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mercurymom - Mercurymom on a mission

City: Amory
State: MS
Country: USA
Member since: Nov 26, 2007
Last logged in: Nov 20, 2008

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Mother, ABA, Auditory Integration Therapy, Occupational Therapy, Speech Therapy

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mercurymom's Page URL

http://www.foggyrock.com/MyPage/mercurymom

mercurymom's Bio

Hi, you have found mercurymom..thus named after finding mercury in my son in 1996..and wondering WHERE did it come from?? It became my mission and passion to get to the truth. Along the way I have met some wonderful parents and childern. I am the Mom of two spectrum boys, one on each end. One with aspergers, one with regressive autism and vaccine damage. My passion is writing on the subject of raising these guys, and on bio-med information. My other passion is SUPPORT THE TROOPS!

I am open to questions and will to help anyone who ask..find me at my space as..you got it...mercurymom. Nice to meet you all...Cheryl A. Bailey

Favorite Compositions (7)

Most Folks Don't Know That I:

Most people don’t know that I burst into silent tears when I hear the song “Puff...Read more

By mercurymom on 01.01.70
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Park Your Attitude for April

In honor of April, national autism awareness month, I am asking everyone in the ...Read more

By mercurymom on 01.01.70
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John vs. James at Fifteen

John vs. James at 15

My son John turned 15 the other day. In all honestly I ...Read more

By mercurymom on 01.01.70
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The Flirt

It is late Thursday afternoon and John and I are standing in the check out line ...Read more

By mercurymom on 01.01.70
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John's Puzzle

I am busy, I need to be in a million places taking care of a million things at o...Read more

By mercurymom on 01.01.70
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mercurymom's Compositions

Moving beyond Twilight

by mercurymom on 11.13.08 - public

For the longest, I have lived in the twilight zone of life. A foggy, dimly lit place where little changes, and we wait for dusk to become night, a dar...

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For the longest, I have lived in the twilight zone of life. A foggy, dimly lit place where little changes, and we wait for dusk to become night, a dark velvet blanket of night fall. Without night, we cannot have the dawn of tomorrow. Living life in the twilight zone means that each day as life ends for others, it does not at our house. We drift like lost souls about our minds, bumping into blank walls, wondering why change does not happen for our son. And yet, slowly over the years in twilight land, change has come. Subtle changes, things that make you take a second look and ask “did John just do that?”

I stood outside our church a couple of weeks ago watching the youth group praise band offer up a free fall concert. Isn't it amazing how young teenagers can sing like seasoned adults, can play musical instruments like base guitars, drums, key boards with such talent you would think they are professional. I knew every child by name, in fact, most all of them I had taught oh so many years ago in either Sunday School or summer vacation Bible School classes. They all know John. They are his peers, his age group, his would be best friends. As John and I took a seat near the front of the group, a young long haired blond boy gave a shout out to John Bailey right in the middle of singing a song. John beamed at hearing his name, smiled and waved back. Everyone on stage smiled back to John and sent the next song out in his honor. I cried. Not because John was acknowledged by teens, but because everyone was suddenly so grown up and John was not. I was still waiting to take John to kindergarten, and these guys and gals are taking ACT’s and looking at colleges. As I stood in the chilly night air watching the moon rise over the back drop of the church, I wondered just how long we would live in the twilight zone. I looked back a John who was all smiles, eyes on the stage, his hands tapping the rhythm of the song on this leg. Is it getting darker here in the twilight zone I wondered, are we nearing a night fall?

Over the next few days I made a point to listing all the way John has changed in the past year. He can now put on his socks, roll down his car window, carry out the trash, bath and dress himself. He has almost normal eye contact with strangers now, and is no longer shy. He chooses clothing to look like his big brother and has more than once let me know how badly he wants a pair of real cowboy boots, leather, not the fake kind. He has learned not to just take food off people plates when he is still hungry and wants more, but to serve himself from the platters and bowls on the table. If there is none, he points the food of other people and smiles and laughs, his way of asking for more. It is growing dark, night is finally falling after all these years. How long will the night last, who knows. But I know it’s on it’s way now, and I can live in that darkness, for it’s the dark of night that gives birth to the dawn of a new day. I am ready to move into the dark unknown and wait on dawn, and I know now, so too, is John.

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My Hope for Presidental Elections 2012

by mercurymom on 11.04.08 - public

It was a normal morning in my home, the bright autumn fall sun filled John's room as I woke him from sleep. “You get up and get dressed, I have a load...

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It was a normal morning in my home, the bright autumn fall sun filled John's room as I woke him from sleep. “You get up and get dressed, I have a load of clothing to hang on the line, your breakfast is on the table”, I told John as he opened his sleepy eyes. We will go vote after that, then maybe off to Salvation Army to get some new books, or a toy. John cherishes visiting Salvation Army, toys there are not expensive, so Mom is more likely to say yes than no to treasured finds there.
I drove with John to the community center near our home to go vote. The circle drive was dotted with cars and trucks. I cautioned John to walk slow near the elderly couple leaning on walkers. Once inside I walked to the table to sign in and get my ballot. 
"How is your mamma today?" the lady looking up my name ask. "Fair as normal" I answered back. "And Mr. John, boy is he gettn' big, how is John today?" John smiled a big smile and waved. I said nothing but smiled as well. Silence is normal for John and everyone understands that in our community. I turned to head toward a voting booth. "Do you want to sit in a chair or help me vote?" I ask John.
"Cheryl, let him vote in the children's corner, I'll take John over there, he is still under 18, he qualifies to vote in the children's area." I looked at John who was quickly walking toward the lady who had spoken his name. A big smile spread over his face. John was getting to vote, and he loved it. The children’s corner is a booth set up for children with fake ballots using names of past presidents. The idea is to instill the idea of the importance of voting in youngsters. I watched as the poll worker handed John a sheet that looked like an official ballot and a number two pencil. I shook my head as I took my own ballot into the poling booth.
Beside me was Mike. I have never known Mikes diagnosis, but I know he is considered mild to moderately impaired. He struggled to read the ballot and ask for assistance finding the names he wanted to mark. The poll worker carefully read each name to him and told him he couldn’t actually mark for him, but would stop at each name as long as he needed so he could mark the right ones. Mike smiled and said "I know who I want, it's just hard sometimes." The poll worker smiled and patted Mike on the shoulder and said "It's hard for all of us sometimes, son, not just you." I had finished voting and stood in my booth watching Mike. I had known him for years, he lives in my circle. Everywhere he goes, he walks, and talks to everyone he sees. He washes dishes in a diner down town. I have never seen him when he is not smiling. His mother once told me he would live with her for life, but that it's okay, he keeps her young. I understand that. I have John. 
John ran up to me all smiles, a poll worker a few steps behind him. 
“Well, he voted!" she said with  joy in her voice.
"Me too John, me too." I said as I took my son's hand and walked over to speak to a few neighbors. As I walked out to my car, I passed Mike, still in the booth, still voting. I stopped for a minute and thought  that the next presidential  election John will be twenty, old enough to vote his first time in a real election. My hope for the presidential election of  2012, is that John, like Mike, will overcome the barriers of disability well enough to vote. Somehow thinking about the dream that my son will someday vote, truly pales in my mind who will win this election. For I am looking to four years down the road, and what that election will mean to John.

