and thinking that he looked like an angel. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordy's mother and I hit it off immediately. I quickly became an almost permanent fixture at her home. It wasn't long before I was babysitting for her. She was attending college full time, raising two children with no financial help from their fathers, and was battling some health issues. I feel in love with Jordan and his sister and had no issues hanging out and helping. I remember so much. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordan jumping and flipping through the house pretending to be his favorite power ranger. How he'd sit on the floor with his legs spread apart, leaning back on his hands as he watched television. I remember snuggling with him and his sister on the floor, watching Christmas lights make patterns on the ceiling. Laying outside in the summer watching clouds make shapes of favorite animals. Him teaching me how to play Sonic the Hedgehog on the Sega and laughing when I messed up. His laugh....you couldn't help but smile and laugh along. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was the time I caught him and a neighborhood friend peeing their name on the side of the apartment building! I put them both in time out in a corner. They were each in different corners, across the wall from each other. The neighborhood friend kept hissing to get his attention and encouraging him to sneak out the door. I was sitting on the couch reading a book, which I was sneakily peeking across in such a way the boys didn't know I was looking. Jordy resisted at first, but as most young boys will do in the midst of peer pressure, he quickly ducked out the door with the friend hot on his heels. They hadn't even gotten to the corner of the building when I poked my head out the door and asked, "Exactly where do you think you're going?" Jordan and I talked alot about peer pressure that evening, as he moped around the house grounded from outside play! </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordan was rambunctious and full of energy no matter time of day or location. Even bath time was an adventure, both for me and him. For him there were pirates, power rangers, and worlds created from imagination. For me there were frantic attempts to clean up the tons of water that splashed out of the tub and me constantly reminding him that water was supposed to stay in the tub (as if that ever happened). </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordan and his sister were a light in my world at that time. They were a reminder of what life was supposed to be like. Joyous, pure, innocent. God had placed them in my life to keep me grounded at a time when I desperately wanted to forget much. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet, things changed. Jordy's mother had been receiving financial government assistance while attending college full time. She was a single mom of two and determined to get a college degree so that she could better the lives of her and her children. The government decided that since Jordy's biological father had never paid child support, they would get him to reimburse some of the financial assistance Jordan's family had received. They went after Jordy's biological father for years of back child support. Jordy's biological father was advised, most likely by his wife at the time, to sue for custody. In North Carolina, if you are being sued for back child support and win custody, you don't have to pay a dime of it. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">This was at a time when "welfare" moms were receiving a lot of media attention. Mothers who lived off the system indefinitely, never bettering themselves or their children. There was a stereotype and stigma attached to mothers who received government assistance and that stigma and stereotype followed Jordy's mother into the courtroom. She was made out to be a mother living off the system, lazy, unworking. It was brought up that her children shared a room, sleeping in bunkbeds (I have still to see the crime in that). She was put through the ringer and with no funds to afford great lawyers and legal advice, she was molded into the stereotype. Despite the fact that Jordy's father had never sought visitation or anything to do with his son, he was suddenly viewed as a father wanting to do "the right thing" for his son. Never did it come into play that he was suing for custody to avoid a huge back child support payment. In a twist that none of us thought possible, Jordy was ripped from the only family he'd ever known, and sent to live with his father. He was to see his mother and sister on weekends..........but that didn't work out either. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"> <span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Immediatly it was clear that something wasn't right. Jordy quickly lost his smile, the light in his eyes, his joyous rambunctiousness. He quite showing up to see his mother. At first there were excuses....he was sick, etc. But then those quit to. No one answered or returned phone calls and it was if Jordy had dropped off the face of the earth. People rarely saw him, and when they did it was terribly wrong. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">I remember the last time I saw him. I was at the local courthouse to pick up some paperwork. As I rounded the corner, there he was. All the way at the other end of the hall. I ducked behind a column and watched as his biological father and step-mother entered a courtroom, leaving him and his older step-brother sitting on a bench at the end of the hall. He sat quietly and still. It was the middle of summer and scorching hot outside, yet he wore a long sleeve shirt and pants. He was so still, head hanging down, eyes on his hands. I had to walk almost directly in front of them to get to the exit. I paused in front of the exit, and Jordy's step brother looked up at me. He recognized not only me, but the anguish and pain I felt at missing Jordy and longing for his return home. His step-brother looked around, making sure his family wasn't in sight, and quickly motioned for me to come over. I ran to Jordy, knealt in front of him and leaned in for a hug. He flinched and ducked, as if fearing harm. I lowered my head down towards his lap so that he could see me, and told him, "Jordy, it's me, it's Aunt Lissa." He slowly lifted his eyes to mine but it took him many seconds before he realized it was me. A small light flickered in his eyes. I reached out to hug him, yet quickly softened my grip when I realized that he was in pain. "Baby what's wrong?" Suddenly his face filled with fear and he seemed to shrink inside himself. His step-brother leaned over and whispered to me in a scared voice, "You gotta go. They can't see you