A couple of years ago, I wrote a piece about this lady in Colorado, whom I became friends with in Germany and then talked with and have been talking with on the phone either every day some weeks, or at least once a week for over 20 years. I need to rewrite that piece, but through my tears, as it has to be funny, I cannot tonight.
Less than a year ago, last June when she called to tell me she had just been diagnosed with cancer which in her opinion had already metastisized, I flew out to Colorado.Before I left, I told her to invite all of her friends for a birthday party. I wanted it to be a surprise, but as her husband has been deaf for a while, even though they are not old, I figured that it would not make any sense for me to yell all of this into the phone to him , as she would hear it anyway. I made the food,etc.. There was Karaoke. Her husband sang that Old El Paso love song to her.
Out in the west town of El Paso
I fell in love with a Mexican girl
Nightime would find me in Rosa's cantina
Music would play and
Fellina would whirl.
(The town where they fell in love and married.)
" It was the best of times and the worst of times." The worst had yet to come.
Down to business the next day. Taking care of business, we set out in her orangy-bronze car. She was really going a little fast. If you know me, you know that I know a lot about some things and less than nothing about more. I said,"Debbie, you are going kind of fast. You really should have a sports car,"to which she replied, "Laurie, this is a sports car. It's a Corvette."
We had an appointment at one funeral home. Everyone who worked there was dressed in nice cheerful black. We were led up to a private conference room where we found out it was bargain day at that particular chain. Oh, did she make those somber ladies laugh. We picked out the cardboard box that she will be cremated in and took care of other such details. She did not really like the setting there, but they had other affiliates in Colorado Springs. The one she picked has a view of Colorado Peak in Colorado Springs and is right next to her grandchildrens' favorite fast food restaurant, Wendys.She wants her husband to strew her ashes from that very peak.
A couple of weeks later , when I called, she was crying as she thought (but it was not the case) that her best friend in Colorado was staying away from her because of the cancer. This was the friend who was going to take care of one of her wishes. I told her that I would. Debbie has never been svelte and at her memorial service she had wanted to have a royal purple dress with sequins girlishly arranged on her urn with a sign," It's me, finally a size 8."
When I got off the phone, I thought to myself,#$@*&%, "Where am I going to find that?"
So I went to all of the artsy fartsy boutiques I know, cell phone in hand, conferring with a lovely woman named Michelle from Missouri whose help I had enlisted to find this dress and whom I had met at Debbie's party in Colorado. Could not find it.
Then, (this will sound stupid) I told God to tell the religious lady who does all of my hemming to tell her that I was coming a half an hour early. When I arrived, her door was open. I asked her if she could make the dress. She said,"No, but you do not need to worry. God is going to find it for you. GO to the Salvation Army. " The one in MA was closed that day. So I called Michelle and told her.She went to the one in Missouri and went right to the rack of size 8 dresses and there it was.......
Your father's version to Mary Poppin's song, "Stay awake"
In Munchen steht ein Hofbrauhaus. Eins, zwei"Constanza, oder "Eins, zwei,"
Carica.
You were strapped to his chest. He walked and rocked you to sleep sometimes at night with this same song. How boring. You both loved it.
"Nach Hause, nach Hause gehen wir nicht. Nein, nein, das tun wir nicht. Nach Hause gehen wir nicht."
A drinking song transformed into a lullaby.
Carica.
You were strapped to his chest. He walked and rocked you to sleep sometimes at night with this same song. How boring. You both loved it.
"Nach Hause, nach Hause gehen wir nicht. Nein, nein, das tun wir nicht. Nach Hause gehen wir nicht."
A drinking song transformed into a lullaby.
The second time.
Grandpa, that year in which I was alone without my husband, I felt your presence every day in the passenger seat of my car. When G came only for two weeks, we went to Ogunquit, Maine. One night, we ordered take out food from a seafood restaurant, ( Billy's Chowder House, Wells, Maine) I went to get the food and left the kids with G.Upon arrival at the counter, an unknown waitress immediately said, "Bart...." (my last name) She had my food ready and the other unknown waitress looked at her in astonishment and said, "How did you know?" The first one replied, "I do not know."
Back in my car I turned on the ignition and heard Billy Joel, "Part of me will always be part of you as lullabies go on and on. They never die."