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Where the Canidates stand of vaccine rights

by mercurymom on 11.03.08 - public

As the Mom of a vaccine damaged child I am out to see the rights to choose places in the hands of parents, not the government, not law makers, but par...

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As the Mom of a vaccine damaged child I am out to see the rights to choose places in the hands of parents, not the government, not law makers, but parents who know their families history, risk factor for a vaccine injury. I am not alone, many groups, parents and others have worked on this issue for years. Now we ask both presidential candidates, where do you stand? Here is that answer.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Military Wife Asks Obama About Vaccination Beliefs
Military Wife Asks Obama About Vaccination Beliefs
Yes it is me, Angela Warner, military wife, autism Mom, and advocate.
I've created an iReport (the link is here) on CNN.
I founded where you are :D Autism Salutes.
"Senator Obama has stated he is "not for selective vaccination". There is no other medical procedure that is mandated with the exception of vaccines. I would like Senator Obama to clarify his position on his previous statement, as my vote, and a large majority of other parents' votes depend upon his answer."
Take 26 seconds to watch.

http://www.autismsalutes.com/2008/10/military-wife-asks-obama-about.html

McCain's response on vaccines
http://www.ageofautism.com/2008/10/mccain-addresse.html

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Don't do without insurance

by mercurymom on 11.02.08 - public

After reading that several members don't have health insurance, I want to pass on a few tips about that subject. One, as far as I know, every state ha...

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After reading that several members don't have health insurance, I want to pass on a few tips about that subject. One, as far as I know, every state has something for special needs childern in some form or name of medicaid, sometimes called Disabled Child Living at Home. Sometimes if falls under the Katie Becket waver which some but not all states have. Also many states have health insurance for any child, biased on income.  Remember that packet of stuff you got on the first day of school...among the long list of school supplies, lunch menus, book fees, you got an insurance form. Many states offer a policy that will cover your school aged child 24-7, not just while they are in school. It's offered at the beginning of each school year and runs to the beginning of the next school year. If you are clueless as to what your special need and or other childern can qualifty for, contact social services in your area. Some of you have case workers, I have never had one, but have worked with the schools social worker to help other parents in my area. Contact the school or your local hospital to find a social worker. Also both Generation Rescue and Unlocking Autism have mentors listed state by state. While these people may not be experts on services, odds are if you contact someone in your state, they will be better able to direct you to what you qualifty for and how to go about getting help that if you are hunting on your own.
Second, don't do without some form of coverage for YOU! What if you are hurt or sick and run up a big bill...this will strap you beyond what autism is already doing to your family. There are many private companies out there...do a web search and start comparing services, needs,whether or not you wish for Rx coverage, maternity, etc. Cost will depend on what you choose, how many you insure, and more. I keep this policy on myself in case of a major emergency, keep a high deductible, no Rx coverage, and it's reasonable. Example of a childs coverage...my 22 year old son has a 500.00 deductible, no Rx, 20/80 coverage and he pays 50.00 a month. Using this just once this year when a major medical event he had no control over happened...saved us greatly from a huge bill we would still be paying on.
Finally, my best tip, fast food work places offer insurance, I have not seen one yet that did not. While it's not a perfect answer, for years I worked 20 hours a week to have coverage. I worked 2 eight hour shifts over the weekend and one 4 hour sometime during the week. Yes, I did have to pay out of my check as did my employer, but it saved us greatly when John was small and so sick. Without it, I am sure I would still be paying off debt. Do see what your work place offers, if it's too high, look into private insurance.
If you still find yourself uninsured, see if your work place has a program where you can set aside funds for a medical emergency from pre-taxed income. Something is better than nothing at all.

Good luck..and nope, I don't sell insurance, but I used to teach a life skills class and I taught budgeting and money management to high schoolers! :)

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It's a Different World Now

by mercurymom on 10.27.08 - public

I must admit, I am a bit slow to catch on to how the world has changed in the last ten years. The other day my son reminded me that when he was about ...

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I must admit, I am a bit slow to catch on to how the world has changed in the last ten years. The other day my son reminded me that when he was about eight, I told him that one day, the computer would also be our telephone and our television. He reminded me of this when I looked up a show on hulu for John to watch while I cooked dinner. John sat at the kitchen counter watching Father Knows Best, and I marveled that he would watch the cherished old sitcom on a computer screen. Life is not what it was when Betty and Bud were teenagers.
In the same fashion, understanding autism and getting a look into the world we as parents live, have changed greatly in the last few years. Tonight I was on line watching You Tube, catching a sensory integration video a friend of mine posted. As I scrolled about the side bar of other videos, I looked at the amazing amount of information a parent can have the very day they hear the word autism for the first time. I looked at the therapy options, personal before and after videos of childern in different degrees of recovery, and I marveled that all this technology is just a few typed words away from opening worlds of knowlege to new and old spectrum parents.
I remember the host of an on line message board talking about how when message boards first came to be, how much that communication with others with autistic children helped her to know she was not alone. She and I have never met in person, but have known each other on line for eight years. We have lived through birth, death, divorce, teenagers, and more fears about tomorrow with our son's than I would like to remember. We are connected by typed messages, and tears the other does not see, but knows when they are there.
I think back to autism in the late seventies and early eighties. You had a couple of out dated and depressing books to read. Then you had SonRise and the Noah series. Take your pick, you either got Raun or Noah, God knows, we all worked to get Raun, and cried on the days that were right out of a day with Noah. Dibs In Search of Self haunted us as well. Were we seen as cold mothers unable to teach our childern as Dibs Mom was thought to be? Oh how glad I am that in book stores of today, rows and rows of help and hope are sold.
Technology can be a help or a hindrance. It can provide us with unlimited information on the super highway, or we can spend way, way too much time on line and neglect our friends and family. I like to think that I strike a middle ground, seeking knowlege and putting that knowlege into practice. I am thankful too, for all of you who so openly share your days, lives, and situation with others needing to know that they are not alone.
May you continue to use the internet to the best for you and yours...see you on line.....

