The Veil

One friend recently became a grandma.

One friend just lost her father.

One friend learned this morning that her friend of 35 years, passed away in the night.

The baby was born on Good Friday. Two weeks before he was due, but apparently, wanted to be born on one of the holiest days of the year.

The father waited until his wife of well-over 50-years briefly stepped out of the room, threw open his arms in full surrender, and died peacefully. "That was Daddy's last gift to me, not to have me watch him die."

The friend defied all odds, had eaten virtually nothing in two-and-a-half months, her body nothing more than a skeleton, yet her face angelic, peaceful, radiant, beautiful. An anointing ceremony was held over a week ago. The song, "On Eagle's Wings" was played on the piano and sung while her friends, relatives and priest gently placed holy oil on her face and arms, and said their goodbyes. "I'm ready to go, send me off," she said. Eight days later, she was "off."

As you know, I'm a big fan of Theresa Caputo, aka the Long Island Medium. After watching every episode of her show over the years, I'm even more convinced that the veil between "here" and "there" is thin and fluid, and Spirit (as Theresa calls it) moves freely amid them.

"Your loved ones are safe and at peace on the other side," Theresa says all the time. When something "weird" happens, a "coincidence" or unusual occurrence, she says, "Know that that was their spirit with you at that very time."

As "new" spirits come into our lives and familiar souls "leave," it is comforting, for me, to think of them as part of the continual cycle of life and death, and not the beginning or end.

We die a little each day, and ideally, we are awakened, or born, a little, too.

Bookmark

Woohoo graduates from college in 19 days. How is this possible? As they say, the days are long and the years are short. So true.

We decided we both needed new dresses and shoes for the big graduation. Not enough can really be made of this milestone, and new outfits would help to make a little more out of it. Sunday, Woohoo and I went to the mall where we've been together a million times, but not for a long, long time. That, in itself, was sentimental, just walking by the stores where we used to get her children's clothes, then her tween and teenage outfits. She's not much of a mall person these days, but recalls when going there was what she most wanted to do.

Times change.

Because Woohoo and I are similar shoppers (quick and efficient, no dilly-dallying), we were able to select our dresses and matching shoes pretty easily, and had plenty of time to go across the street and have a beer. Not enough can be made of having your children reach drinking age.

As we were leaving the mall, we spotted a woman who has a son that went kindergarten through high school with Woohoo. We stopped, visited, caught up, laughed and marveled that this woman and I met on a pre-dawn, chilly, dark January morning in 1999, as we stood in line outside the school, waiting to register our preschoolers in kindergarten. There weren't a lot of spots, and it was first come,  first serve. I was number 2 in line, she was number 3. We chatted. We got acquainted. 17 years later, there is still a strong thread that runs between our lives. Through 40th birthday parties, travel, divorce, re-marriage, the natural waning and waxing of most friendships, we have an unbreakable connection.

No accidents that we ran into her, of all people. She is a living bookmark of where we are now in the book of life, where we've been, and the exciting possibilities of where we will go.

Knowing Your Own Soul

"Yes, those with mental and physical disabilities, minority groups, LGBTQ folks, refugees, prisoners, those with addictions--anyone who's "failed" in our nicely constructed social or economic success system--can be our best teachers in the ways of the Gospel. They represent what we are most afraid of and what we most deny within ourselves. That's why we must learn to love what first seems like our 'enemy'; we absolutely must or we will never know how to love our own soul, or the soul of anything." 

        - Richard Rohr

We live in very politically-charged times. We all have our opinions, our causes, our hot buttons and issues that make us passionate/crazy/react/retract/etc. It is my personally-held belief that posting on Facebook, or other social media, anything political, causes more unrest than it does anything else. I don't believe people pop on over to Facebook to be educated or have their mind opened/changed, and so, I choose to stay out of that. I have a friend whose own mother said, "We better part ways," over diametrically opposed opinions were posted on Facebook.