Back in my car I turned on the ignition and heard Billy Joel, "Part of me will always be part of you as lullabies go on and on. They never die."
Heartbeat to heartbeats
" See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands..." (Isaiah, 49:16)
It is not an anniversary. You are all with me today, as you are with me everyday, my unborn children, James, Rosalie, and Anthony. I have 29 years of unsent birthday cards and you are all on my Christmas tree every year. Some day, not too long from today, I will cradle you in my arms like it should have been.
It is not an anniversary. You are all with me today, as you are with me everyday, my unborn children, James, Rosalie, and Anthony. I have 29 years of unsent birthday cards and you are all on my Christmas tree every year. Some day, not too long from today, I will cradle you in my arms like it should have been.
"Co, You are my very own, Co."
Upset,( Never with you, my always smiling, pretty, sometimes toothless lady in the backseat) I did something I never should have done. I left you for two minutes in the locked car to go inside and pay for the gas.You were not even two years old.When I came back to the car, you were talking to someone.I asked you who you were talking to, and you said, "Your grandfather." I asked you, "What did he say to you.?" You replied,"Mommy, he said that you are his very own, Laurie."
My grandfather was the only one in my life who ever called me that and he had been dead for just a few years.
Going back........
My grandfather grew up in Harlem, New York, the son of recent German immigrants.To this day we do not know if his father changed his last name to avoid the stigma that came with , Germans, during that era, or if he changed his name to hide that he was Jewish.If so, I guess we have embraced a religion that might not have been ours to be.
My grandfather always told me that no one is better than you and you are no better than anyone else.As a youth he got into fights with African- Americans and the following story was always told among men. He did not know that women, even girls, have their own ways to listen.In one fight his private parts were kind of sliced. He carried them to the hospital. He must have really wanted to have my mother. So, he did, with a little help from my grandmother.
When I was teaching Spanish, my grandfather, Charlie, enrolled at a college to take Spanish at the age of 75 for me.No matter how far away I lived from him, I would always make the trip to spend at least an hour with him.He was an uplifting man who broke into song without embarassment at the spur of the moment.
Fatherless at the age of 12, he quit school to support his younger siblings, and put them through college.He was that old-fashioned kind of a gentleman who took us to movies as children and always loved me even when I was in deep scrapes.Uneducated formally, he read everything he could get his hands on and always did the crossword puzzle to keep on learning.
When I got married and moved to Germany, I missed our visits, so we would write to each other, in that old endearing way of communication. When I came back, he was in a nursing home where I would visit during the year that my husband had to stay behind in Germany.
He was not doing well the week that I had to leave for two weeks to take Ca to Vermont with my saint of a mother for auditory training for Autism. I told him that I would be gone for exactly two weeks.
She did start to talk. Echolalia.It appeared that her painful hearing was gone.
Going back....
Ca , in Germany could not stand the sound of the toilet flushing, the sizzling of bacon in the frying pan, the hairdryer, the voices of some people, the vaccum cleaner, the blender.....I could not leave our tiny apartment just to go to the bakery without her hearing the key turn in the lock and then she would come running. She would cover her ears five minutes before a plane flew over our heads.She could hear thunder storms three towns away and tell me that they were coming in her own way. All of the things that I could stop I did, after she was diagnosed. That diagnosis in Germany was based mainly on overhearing. We stopped going outside. The pizza man who delivered even went to McDonald's for me and brought it home. Some kids with Autism are either rigid in their eating habits or may have a strong tastebud.
In the house for days, without going to our favorite parks, we all went crazy. Out of love, I tried to shield her from the world. That was the advice from the German Doctor. I am fortunate enough to have a brother who is also a Doctor and a fine one. He called me and said,"Get the hell out of the house."
Best advice I ever got. I could not shield her from the world. I had to teach her how to live in it. ( I love my brother, Rick)
To this day, I do not know if the auditory training worked. It was most likely all of the hard work with ABA, all of the summers that we missed, not even going to the pool, just sitting in a drill chair. I tried to make it fun, but I know that Idid not always. If I could go back, I would do it differently.
A couple of years ago, I asked her if sounds still bothered her. At that point in her life, as she wanted nothing to do with being labeled, she said ,"No,"
Today she said, "Yes, I just do not show it or talk about it anymore."
Back to Charlie.