Cheryl :)

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What Makes Life Worth Living

by mercurymom on 10.20.08 - public

I am part of an autism support group. We are there for education and support and try each month to have a speaker. I was chosen a few months back to...

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I am part of an autism support group. We are there for education and support and try each month to have a speaker. I was chosen a few months back to speak on the gluten and casein free diet, a simple easy introduction for people new to autism. I knew months ago to get my act together, sadly as usual I miscalculated how much time this would take.
My failure started when I turned on the computer two days before the meeting and looked for my files on gfcf that I send to new parents. I couldn't find them anywhere. Check sent emails, no hum...okay..what's going on? I decide to quickly cut and paste together a booklet of information and a few of the most requested recipes. This took more than the "few minutes" I told John it would. He was a champ, sitting near me working puzzles and taking breaks with me so we could do some physical therapy. Where did my day go? Before I knew it, it was late and I discovered I had no computer paper for printing out the now twenty one page book.
I toss John in the car and inform him we are picking up computer paper and folders to make books with. He smiles at me, I know that look, a trip to a store means John gets to got LOOOK at toys and books. I sigh thinking of the long hours he can linger on the Hot Wheel isle. He looks, I make mental list of the foods I'll be cooking tomorrow to take to the meeting.
After John is in bed the printer and I battle until late into the wee hours. Paper jam after paper jam I cope with an over worked and worn out old copier. Then my three ring hole punch jams with more than 3 sheet of paper in it's teeth. I sigh out loud, when will I EVER learn not to offer to do so much!
I fall into bed, knowing the next day will be a full day of cooking a complete gfcf meal complete with Halloween treats. I am asleep before my head hit the pillow. I wake a few minutes after five when John comes crashing in on top of me and pushed me out of my own bed. I sleep a few more minutes on the couch before the dog needs to be let out. I give it up and start the day.
John, again is a trooper. He bounces between watching me in the kitchen, obediently handing me supplies as I ask for them, and working on his table time busy work. Several times he brings me some therapy tools and I brush him off telling him I have to work, I have to leave home by four, Mom must stay on track. He is a tad hurt, but keeps his good nature with me, as he plops down on a kitchen chair to watch Mom slice hot bread fresh out of the bread machine.
I start to pack the car and the sky burst into a rain storm. Great I think, now I wonder if anyone will even show up for the meeting. After I grab a quick shower and dress, I hug John good by and tell him I am leaving him with his brother while I go talk to some Mommies. Just as I pick up my keys his brother dashes in the door.
"Great, I just told John you would play with him while I gone."
"Wish I could, I got called into work, sorry Mom, but I can't let them down, I know you have taken John with you in the past."
"Yeeesss, but tonight I am the guest speaker, that puts a different light on this."
"You will figure it out, you always do, sorry. John be good for Mom will you, I have to work, sorry." And with that, my sitter and sanity walk out the door.
I pack up John and drive for an hour. Once at the meeting spot I unload the car, leaving food on the side walk of the building while I park the car. Wouldn't you know it, the only open parking spot is across the busy street, and it's still pouring rain."RUN JOHN!" I say"We left all our goodies at the door!" John drags and jumps in a few puddles as he lolly gags along.
As Moms and Dads and a few Grand parents pour in I hand them paper plates and tell them to eat up, there is plenty, and yes, that's my son John over there, not part of the talk, but I am sitter less.
John is a true champ. He sits at the back of the room as I start to talk. All is well, questions are flowing, I am passing out product samples, and keeping it cool, then out of the blue, John gets up and walks up to me. I ask him if he needs something. He hugs me hard. I say thanks, park it please. He sits on the front row. He is still for a few minutes then starts to rock and empty chair beside him. I give him the "Mom will kill you if you don't cut it out" look that all Mom's know, and he responds with sixteen year old you don't scare me laughter. I am not amused and flash a look his direction. He responds with a huge grin and pops his eye brows up high, a sign I am in for a show down. I look away and regain my calm persona and pick up with a new question.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice John has taken his shoe off and is now taking off his sock. I look at him and he is making sure I am watching as he puts the sock back on. Suddenly it hits me, he is showing off to get my attention. He knows how excited I am that he can put on his socks by himself. I smile at him. He smiles back. He puts his shoe on and I sign to him to come to me so I can tie it. He smirks, takes his shoe off again, off comes the sock, and again he demonstrates his amazing skill of socks with no help from anyone. I start to laugh. I tell the room why. Everyone laughs. I tell how for the past two days I have not been the attentive Mom John is used to and how now he wants my attention. I walk over and hug him hard. This is why we do the diet at my house I say. It never "cured" John, but it gave him back his life, a life oh so worth living. John stands up and smiles at the crowd, then walks to the back for the room and sits down quietly for the rest of the meeting.
You can talk until you are blue in the face about an program or therapy idea for treating autism, but it's the visual that really speaks the loudest.
John is not a success to many, but to me he is. He is a leader, the reason I work for Generation Rescue, and the reason I work endlessly with new parents seeking what is best for their child.
On the long drive home I tell him I'll spend the weekend playing with him and making up for the last two day. He smiles and touches my hand. At that minute, in the dark of night, in the pouring rain,with a mute, ornery, teenager in the car, I am the happiest Mom on the highway...quite possibly the happiest anywhere.

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Favorite People in My Child's Life

by mercurymom on 10.19.08 - public

I mulled this over for a day or so because it is not an easy answer. Fact is, John has a cornucopia of people to choose from and here is some of his l...

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I mulled this over for a day or so because it is not an easy answer. Fact is, John has a cornucopia of people to choose from and here is some of his list.