Yesterday, I read the above quotation from one of my best spiritual teachers, Fr. Richard Rohr (sign up for his amazing daily emails here). While it has long been my belief that those with disabilities are the best teachers, I, personally, see where I need to extend that belief to others that are beyond social and/or economic "success" systems. 

Harder still, perhaps, is asking ourselves how do we extend our belief that those within the "success" system?  Those running for office, those with power, those with influence, those with money, those with millions of people that agree with them, but with whom we strongly disagree. How do we see in them, the aspects of ourselves we are denying and afraid of?

Well-Loved

I had a great birthday, thank you for all the warm wishes! I had the perfect combination of a morning all to myself, and an afternoon/evening with family. Wil took me to lunch at his favorite burger joint, and very cutely opened his wallet, handed it to the cashier and said, "Here's a $20." Might not seem like a big deal, but it was. He also re-gifted a little Valentine-decorated box full of candy, then promptly said, "You can give it back to me, if you want to."

Woohoo came over with a friend and they made a delicious, vegan taco repipe from Thug Kitchen, which you need if you really want to be Portlandia, and I know you do. My mom joined us and brought my favorite, boxed German-chocolate cake with coconut frosting, in a heart-shape.

It is a gift to feel loved and cared for, and I am gifted.

Thank you.

Contemplation

Today is my birthday - 53. There is something about having a birthday that adds a layer of extra contemplation to one's life, don't you think? Where am I? How'd I get here? Where am I going? Where do I want to go? What's working? What's not? Am I spending my life doing what I want to be doing, with those I want to be doing it with? 

Eckhart Tolle describes contemplation as our thoughts and actions touched with gentle awareness. Richard Rohr describes it as a combination of observation along with love. The Jesuit priest, Fr. Walter Burghardt, describes it as a "long, loving look at the real."

Lent came early this year, adding solemnity to the occasion. Our priest described the ash crosses on our head on Ash Wednesday, as a sign of love. January 1st marks the new year. For many of us, the start of the school year is when we turn the page. Birthdays present another time to start over, to reform, revise and reflect. Anytime we start over and begin again, to do so with a "long, loving look at the real," is the trick. And in the end, the only thing that is real, is love.

Deep Thoughts from a Loud Boy

Wil is loud. Wil is loud when he's loud and Wil is loud when he's quiet. There is a beat, a hum, a drumming, always a something, coming out of him that makes his presence in the home, impossible to forget. It reverberates throughout the house, my body and psyche. Ear plugs help, but more than anything, it's the vibration that can't be muted or denied.

My dear mother has taken to having Wil spend the night on Friday nights. He rides his bike up there around 3:00 or 4:00 and for the next 28-hours or so, the house is blessedly still.

Yesterday, he came home and was instantly loud, and STM sarcastically said, "Boy, I missed you when you were gone!"

Wil, without missing a beat said, "God never misses you, because He's in you."

Amen.

Perfect Compassion

A few years ago, I started playing Solitaire on my phone, when I had a few minutes I needed, or wanted, to kill. I'm not that great at it, but it's fun to win. It's fun to see your time and number of moves decrease. It's fun to think you've lost, then discover there's a way to win. A couple of months ago, I was playing and won. I hadn't done anything fancy or different, I didn't think, but a banner came across the game saying, "You played a perfect game!"

Up until that time, I didn't know a banner like that was even possible - if you won without cheating, that was good enough for me, but "perfect?"

It's messed me up ever since. I can't enjoy the game anymore. Now, every time I "screw up," I think, there goes my perfect game. It's totally ruined the joy of the game for me - the message that anything less than perfect, is losing.

I'm a big fan of Oprah's "Super Soul Sunday" series, and have read many of the books by authors she's had featured. She recently featured Gretchen Rubin, the author of The Happiness Project. I read the book, but I must say, I felt it missed the mark. In my opinion, we don't need any more books telling us how to makeover our lives, we don't need to be told that if we take on four to five big goals a month, and add them to the ones we're already taking on from the previous month(s), that we will be "happy."