We came back on a Friday night from Vermont. At around 11:00 p.m. , I went to the nursing home. The nurse told me that he was dying. I sang lullabies for three hours. I turned off the lights. I would not want to die with the lights on and people watching. Still do not know if I did the right thing. Went back the next morning, early. He was dead. Got into my car and on the radio came , "Billy Joel." His words in the song are not the same ones that I remember hearing. I heard, "Goodnight, my darling, it is time for me to go. One day , you will sing one of my lullabies to your children. ( I was already doing that-" Too- ra- loo-ra-loo-ral,Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra loo-ra-loo-ra, hush, now don't you cry- That's an Irish lullaby)."
Charlie's first love was an Irish girl named Molly. He took her to a carnival where they shared cotton candy. Bet he kissed her a few times too.
"Part of me will always be part of you , as lullabies go on on and on, they never die."
That was only the first time.Third time already said. Second time coming.....
My grandfather was the only one in my life who ever called me that and he had been dead for just a few years.
Going back........
My grandfather grew up in Harlem, New York, the son of recent German immigrants.To this day we do not know if his father changed his last name to avoid the stigma that came with , Germans, during that era, or if he changed his name to hide that he was Jewish.If so, I guess we have embraced a religion that might not have been ours to be.
My grandfather always told me that no one is better than you and you are no better than anyone else.As a youth he got into fights with African- Americans and the following story was always told among men. He did not know that women, even girls, have their own ways to listen.In one fight his private parts were kind of sliced. He carried them to the hospital. He must have really wanted to have my mother. So, he did, with a little help from my grandmother.
When I was teaching Spanish, my grandfather, Charlie, enrolled at a college to take Spanish at the age of 75 for me.No matter how far away I lived from him, I would always make the trip to spend at least an hour with him.He was an uplifting man who broke into song without embarassment at the spur of the moment.
Fatherless at the age of 12, he quit school to support his younger siblings, and put them through college.He was that old-fashioned kind of a gentleman who took us to movies as children and always loved me even when I was in deep scrapes.Uneducated formally, he read everything he could get his hands on and always did the crossword puzzle to keep on learning.
When I got married and moved to Germany, I missed our visits, so we would write to each other, in that old endearing way of communication. When I came back, he was in a nursing home where I would visit during the year that my husband had to stay behind in Germany.
He was not doing well the week that I had to leave for two weeks to take Ca to Vermont with my saint of a mother for auditory training for Autism. I told him that I would be gone for exactly two weeks.
She did start to talk. Echolalia.It appeared that her painful hearing was gone.
Going back....
Ca , in Germany could not stand the sound of the toilet flushing, the sizzling of bacon in the frying pan, the hairdryer, the voices of some people, the vaccum cleaner, the blender.....I could not leave our tiny apartment just to go to the bakery without her hearing the key turn in the lock and then she would come running. She would cover her ears five minutes before a plane flew over our heads.She could hear thunder storms three towns away and tell me that they were coming in her own way. All of the things that I could stop I did, after she was diagnosed. That diagnosis in Germany was based mainly on overhearing. We stopped going outside. The pizza man who delivered even went to McDonald's for me and brought it home. Some kids with Autism are either rigid in their eating habits or may have a strong tastebud.
In the house for days, without going to our favorite parks, we all went crazy. Out of love, I tried to shield her from the world. That was the advice from the German Doctor. I am fortunate enough to have a brother who is also a Doctor and a fine one. He called me and said,"Get the hell out of the house."
Best advice I ever got. I could not shield her from the world. I had to teach her how to live in it. ( I love my brother, Rick)
To this day, I do not know if the auditory training worked. It was most likely all of the hard work with ABA, all of the summers that we missed, not even going to the pool, just sitting in a drill chair. I tried to make it fun, but I know that Idid not always. If I could go back, I would do it differently.
A couple of years ago, I asked her if sounds still bothered her. At that point in her life, as she wanted nothing to do with being labeled, she said ,"No,"
Today she said, "Yes, I just do not show it or talk about it anymore."
Back to Charlie.