There is the loving couple who teaches his special needs Sunday School class that shower him with love and attention. Neighbors who call over the fence "Hi JOHN! how are you!!" even though they know he cannot answer back with anything more than a smile. It's the three year old grand son of a friend who runs up to John and hugs his knees and says over and over "John, John, HIII JOHHHNNN!" as John smiles down at his cherub face and pats the top of his blond head. The check out staff at the local market that understand John wants to unload my cart and that it will take him more time than a normal teen. They chat with John and high five him, help him bag up groceries and tell him to come back soon that they miss his face. That very special teen age college student who works at the gas station where we gas up John's gater. She showers John with hugs and kisses and introduces him with pride to her friends who happen to stop by. She has give John a feeling of belonging and importance in a world that so often only sees his disability. The soldier in Iraq who sends him photos and encouraging letters in exchange with the letters and stories of John we send to her. 
The elderly door greeter who understands he wants to get his own shopping cart. The store manager who seeks him out and gives him a high five and encourages him as he shops. It is the stranger we have never seen before that stops to smile at us as we pass by and thanks John when he smiles back. John's favorite people are the people who see beyond this disability and see into the heart of a loving teen.
I believe that people see the best in John, because I have taught John to see the best in others. When you hold up a mirror to humanity, try to make it reflect goodness and kindness, love and understanding I tell my boys, because we are that mirror. What we see in others, what we give to them, can and does come back to us. 
Take a minute today to tell someone thank you for not taking your childs accomplishments for granted. It might just surprise you how many people really are important to you and your child.

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If I Could Grant My Child One Skill Today, It Would Be:

by mercurymom on 10.04.08 - public

The gift of speech. John was an early talker and I cherish the tapes of his conversations...conversations that vaccine damage took from him. We are no...

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The Sound of John

by mercurymom on 08.20.08 - public

John, for lack of a better description, is vaccine damaged. There are little to no autistic issues anymore, and believe me we have seen most all on th...

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John, for lack of a better description, is vaccine damaged. There are little to no autistic issues anymore, and believe me we have seen most all on the list at one point or another. Yesterday I was talking to a Brain Gym instructor about making the trip to our state next summer to see John, as well as several of the children I work with. As we talked, she too commented on his lack of autism but more a cerebral palsy look. That one, we are still battling. The discussion turned to a set back John had earlier in the summer that took all his “noise” or speech that he had. Johns’ speech has not been clear and normal after that fatal last day of normalcy in December in ‘94. 
“What baffles me, he can laugh, I mean gut doubling over laughter.” I said into the phone.
“Laughter is not produced like speech.” she said.
“Can’t be, and in the last couple of months, I have found myself wondering where laughter comes from.”

As the afternoon wore on, I thought a great deal about laughter. John had always had an award winning smile, even though we didn’t see it for several years, we knew it was still in there. His other great skill, was natural laughter. With a klutz as a Mom, he got many chances to laugh at my unrehearsed, unplanned pratfalls. I treasure that sound, for it is the only sound John has. The more I thought about it, the more I understood that it is a blessing that speech sound and laughter are not connected. For had it been, that precious melody of life might very well have been squelched along with speech.
 Yesterday I took John out for his afternoon work out in the pool. It’s a combination work on body movement and pure fun and silly time. John, had other ideas and I knew as soon as we walked out the back door, he was not in the mood for pool time. I baulked. He baulked. I begged, he ran and sat down on the patio. I shrugged my shoulder and got in the pool anyway, thinking he would follow in a minute or two. John came and sat on the ladder. Salem, our big black cat joined John. I ask John to jump in. There it was, that look on his face that says if I could talk to you, I would be telling you a thing or two. John, mad, twisted his face, shook, glared hard at me, and signed a huge STOP. Salem, aware John was growing upset, jumped from his lap and ran to safety. 
“Oh come on in you know you want to!” I chided. That did it, John got in, but not in a happy way. He half ran, half hopped across the pool to where I was, grasped my hands looked me deep in the eyes and tugged me hard. Boy, can he talk with those deep green eyes of his. I could feel the sparks and fire in his eyes as he pulled me across the pool and toward the ladder. I was no match for an outdone sixteen year old. I meekly followed and got out. Once out, John stormed into the house and picked up the keys to his Gator.
“It’s hot now, you still wanna go drive?” I ask.
John headed out the door, I begged for a chance to get dry clothing on.
We did not get very far before I misjudged a deep ditch and the amount of rain water it had collected over night. We got stuck. I tired to reverse, but got stuck worse. I got out and checked  the situation. There I was, no cell phone, in the middle of the woods, and not about to leave that expensive toy unattended while I sought helps. With John’s assistance, I found some logs and broke them open to stuff under the tires for traction. I had been working with John on driving for sometime, but had yet to trust him to drive alone. Now I had no choice. I would have to trust him to give it gas as I pushed from behind. We talked. John grinned. I should have known that grin. 
“On three, give it all you have! One, TWWOO, TTHHRREEE GGGGOOOO!” I shouted over the motor as I shoved hard. The Gator lurched forward, spun a bit and jumped the ditch. I however, forgot to turn loose, and fell face first into a ditch of smelly grey mud.
I looked up to see where John was. He had stopped once on safe, smooth ground and was looking back over the end of the Gator at me. There it was, that laughter that lights my world. He was belly laughing so hard and grinning with a twinkle of mischief in those mirror-to-the-world eyes of his. I crawled back on, slinging mud from my arms and face as I did.
“And you wondered why I wanted to swim and not do this.”
John laughed harder and patted my shoulder.

As we rode on into the woods, I got to thinking about it. Sometimes, speech is over rated. We may never know scientifically why a voiceless child can laugh, but we do know where laughter comes from. It comes from the ability to not take life so serious, and to embrace the days of our lives, no matter what may come. It comes from happiness, joy, and a good sense of humor. And if he could talk, I feel sure John would tell you, having a klutz of a Mom, gives you plenty of practice.

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What Counts the Most

by mercurymom on 07.22.08 - public

In life, what you value is all that counts. I got a big lesson on that one last night, from Chris and his point of view in life.

While it is not ye...

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In life, what you value is all that counts. I got a big lesson on that one last night, from Chris and his point of view in life.

