This time of year, when the days offer up more and more sunlight, I enjoy sitting in my front yard in the evening. There is a family down the street who’s routine includes a walk around the block. It’s fun to see the youngsters taking in the world around them, shyly saying “hello” to everyone, and asking Dad all sorts of questions. They seem to be growing up right before our eyes. This little guy learned to walk earlier this year. Just look at him now.
March, which has been a rough month for the past many years, has finally gone. Unfortunately, it left a reminder of our vulnerability (or its power) in its wake. On the final day of the month, I was on the phone with a Kaiser physician describing the backslide in my son’s illness of 2+ weeks. Similar to last year, where he came down with pneumonia on March 19th, it appears that the month of March it out for him. It is almost as if it is a reminder to slow down and honor the grief process — as if we weren’t already aware.
Our annual going out to dinner, just YaYa and me, to honor Tom’s passing did not occur on the 21st this year. YaYa was sick, having to take a couple of days off from school. A few days later, after the worst of it appeared to be over, he returned to his routine. I watched him wear himself down trying to catch up and raise his grades back up to a reasonable level. Late nights completing homework are the norm around here. I thank God that he loves his school and is willing to do the work. Unfortunately, his body needed him to rest. And here we are, on our second antibiotic with little to no improvement in the 5 days he’s been on them.
Morning and evening, I hover over him with the meds, fluids, the thermometer, and my stethoscope. I attempt to flush the mucus from his nasal cavity with the netti pot and shake it free from his lungs by percussing his back and chest with my cupped hands. My wrists and triceps ache. I’ve been feeling the discomfort more and more in my yoga practice. I am diligent in my efforts but it falls short of the healing I desire. I try not to let the memories of a similar hovering and disappointment (7 years past) get stimulated. This is different. I know. Nobody is dying. We are alive and this is just a part of life. These moments, good and bad, make our lives palpable and teach us to appreciate one another and life itself — on a good day. I am thankful I’ve come to appreciate it again.
After my feeble attempt to nurse my son back to health, I step onto my mat to begin my yoga practice. As always, I put my focus on my breath, inhaling and exhaling as full and slowly as I possibly can. The emotions come flooding in the drown out my focus and my lungs feel tight and restrictive. Distraction, always distractions. Yesterday, it was at the end of my practice; the tears came pouring out in savasana. I let them be, watched the worry of YaYa’s illness not improving coupled by rumors of BoBo’s deployment coming to an end. I won’t let myself breath even a sigh of relief until he is safely out of there. *groan* Is it any wonder why my breathing is restrictive?
I try to push it all off and do my practice but, today, I just give up. I’m a fool: an April Fool. Telling myself that I will do practice later, I wonder if I will let something else get in the way. I move my mat to the wall, finalize my taxes, and write. YaYa comes into my room. I percuss him one more time, have him take deep, deep breaths and cough as hard as he can. I inspect the byproduct of our collective efforts. Light brown, instead of dark. *sigh* The sky opens up, rain falls, and I smile. We’re going to be okay.
[knock wood]
In just over a month, I will be packing up my things and heading out to see the Grand Canyon for the first time in the 48 years I’ve lived on earth. I’m quite excited as my friend, Cindy and I plan to join a group of about 8 others who have also signed up to have REI Adventures lead us through this amazing backcountry. Apparently, it is one of their most difficult backcountry getaways and, to be sure we have a good trip, they have asked a lot of questions about our preparation and prior backpacking adventures. As you might guess, I’ve done a lot of hiking over the past few months to get ready to take on this adventure and have had a lot of fun in the process.
One of my adventures was over this past weekend. TheMAN, YaYa, and I took on Mount Manuel Trail in Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. The park staff told us about it when we asked about a 5-6 mile hike in the park. She told us that Andrew Molera had a nice 6 miler but that Pfeiffer had this trail which was about 8 miles long. We decided to go for it – with plans to turn back early unless we can’t stop ourselves from going the distance.