I don't think we get "to" happy through perfection, through goals, through addition, through accomplishment, through complicated and involved processes. I agree with the Dalai Lama, "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." In other words, pull your head out. If you want perfection, and you want happiness, practice perfect compassion. 

Hoarding

The cover for our under-cabinet lighting cracked and fell, and needing replacing. I went on a search to find a new one, that landed me at a nearby lighting store, where they very helpfully found me a new one. The process gave me quite a bit of time with the woman helping me, and I learned a great deal from her:

1) She was moving
2) They (she and her husband) had found a great deal on a house
3) They had purchased it from the parents of a hoarder, who were selling the house "as is," complete with all the contents
4) The owner was a single woman with no children
5) The contents included, but were not limited to: a crib, toys, a full nursery, gifts for an imaginary fiancé, three truck loads of unopened packages that had arrived in the mail, eight truckloads of trash

Long after I replaced the light cover and moved on, in body, to other tasks, my heart stayed with this poor suffering soul, whose parents had moved her to a psychiatric facility many states away, and sold her house and everything she cared about, out from under her.

I have known my fair share of hoarders and perhaps that is why the story touched me in the ways that it did. Although my need to have bare spaces and no clutter surpasses my need to purchase and save, that doesn't mean I don't hold onto things that don't serve me well. One can hoard memories, fears, resentments, expectations, disappointments, all kinds of things we once thought we needed, and really don't.

Cut Free

Years and years ago, when the kids were very young (15 years ago, at least), I dressed the kids up, stood in line to see Santa, and fitfully got through the ordeal. Santa handed each kid a seedling, and me being me, I came home and planted each in a small pot and nursed them until they were big and strong enough to transfer to a bigger pot. And so on. Months turned to years, we moved, and the small trees came with us. Eventually, we planted them in the ground, and they grew too big for that space, too, and required another transplanting.

The trees have been growing in our backyard ever since, not quite "making sense" there, but meaningful and significant to our family story, none-the-less.

Woohoo didn't come home for Thanksgiving this year, and that meant our annual tradition of going out and cutting down a Christmas tree, the day after Thanksgiving, would be different. We decided this would be the year we'd cut down one of the backyard Santa trees, and use it for Christmas. It's crowded where it is, it's grown too big to fit where once it did.

This was Woohoo's tree, and much the same way, she has grown beyond the limiting space she had in the home, and it is time to be cut loose. In five short months she will graduate from college and be on her own. She is not the little girl that got the seedling from Santa, nor is she the grown woman she will one day be, but she is ready to stand on her own, light her own way, and shine.

Unfair

Had a weird dream last night that I was in a class, we all had to buy a certain book of poetry, and the poet/author was in the class signing them. Then, after having our own signed copies, we had to pass them around the table the next day, and play a sort of musical chairs with them. I "lost," and was the only one in the class not to get a book.

The dream continued in much the same way, whereby everyone got lunch but I didn't, then, when I went to order my own lunch from a lunch stand, there was some mix-up, and I couldn't get lunch there, either.

I was deeply concerned about everyone having the wrong book, not the books carefully inscribed for them, and worried about where "my" book ended up. About that time, some mom (no idea how old we all were) came up with a frozen lunch, and told the teacher it was for her son, but her son took someone else's (mine) by mistake, and maybe that person could have the frozen one. Some other person/child nabbed "my" frozen meal, and for the third time, I was left without a lunch while everyone went along eating.

After waking up and shaking off the dream of unfairness, I recalled a time in second grade when we had a substitute teacher, and she gave every kid, except me, an STP sticker from the local gas station, at the end of the day. When I asked her why I didn't get one, she said something along the lines that I should know why.

To this day, 45-years later, I still don't know why, and, evidently, it's still bothering me.

The unfairness in the world is evident every time we turn on the news, or open our eyes. It's so hard to keep the faith, the hope, the love. It's so hard to practice mercy, compassion, forgiveness and understanding.