While it is not yet John's sixteenth birthday he has already gotten his gift. I can't remember the last birthday where we made a big deal out of the day or really bought him very much. This year should have been the year he got a drivers license, so his Dad had been fretting about John not getting a car. In his Fathers mind, his brother got a car, John should get a car. Early in the spring the discussion about how to handle this turned into possibly getting him a golf cart or such to ride in. That was not practical as we live in a wooded and open field area, golf carts do better on smooth surfaces. We both knew he would love a four wheeler, but is unable to ride one alone, and they are not really build for two. Go carts were an option, but Dad chose a John Deere ride on called a "gater". It was perfect, car like, top speed thirty miles an hour and build to handle the dirt fields and woods near our home. Like any Father excited about the toy for his son, he had to give it to him early.
John was a natural on the gater. While he still did not understand the driving part, he got the gas and break and we took turns riding with him and allowing him some time to drive as well. When John cut out into the woods near our house and found the usual group of young boys riding go carts and four wheelers, he was quickly excepted into the group. Finally, he was one of the riders, and did not have to stand back and long to have something to ride as well. The boys were nice to him and ask me questions about the gater and waited calmly as John struggled to follow them in a circle race track. Acceptance. We felt acceptance among this pre-teen pack.
My only fear was one young man, a twenty one year old high functioning autistic named Chris. For years John and I had shared a special bond with Chris. Every day we walked to his house and stood outside the chain link fence and watched him kick a football into the tall oaks before it came outside the fence and landed near us. Everyday, John would pick up the ball and carry it back to Chris to kick again. It was a special bond and now, we would be on the gater, not on foot. Would it matter? Only Chris would be the one without a riding toy now, would he notice? As he stood at the fence and watched us riding with the other boys, I worried, would we offend him in someway? Last night I bit the bullet when I saw Chris outside and learned a lesson in value.
John was in the passenger seat carrying his favorite race car in his hands. For over a week John had been playing with a Dale Earnhardt race car, taking it everywhere. Now as I drove near Chris I saw the smile on his face and stopped the gater and turned off the motor.
"Can I see it?" Chris ask, his eyes glued to the spot where I stopped.
"Sure" I helped him open the gate and watched as Chris walked over to the passenger side, when I expected him to walk to the drivers side.
"Can I see it?" he ask again this time to John who was still in the gater, race car in hand. John knew the "it" Chris ask to see, and handed him the race car. I was caught off guard.
"This is old, it was Dale Earnhardt, he died in that car, he crashed, I saw it, did you?" Chris held the car as if it would break if you looked at it too hard.
"Yes, it was sad wasn't it."
Chris traced the number three on the car and froze as he ask, "Can I have it?"
I felt a twinge of pain as I gently told him John got it when he was just a little boy and it was one the he played with the most, no, we wanted to keep it.
"Thank you for letting me see it." Chris said as he handed it back to John and walked back inside the fence and picked up his football. He pointed to me.
"You get it, John has the car."  With that he walked about thirty feet from the fence, did his usual warm ups and then kicked the ball so high and far he would make a profession green with envy. I ran after the ball and took it back to the fence.
"Max, come here." Chris always calls my dog Jack Max, and Jack understands and runs to the fence and waits for Chris to pet his head and call him a good dog. Our night was normal, the way it had played out a hundred times over the years. Chris never said a word about the gater or even seemed to see it. In his quite way, he adjusted to the new object without paying it any attention. The gater had no value as it had to all the four wheeler boys, but the toy car sure did.
"Take care of that car." Chris said as he stood up after petting Jack.
"He will, I promise he will. See you tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow." with that Chris turned and headed back into this house.
John smiled at me when I ask him if he wanted to drive. I knew what counted in John's world, and now, I knew too, what counted for Chris.
"You know John next month for your birthday, Dad wants to have you a party, what do you say we have a NASCAR party and have Chris over?"
John looked at me and smiled, he too, knows what counts most in life.

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Judge Not...

by mercurymom on 07.13.08 - public

Sometimes you have to just stand back and look at your life to see where you are going and who you are. I did that yesterday, and I didn't like what I...

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Sometimes you have to just stand back and look at your life to see where you are going and who you are. I did that yesterday, and I didn't like what I saw. I saw myself being one of "them."

Them, parents that judge us. The Moms' that pull their children away from ours as if our children have an incurable illness dripping from their skin. Moms' who whisper to their girl friends that they would never allow their child to act out the way my son is behaving. Them, judgmental people in every walk of life, looking at me, at my children and casting assumptions on situations they do not know.

I found myself being one of them yesterday, and I am so ashamed. It was innocent enough, I was free to roam the grocery store alone while John stayed with his Father. I found myself watching children and listening in on their conversations with Mom and Dad, longing oh so longing to have a tot talk to me. When an out done Mom of three snapped at her little blond cherub for asking for a toy, I cringed. I wanted to say to her, "Don't reprimand him for asking, tell him not today, but thanks for letting me know you want a new stuffed dog. Ask him what color is it, what sound do you think a dog makes, and listen to his answers."  As I walked on I listened in on more dialog between child and siblings, parents and children. I clung to each questions and marveled at the lack of response by the parents and felt a stab of hurt for the neglected children. I judged the parents harshly.

In McDonald's, I felt tears sting my eyes as an out done over wrought Mom told her son if he ask her one more time for french fries that she would haul him to the bathroom and wear him out. I longed to hear John ask me for french fries. Oh he can sign french fries, but I want to hear his voice. I was mad she did not realize the value of his voice and conversation. It was at that minute, I realized I had become of of them.

I was judging what I did not know. I had no way of knowing each parents personal situation, and I had no right to judge if they understood the value of having a child ask questions. I had no more right to judge it they loved their child than they did to judge if I disciplined mine. I sat sipping a coke and watching children play in the play ground and cried. Not because I had never had a day to play with John, but because I suddenly understood what I had allowed myself to become. I was, judgmental Mom, waiting to pounce. A little girl saw my tears and stopped playing and ask, "Lady are you hurt, did you fall down?"
I shook my head no and said "Thanks for asking, I was just having a sad minute, but you made it better."
She stepped closer and clutched the sides of her pink sundress and smiled at me. "My momma said I make life better just by being alive!" and with that she whirled around, tiny dark pig tails flying in circles about her head. 
"Your Momma is right! You do, you tell her, I think you are a very special angel and that you made my hurt go away with your smile." 
With that she smiled wider, stepped back, dark black eyes shining and she tilted her head back and yelled "HEY MOM, I am an ANGEL" and she turned and ran toward a lady carrying a tray of happy meals.
"Yea, baby some days you are, and some days, you aren't." the Mom said flatly as she sat the tray down on the table and called to a group of children playing near by. I stood up to go and smiled at her again, watching her tear into her happy meal with delight. She caught my glance and waved...."there she is Momma, she likes me." I ducked out of the play area just as I heard her Mom say "We all like you, just some days more than others." 
I smiled. I knew that feeling. I guess all Moms feel that way at times. I just might have more in common with "Them" than not after all. Still judging what I do not know, is wrong, and I am glad I had the vision to see I was going down the wrong road. I'll be more careful from now on and not judge so much, but enjoy the view and let life for each person be whatever it is at that point in time.

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My Mental Battle over Welcome to Holland

by mercurymom on 06.25.08 - public

It never fails. Someone will post Welcome to Holland because they love it so much and can identify with it. I understand that part, I find it very tou...