We came back on a Friday night from Vermont. At around 11:00 p.m. , I went to the nursing home. The nurse told me that he was dying. I sang lullabies for three hours. I turned off the lights. I would not want to die with the lights on and people watching. Still do not know if I did the right thing. Went back the next morning, early. He was dead. Got into my car and on the radio came , "Billy Joel." His words in the song are not the same ones that I remember hearing. I heard, "Goodnight, my darling, it is time for me to go. One day , you will sing one of my lullabies to your children. ( I was already doing that-" Too- ra- loo-ra-loo-ral,Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra loo-ra-loo-ra, hush, now don't you cry- That's an Irish lullaby)."
Charlie's first love was an Irish girl named Molly. He took her to a carnival where they shared cotton candy. Bet he kissed her a few times too.
"Part of me will always be part of you , as lullabies go on on and on, they never die."
That was only the first time.Third time already said. Second time coming.....
A five year old's message in art while her Mom was gone.
Oh, my sweet Co. You drew this while I was gone. Not even two days. This will be posted here.
I will let the reader and the artist interpret your meaning. I know what it means to me. I also see clever embeddings amongst the hearts. At that young age , I do not know how you could draw something with so much hidden symbolism.
I will let the reader and the artist interpret your meaning. I know what it means to me. I also see clever embeddings amongst the hearts. At that young age , I do not know how you could draw something with so much hidden symbolism.
I want a rose for Christmas. (For Thomas Dolan)
You were both in kindergarten.I did this once. I wanted to go to an Autism conference in Florida. I did with Tony Atwood as the guest speaker which turned out to be fortuitous as he counseled me for free after you were abused in nursery school, Ca.You were not the only one, as if that matters. I only had one course in graduate psychology at that point in time. You tried to tell me without words and I will never forgive myself for taking so long to get it.They made you stand up and sit down, they covered your mouth with their hands when you spoke out. I hope not to you, but to others mustard was shoved down throats, lemon juice or vinegar sprayed into faces and so much more.
You had PTSD for a year in kindergarten. I will never forget this.
Years later, I worked with a child who had gone through this and never learned to speak. Her biting behavior out of fear scared everyone away. I truly knew that this was unexpressed PTSD, and not Autism.
It was almost Christmas before I left and Co, I knew exactly what you wanted in some respects.
Ca, You asked only for a rose from Santa. I was so afraid that the plane would crash or something and that you would not have that fresh rose on X-mas morning that I told several people to get one in case I did not come back.
Christmas morning came and Santa had stored the rose in the refrigerator in the garage.
Oh, you looked at the presents and said," Where is Rose?" And then I figured out that Rose was a doll in a catalogue. It was kind of too late, until your Grammy called Tom.
Tom, you were going through World War III, at that point with cancer. You made the effort to get well enough to call Ca. You were her Santa that year. I answered the phone and you had nothing to do with me.You just wanted Ca. You told her that Rose had been in your sleigh and had fallen out of it in Africa and would be delivered as soon as Prancer recovered from his sprained ankle, Dasher recuperated from his sore back,and Rudolph's nose could shine again after his cold went away.
True to your word, Rose appeared one sunny afternoon next to the fireplace.( This was 14 years ago.) Forever blessings from mine to yours.
You had PTSD for a year in kindergarten. I will never forget this.
Years later, I worked with a child who had gone through this and never learned to speak. Her biting behavior out of fear scared everyone away. I truly knew that this was unexpressed PTSD, and not Autism.
It was almost Christmas before I left and Co, I knew exactly what you wanted in some respects.
Ca, You asked only for a rose from Santa. I was so afraid that the plane would crash or something and that you would not have that fresh rose on X-mas morning that I told several people to get one in case I did not come back.
Christmas morning came and Santa had stored the rose in the refrigerator in the garage.
Oh, you looked at the presents and said," Where is Rose?" And then I figured out that Rose was a doll in a catalogue. It was kind of too late, until your Grammy called Tom.
Tom, you were going through World War III, at that point with cancer. You made the effort to get well enough to call Ca. You were her Santa that year. I answered the phone and you had nothing to do with me.You just wanted Ca. You told her that Rose had been in your sleigh and had fallen out of it in Africa and would be delivered as soon as Prancer recovered from his sprained ankle, Dasher recuperated from his sore back,and Rudolph's nose could shine again after his cold went away.
True to your word, Rose appeared one sunny afternoon next to the fireplace.( This was 14 years ago.) Forever blessings from mine to yours.
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