here. Please, hurry." Confused, I nodded. Before I left I told Jordy, "Hold on. OK, just hang in there. I love you. Your mother and sister love you. You'll get to go home soon." </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">I called Child Protective Services that very day. Something was wrong. Why did he hurt when I touched him? Why was he wearing long sleeved shirt and pants when it was scorching hot outside? Why was his older step-brother terrified of his mother and step-father? Why was Jordy so listless and quiet? What was going on? The woman on the phone listened to all that I said and then asked me if I knew either of Jordan's biological parents. I replied that I was friends with his mother. "And, the father has custody of the child?" she asked. "Yes, he does now." I replied. The next words stunned and shocked me to the core. "Well, since your his mothers' friend, we can't seriously consider your report. If anyone else makes a report suspecting abuse, we'll look into it." </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">I didn't know what to do. I mean, what did Child Protective Services mean?? How could they not look into my report of abuse simply because I was friends with his mother? </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Over the next several months, things got worse. Jordy's mother saw him one day and his nose was pressed flat against his face. It didn't appear broke in the traditional sense, but looked like something was missing. She reported it to Child Protective Services. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">More and more reports came in to Child Protective Services, and yet Jordy remained in the home where he was obviously being abused. He completely disappeared, not even being seen by neighbors. Child Protective Services eventually sent someone to the home. The report documented severe abuse. Yet, the workers walked away, leaving him in the home. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordan died only a few days later at the hands of his abusive step-mother. I found out that night, sitting in a old beaten gray Honda at a payphone only blocks from the hospital where his small beaten and starved body lay. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">The autopsy report was so long. It's burned in my brain even now, all these years later. The autopsy showed that abuse had taken place the entire time he lived with his biological father. There were broken bones that were never treated. His nose appeared flat against his face because the cartilage between his nostrils had been pulled out, piece by piece. His body was covered in bruises. His scalp showed through the bald spots in his head where his hair had been pulled out. Later labeled "North Carolina's worst child abuse case", our hearts broke as we said goodbye to Jordy. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">In a plea, his biological father was never charged in exchange for his testimony against his wife. He testified that he didn't stop the abuse because he was "scared" of his wife. His wife, Robin Gosnell, was eventually found guilty of first degree murder and sentenced to life in prison without parole. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yet, it didn't end there. You see, Robin had placed Jordy's lifeless body in a bathtub of water to make it look as if he had drowned and to make it where the time of death couldn't be accurately determined. She left Jordy there to be discovered by her biological son. Jordy's step-brother.....the same one who had seen me at the courthouse and aided in my being able to see Jordan. This compassionate boy, to who I will always be grateful and indebted for giving me one last chance to tell Jordy that we love him, took his own life 3 years later. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were other children in the house during the years Jordy suffered abuse. I can't imagine the way that these events affected them throughout the years. I have seen how this tragic event affected Jordy's mother and older sister. So many lives have been touched by Jordan's senseless, abusive and tragic death. For those of us that knew him, it's left us with a space in ourselves that has never been filled. It's not an emptiness, because in that space we hold our memories of him. It's a space only he can fill, and one day, when we meet again, he will fill that place that we all hold for him. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">For those of you not familiar with the case, you may wonder what happened with Child Protective Services. Well, Jordan wasn't the only child that they neglected to save. Rowan County suffered the loss of 3 other children's lives.....the youngest was 16 months old, the oldest was 16. Each of these children had Child Protective Services involved. They each were killed within the first 6 months of 1997. Child Protective Services did get sued and did settle. They also got granted state and federal funds to hire more workers. At the time the deaths happened, there were only 4 investigative workers for the county. The grants enabled the Department of Social Services to hire more workers, for a total of 11 investigative workers. The Department repeatedly stated that these deaths would not have happened if they had enough workers. If this is the case, then residents of Rowan County need truly to be scared. Two years ago, 12 years after the death of these children, I asked one of the workers how many other workers there are. I was told that Child Protective Services has a total of 4 investigative workers. The same number they had in 1997 when four children died of horrific child abuse.....cases where Child Protective Services were already involved! </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Today, I dedicate my blog to Jordan Bryant Bradshaw, DeMallon Krider, Christopher Jones, and all the other children who have lost their lives to abuse. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jordy, I love you and look forward to the day I see you again. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><span style="font-size: large;">Pam, thank you for taking the time to pull me through and show me support at a time when it should have been the other way around. </span></div><div style="color: #0c343d;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #0c343d; font-size: large;">Tris...I'm proud of you and always will be. </span><br />
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http://www.amazon.com/Justice-Jordan-Robert-Hinson/dp/1890424137<br />
http://www.salisburypost.com/2000nov/112000a.htm<br />
http://www.aoc.state.nc.us/www/public/coa/opinions/2000/990646-1.htm<br />
http://www.salisburypost.com/newscopy/061699lawsuit.htmUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0