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It never fails. Someone will post Welcome to Holland because they love it so much and can identify with it. I understand that part, I find it very touching, but unacceptable when handed to me at support meetings. I know the story of Emily Perl Kingsley, I even watched her life portrayed in a made for television movie and cried and cheered for her and her son, Jason. She did amazing things with her son and for many others like him. Still I cannot identify with her at all. My son was not born disabled. I did not know at birth that my plane had landed in Holland, because it did not. I don’t know the mixed emotions of feeling the joy of a new birth crippled with the announcement that your new baby has Downs. I cannot understand how conflicting that minute must be. I admire the parents that have been there and know one quite well. She was so good to me when John got highjacked from his life. She told me in her mind, it was easier to be handed a disabled child at birth, than to have a normal child become disabled later on. I guess so, it was all she had known. You tend to identify with what you know. She loved the Holland poem, but then again, it’s the anthem of Downs children world wide.

I got to go to Italy with John. We were there life was great. Then in the middle of the night, he was kidnaped right out of his body...just like in the movie Body Snatchers. We were held hostage in Iraq in the sand and dirt, were everything was a land mine in desguise. Holland my foot. When I went to my very first support meeting for special needs parents, I was given a nice hand out package with sheets of information inside. Telephone numbers for the local Schools director of special ed, Children’s Hospitals, and a residential care home. Then I was handed a pretty pink piece of paper with a cut out of a little girl in black siloute and the poem Welcome to Holland printed on it. I glanced over it and was quickly turned off. I did not have a Down child I wanted to scream at the lady who handed me the packet. I looked up at her and at once, knew she was clueless to my mental emotions.
“That poem will help you so much!” She crooned with enthusing.
I stood there staring at this plump mid sixty aged lady, dressed in a flowered cotton dress with a lace collar and wearing her pearls, she looked an awful lot like Aunt Bea of Mayberry and was about as in touch with the world I had entered as Aunt Bea would have been.
“This is no help to me.” I said flatly and shoved the poem into the packet of material and turned to walk away.
“Not today, but in time, you will see you son is just different.” She chased after me talking and pulled me by my arm and turned me to face her.
“Lady, did you have a normal child, a bright child that became disabled?” I ask her trying hard not to cry.
“Weeelllll no, but it’s all the same, disabled it disabled.” She actually had a jolly happy ton to her voice as she spoke to me.
“NO, it is not all the same, far from it. You see my son was kidnapped out of his body, and my mission in life is to find out why and to fix him back...not to lay down and except it and find the happy place in this new world.” I was fighting both anger and tears at this point.
Seeing me in distress, a friend of mine stepped in and rescued me from this lady. She pulled me over to get a snack while she spoke to the welcome lady in the floral dress. Tears fell into the class of Coke I was holding. I did my best to not bolt and run from that horrible place. So it was on that hot September day, that I got my formal introduction to parental support for the disabled. It lacked much and I did not desire to return.

Over the years I have been amused by on line posting and support boards when the discussion of Welcome to Holland crops up. Someone loves it and can identify, someone is turned off by it because it in no way reflects the life they have with their child. For this reason, Welcome to Beirut was written by Susan F. Rzucidlo. I find Welcome to Beirut funny, witty, and very much in line with autism, but still, not us. Over the years I have mentally blended the two to describe life with John. Yes, John started out with a perfect life and he was kidnapped and held hostage for the longest. So was I, so was our entire family. We were held in different location and forced to make the best of life. Over time, we found each other again and restarted our journey. Now, we are looking around at Holland and learning to see her beauty. I still get a weird conflicting feeling whenever I see a copy of Holland being handed to a parent new to disability, but I stay quite. You never really know what a person is feeling or how they will react to an offer of support in poem form. I stand back and watch to see if they need a hug or a trash can to toss Holland into. I smile if they are pleased, I run to their defense if they find Holland out of touch. Most of all I just live each day with John and enjoy the journey. Be my country that day Beirut or Holland, I know someone has already visited before me, and that is a comfort, to know the paths have already been cut and well worn, littered with advise and understanding .

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Alex sent A Thank You

by mercurymom on 06.24.08 - public

I took the mail out of the mail box and saw a small thank you sized card. Finally, I thought, someone that I gave a graduation gift to is letting me k...

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I took the mail out of the mail box and saw a small thank you sized card. Finally, I thought, someone that I gave a graduation gift to is letting me know they got it and they have the decency to let me know. As I looked for a return address there was none, and the post mark was from West Palm Beach Florida. That's odd I though, I have not send anyone in Florida a gift this year. I tore open the envelop and took out the note card with great curiosity, after all it was clearly sent to the Baileys, that was us. Inside I got a biggest gift.
You will no doubt remember the news story that broke of Alex and his kindergarten teacher who put him in front of the class to vote to see if Alex could stay in the classroom or not. The story of Alex could very easily have been my own son at that age, had we not had a very smart teacher who understood children cut from a different cloth. Like so many of you, I send Alex and his Mom a card and letter letting them know they had my understanding and support. I told them a little bit about my boys and how one has over come his school days and grew into a successful young man. I sent one of my favorite cards make by the young autistic artist Nick of Artism by Nick.  In the days to come, I never thought twice about the card or note. I was over come with joy to discover my thank you card, was from Alex. Too young to write a letter, Alex sent me artwork in purple, pink, brown and orange...all colors I love and have in my home. The mix of magic marker and crayon creates a unique look and design. From the note inside, a small piece of paper with a thank you note printed let me know, Alex and his Mom are quite busy trying hard to send each and every person who reached out to them a note to let them know how much the out pouring of concern has meant. 
For me, I have a new piece of artwork to hang on my refrigerator. And somewhere in Florida, I have a new friend. Something tells me too, that this Mom is busy teaching her children to acknowledge the random act of kindness shown to them with a response of kindness. I was deeply touched by the card made by Alex.  In the back of my mind, I think that when Alex graduates from high school and people send him gifts, he will send thank you notes. A lesson a few normal, non spectrum kids I know could use a lesson on. But then again, we Mom's of spectrum children work so hard teaching lessons and skills to our children so they fit in, that it's no wonder our children know the rules of society so well. Perhaps then, being spectrum is not so bad, it if means you work harder to learn, you take nothing for granted. I believe Alex has learned that he is not a person taken for granted, but a valued member of society. That folks, came at a heavy price, but I get the feeling, in the long run, the out pouring of understanding that reached a world, will be worth it, for Alex, and others like him.
As I look over my shoulder at Alex's art work I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart. For Alex, and all the families like his. Alex is special, but all our children are special in one way or the other. I hope the lesson of excepting and understanding becomes known as the Alex theory, that if you show compassion and understanding to others, it will come back to you in some form. Now if someone could just teach a few neurotypical teens to send thank you cards. I can dream, can't I?