The trail was challenging and beautiful. However there were segments where the trail appeared to have fallen off the side of the mountain. The soil was loose with little tread in many sections, as is noted in this forum I found later. Thankfully YaYa slowed considerably after hitting these sections as he was worried about me safely passing. Meanwhile, worried about him, I jokingly said “I don’t know how I’m going to let this boy go off to college in 3 ½ years; I can hardly bare it when he is out of my sight.”
We all made it safely down the hill. However in one section, where a fall would not have been too bad, the ground came out from under me. My leg slid out leaving the rest of me hanging onto the loose soil remaining on the trail. YaYa stood just far enough behind me to see but not be readily available to help. TheMAN came and pulled me up with my trekking pole.
The academic demands of Catholic education can be overwhelming beyond measure. Over the past couple of years, with the late night homework followed by the impossible task of getting my child to wake, I have asked myself if it is worth it. Each time the question has been asked has yielded the response of YES. Even this year, when the demand has increased exponetially.
Coming back to the reasons I moved my son from public to private education. The sadness from our experience with a less than supportive set of teachers and administration for my oldest when he started spiraling downwards following his father’s death reminds me of the why. I was seeking an environment which supported the whole person (mind, body, and spirit) rather than one of solely academic measurements and nothing more. The schools we have attended have certainly fit the bill. Still, it’s not been easy.
Last night, I was fortune enough to attend the biggest event of the school year. This is an all class spirit competition which calls upon creativity, teamwork, ingenuity, and athleticism in the way of a dance and skit performance by each class, a number of games and relay events of varying types, and ending with a ceremonial ROAR from each class. Each class was also assigned a color which they and their parents wore to show their class spirit. They were judged on creativity, skill, sportsmanship, class spirit, parent spirit/support, the outcome of the challenges put before them, among other things.
This was 110% competition… yet it was also a coming together of a community. The message is that each individual possesses unique gifts from God, when added together, make this community strong and wonderful. Therefore, we dance and sing, hop, skip, and jump, and celebrate together! As the scores were being tallied, all the classes banned together chanting “I believe that we will win” (first separately, then all together in unison). Finally, the entire student body (all 1,300) linked arm in arm and began swaying as the sang along to OneRepublics “I Lived.” And although only one class will be listed on the trophy, each of the classes emerged from the event feeling like winners… for indeed, they are.
Seeing my son with his peers (smiling, cheering, laughing, being a part of this community) from across the venue helps reinforce the value of this community we have become a part of. It is events such as this which validate our choice in his education as the right one. It makes the homework and sleepless nights seem not nearly as maddening as I had previously thought. For time and time again, when asked, my son has insisted that it is all well worth it for him.
The academic load is not madness. This is Madness — Monarch Madness – and we love it.
I had suspected that YaYa was more than apprehensive about joining me on the Grand Canyon trip. Yet, even when I showed him the pictures that were sent to me from the REI adventure specialist, showing the cliff and drop off like terrain we were going to be faced with, he didn’t back out. On Sunday, however, I asked him again how he felt about the trip. He was silent. “Be honest.” I urged. “If you don’t want to go, I need to know.” This was when he shook his head and looked away. “I’m sorry he said.” I left the room to make lunch.
By the time I came back upstairs, 15-20 minutes had passed. He met me at the top of the stairs and said he was sorry again. Looking in his eyes, I could tell that he truly was. He said that he knew it was important to me but that he didn’t want to miss even a day of school, give up his weekend to long training hikes when he needed to get a better handle on homework, and just that he just didn’t want to do it that much. I admitted that I was disappointed but assured him that it was because I was hopeful that we could have this special memory (in his final years before heading off to college) to cherish forever. I said that I loved him very much and that I didn’t want him ever to doubt that. I told him that I although I get busy with work and yoga teacher training (studies and practice), that spending time with him is precious to me.
We hugged and cried and hugged and cried… then we ate lunch together appreciating moments like these which, although disappointing, show just home much love there is. We ate and then I headed off to hike by my lonesome with about 30 pounds of stuff packed on my back.
When I returned, he helped hoist my pack out of the car, joking that it was light as a feather. I told him that I might need him to hike with me sometime in case I got too tired and needed him to carry my pack for a while. And we laughed and hugged and laughed and hugged. These moments — are precious.