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What Dreams May Come

by mercurymom on 06.18.08 - public

It was an innocent enough question. “Mom, what kind of dreams did you have for John the day he was born?” Aaron ask as he looked at a photo of himself...

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It was an innocent enough question. “Mom, what kind of dreams did you have for John the day he was born?” Aaron ask as he looked at a photo of himself holding his new born brother. I sat down on the coffee table rather than a chair to be close to him and look him in the eyes.
“I was happy, and excited for us all, but, you were such a demanding little boy, that I worried there wouldn’t be enough of me to go around. That’s funny now to think about isn’t it.”
“Like, what did you worry about?”
“Oh, how was I going to listen to you both talk at the same time and answer your questions and give you each the time you needed. You talked non-stop and ask a million questions and hardly ever took a breath, remember, and when John started talking so early, I just knew I had a second you.”
“But you didn’t, and now John has been without speech for over ten years, do you miss that?”
“In the beginning the silence and lack of speech left me feeling as if I was deaf. To cope, I would put in that last tape of him on Christmas morning talking, and turn it up real loud to fill the house with his voice. I knew ever word on that tape, every conversation. That was the day I taught him the word whale, remember, it would be the only day he ever said whale. It was the last new word he learned”
“I am sorry I talked so much that morning, I didn’t know it would be the last day he would ever speak.”
“Oh honey, how could you have known, we didn’t dream it would be his last day, I am just so thankful I have his voice to remember who he was back then.”
“Do you wish you could have just one day to see who he would be if he were normal and that nothing had ever changed him? Do you wish we could wake up tomorrow and be the people we would have become if life have been different?”
“Sometimes, but mostly, I just don’t know, all I know is what is, is.”
“I do. I want to wake up tomorrow and see him all fifteen and normal. I bet with his good looks and personality he would have been popular at school, and outgoing. The way he loves sports, I know he would have been on every team. I bet he would be giving you grief these days and rebelling like mad. I think about that somedays when he walks in the room carrying a doll and chewing his shirt. I look at him and wonder who he would be and what I would be like had we not had to live through all of this.”
“I used to, but now, I just stick with what each day brings. I think about who he is, not who he is not, and I treasure the accomplishments as they come, just like I do for you. Things come in their own time, and I have learned not to watch the clock or calendar for a time line on success.”
“You are brave Mom.”
“So are you, it was not easy growing up watching other people have normal lives and normal little brothers and sisters. It was not easy giving up vacations and time with your family in exchange for paying the therapy bills and doctor visits. But you did it.”
“I used to hate you for it. I used to hate John.”
“I know, I knew. It’s okay, you don’t now and if he was normal, I bet you would hate him now, and I bet you two would fight like mad.”
“Yea, I wouldn’t like him more than likely, he got everything I wanted in looks and personality, and yet, he got short changed so much. I just love him and want him to have best life he can, and I want to be there for him as much as I can.”
“I know. You know you ask me what I was thinking the day he was born. Well I was thinking I wanted you two to have a bond that nothing could ever break and a love for each other that stood the test of time. You have that now, you have that bond and love. You aquired it at a very high price, but you did it.”
“Mom, if Mothers knew how hard life could be on the day their child is born, do you think they would still choose to be a Mom?”
“Some wouldn’t, some would.”
“I’m glad you chose to be a Mom, and I am glad God chose you to be Johns' Mom.”
“Thank you, I’m glad he chose you to be Johns’ brother.”
“Me too. Non-verbal, doll carrying little brother and all, I wouldn’t want God to have given him to any other family but ours.”
I stood up and wiped tears from my eye and hugged Aaron, who got off the couch and yelled down the hall “Johnboy, where are you, times a wastin’ lets take the dog for a walk!!”
John came sheeplishly down the hallway with his doll in his hands. Aaron smiled at John and John handed me the doll known as blue baby, his pretend little brother.
“I’ll keep your little brother safe for you John while you go with Aaron to walk the dog.”
“Mom, thanks for keeping my little brother safe for me when I walked out on you a few years ago and couldn’t deal with life. Thanks for saving my brother for me.”
“No problem, just good practice for taking care of blue baby, hum John?”
John laughed at me and took Aaron by the hand. My heart skipped a beat as I watched them head out the front door down the road of life, hand in hand, brother to brother, just as perfect as the photo taken the day John was born.

cheryl bailey

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The Last Five Minutes of Your Life

by mercurymom on 06.11.08 - public

The following story happened 6-10-08, just outside of Memphis, Tn. My husband is the truck driver in the story. He has ask me to pass this on as a war...

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The following story happened 6-10-08, just outside of Memphis, Tn. My husband is the truck driver in the story. He has ask me to pass this on as a warning to us all...what will you be doing your last five minutes of your life?
 
 
The Last Five Minutes
 
The truck driver was painfully aware that the driver of the SUV behind him wanted him to speed up or move over into another lane. The SUV driver was using all the tricks to make a truck driver understand he was too slow, and making the owner of the SVU's day hard. He hung close to the tail end of the tractor trailer, slid over far enough to be seen in the truck drivers side rearview mirror. At the same time his cell phone was glued to his ear and he was busy writing notes on a pad laying across the top of his steering wheel. The truck driver watched him, and did his best to try to find a break in the traffic where he could merger over into a slower lane and let the SUV by. Finally the break came and the truck driver watched the SUV fly by, speeding well above the speed limit. His cell phone still stuck to his ear, pen in hand, as he glanced over at the truck driver as if to say "thanks for ruining my day you jerk." The truck driver nodded and hoped whatever it was so important that he was on the cell phone while passing and speeding was worth it.
A few short miles up the road the SUV ran into slow traffic again. This time he tried to pass a slow moving car, but something went wrong. He slid out of control and headed for a guard rail, tried hard to get the SUV under control, but lost the battle, and dove into a deep ditch. The SUV flipped a couple of times before bursting into flames. The truck driver, only minutes behind him, witnessed the death. Sadly too, did whoever was on the other end of that cell phone call. Was it his wife or child, or a business deal? We don't know.
What we do know, is that in the last five minutes of this mans' life, what was most important to him was driving fast, getting ahead, and talking on his cell phone. If he knew it would be the last five minutes of his life, do you think he would have thought twice about his choices? I think he would have. 
 
I think we all should. Live every day as if it were your last, but use your head, it might be, if you are careless. Some say God has a time for us to die, and when that time comes, we will regardless of what is going on. But we don't know the mind of God, and is it not possible that we all have choices that lead to an earlier death than it had to be? In the case of this man, had he been driving the speed limit, off the cell phone, and more aware of the road conditions and traffic, I do think he would be here now, and I wouldn't be telling you to think twice before you get behind the wheel of a car. 
 
Where will you be the last five minutes of your life? Could you live past that point? Think about it.
 
Cheryl Bailey~

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The Silent Thief is Back

by mercurymom on 05.31.08 - public

It happened sometime last Sunday night in the wee hours while we slept. The thief that takes parts of John and leaves with them...struck again. Th...

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It happened sometime last Sunday night in the wee hours while we slept. The thief that takes parts of John and leaves with them...struck again. This time taking physical skills and a general link to life outside his body and mind. That part of John that radiated personality and spunk is gone and in its' place quite blankness as he stares off into space.

We had a wonderful Saturday. John and his Father and I went to the movies to see Indiana Jones. John was all a typical teen-age boy lost in the adventure, joy shining on his face as he watched each action with excitement. In typical John fashion, as his personal excitement mounted, he pressed his hand together, and made a string of sounds we were unable to understand, as he glanced our way to make sure we were watching as closely as he was. A couple of times we were sure he was going to jump out of his seat and try to jump into the film to help the heros. We left the theater with John jumping and smiling and looking at us with eyes that seemed to say thank you for this day.

In the middle of the night something woke me. My Motherly intuition took me to John’s room and found his bed stripped and John gone. I followed a trail of blankets, pillows and stuff toys to the den where John lay on the couch sleeping. I touched his head and smiled at him and settled on the love seat near by to finish out sleeping for the night. We both woke around day break and I spoke to John about the plans for the day. A family trip to visit relatives. As I went back to John’s room to find his clothing, I discovered that during the night John had been sick. My heart sunk, I had not heard him, nor did I catch on as to why he had stripped his bed. But to add to the situation, John, the John we had seen only hours earlier, was gone. Little things did not add up. He was confused by the bathroom and unable to turn on the bath water. I chalked it up to being tired and helped him bath. As the day wore on I noticed he was usually quite and withdrawn. Again I made excuses, too many kids, too much food, too hot, anything I could think of to deny he was regressing before our eyes. John, our John was not phased by the crowd only a week earlier, and loved to run and play in the country side, now all he did was want to sit in the car.

I said little to his Father, his Father said less to me. As the week progressed John spend endless hours crying in deep heart wrenching sobs, he was unconsolable. The usual trips to the post office or grocery store left him screaming, shaking, and pushing me hard to make me return to the safe haven of the car. More and more he grew upset with me, tugging, pulling, pinching, trying so hard to tell me something was wrong in Johnland. Today, I was forced to face it, John has regressed. The day was hot, and I suggest the swimming pool to escape the 90 degree heat. John willing went outside, and then did not seem to know how to climb the ladder to the pool. I took his hands and guided him. Once in the water he stood looking confused and puzzled. I ask him to jump, and jumped myself to demonstrate the action requested. John looked blank. Where was he, that swimmer who only a week earlier and jumped into the water with glee and quickly swam across the pool. That funny, happy child that knew how to play silly games of motor boat and catch the noodle. That John has been replaced with one who stood in the water confused. I took his hands and showed him how to walk around the pool. He never smiled, be never seemed to understand this was a place of joy for us. After about an hour of working, we got out.

“How much has he lost?” his Dad ask when he called to see how pool time went. I answered quietly, “All he knew to do.”

The monster that steals my son in parts has struck again. I will not let him win. I will fight this summer to get my son back to where he was. I will read everything I can, look at John’s health from every angle until we find how that monster got back in, and we will slay that beast. No thief will win as long as I have breath in my body to fight back. I may have been sleeping when he came in...but I am wake now..and will not sleep until he has paid a price for trying to take John.

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Most Folks Don't Know That I:

by mercurymom on 05.23.08 - public

Most people don’t know that I burst into silent tears when I hear the song “Puff the Magic Dragon.” There are several reasons for the flow of salty te...

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Most people don’t know that I burst into silent tears when I hear the song “Puff the Magic Dragon.” There are several reasons for the flow of salty tears down my cheeks. One, it was one of the songs I sung to both my boys when they were babies. I knew that life was about being a child first, but that one day, childhood would give way to teen-ageism and then adulthood. By singing Puff the Magic Dragon to my newborns I was in away, telling them to be creative children, but don’t be alarmed when you grow up, because that is normal, and you will.
I cry because my oldest child put away his childhood toys and traded them in for an adult job and life. I miss him being little, but I enjoy the grown man he is today. I can still see his face in the back of my mind, that little face of a child still thinking the world was full of wonder and dragons might just play on Cherry lane. He knows better now. 
I cry because John never got to be like little Jackie Paper, a boy with an imaginary friend, traveling on a boat with billowed sail. He never perched on Puffs' giganic tail. Admittedly, I do cry for what he missed, but selfishly, I do cry for what I missed him doing.

Then I stop and think, maybe his day will come, for Puff never died, he just grew sad and hid away in his cave when Jackie grew up. Puff is still just down the road, waiting for John to come and find him and take him out to play. Perhaps, that day will come. Perhaps one day when we are out for a walk after hours of reading books on Greek mythology as we have been doing, John will see a dragons scale on the ground. And like all boys whose imagination has taken fire, John will run and seek to find the creature who left his calling card of magic in the dirt road that runs near our house. John will dig under piles of fallen autumn leaves and trail Puff in the misty fog that rises from the pond on chilly spring mornings. John may be  years behind, but I think, if we all keep seeking, we will see a spark of creativity that did not die in John, just lay dormant waiting for the right timing to emerge.

I think I’ll go round up my son now and take the dog for a walk. If Jack the dog barks at something I cannot see, and John smiles in the direction Jack is looking, I’ll know. I’ll be glad I gave John some string and sealing wax because, Puff is there, waiting. Waiting ever so quietly for a few years of play with a boy who life got derailed, but then got back on track, and he grew his creative eyes, just as his Mother knew he would. That Mother that  sang off key, rocking  her lost autistic son in the dark of night, and longing to hear his stories of adventure in a land called honah lee.

cheryl bailey

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