This week of Thanksgiving, I give thanks for all those that hold and share the Light.

Life is But a Dream

Did you guys watch your "Super Soul Sunday" last night with Thomas Moore? That show, alone, makes it worth having cable. Moore, a former monk and now psychotherapist, talked about how to make A Religion of One's Own. Loved it and everything about it.

He also spoke about the importance of our dream life, and tapping into it for greater understanding and healing. I just came across two dream journals as I continue to purge, and although I eventually tossed them, it was interesting to see what I've dreamed and wrestled with in the past, as opposed to now.

A few nights ago I dreamed I was running a marathon (I am a huge walker, but not a runner). I was running alone, and apparently, the only runner in the marathon. The marathon was unmarked and held none of the hoopla marathons typically do. I couldn't even tell where I was on the course - no end in sight.

I kept running and running and wondering, am I almost done, yet? I looked down at my shoe to see if there were a chip that was keeping track for me, but there was a padlock, instead.

The dream ended when I finally decided enough was enough, I must be close enough, or more than likely, past the unrecognized finish line.

The marathon part of me.

The running (not walking) part of me.

The unmarked part of me.

The no-hoopla part of me.

The no-end-in-sight part of me.

The padlocked part of me.

The unrecognized part of me.

The self-determined finish line part of me.

I'm OK, You're OK

Wil and I are spending a lot of time together, as in, 20-hours-a-day. Yes, certainly, some of that is spent sleeping, but if you don't think he's on my mind when I'm sleeping, you've got another think coming.

Wil has a wonderful Personal Support Worker (PSW) that spends four-hours-a-day with him, and I am trying to re-shift the way I spend my days, my time, my energy, to be home and stay home during those four hours, and drink in the silence. Maybe it's a matter of not enough medicine, maybe it's a matter of boredom, maybe it's a matter of happiness over-flowing, but when he's home and awake (which is after I've gone to bed and before I've gotten up, lately), there is constant noise coming from wherever he is.

I've taken to recording 10-second snippets on my phone and sending them to my friends to torture them, and to elicit sympathy. You take those 10-seconds, multiply them by the hours and hours a day over 19-years, and you'll have greater understanding for why I have trouble stringing words together these days, either written or spoken. "I'm shot," my husband said the other day, after spending many weekend hours with Wil, "he 'shots' me."

And while we are both "shot" and our basic skills compromised, Wil is thriving. He's happy to be out of the school structure. His square peg is relieved to be out of the round hole. He is volunteering at two different Catholic grade schools, and loving his time with younger kids and staff. He is ready to officially be the teacher he's always unofficially been.

Andrew goes with Wil to his volunteer jobs, and then before or after their shift, they usually go get something to eat, which Wil has now reduced to doing once-a-day. Don't ask him to eat more than that. It's unhealthy, expensive, inconvenient and a pain-in-the-who-ha, but it's a phase that ain't going anywhere soon.

Yesterday, Andrew returned Wil from his job but had to be somewhere else right away, so I took Wil to lunch. We had heard about a new pizza-by-the-slice place, and he was willing to venture beyond the tired places we usually frequent, so away we went. We found a parking spot on the busy street, but it had his side of the car opening wide into oncoming traffic. I wanted him to either crawl over and get out my door, or wait for me to open his door until I could get around and monitor the situation carefully.

He wouldn't hear of it, and opened up the door, with no regard, to the speed and distance of approaching vehicles. I shouted a warning, "Wil! Wait! Watch for cars!"

He replied, equally adamant, "You've got to realize, that when I'm in trouble, you're OK."

Like I said, the teacher.

Past, Present, Future

We all have a friend or two, or even more, if we're very, very lucky, that always guides us to just what we need, when we need it. My friend, Val, is like that for me. She came over for tea this summer, and with her she brought a set of Mother Mary Oracle cards, and taught me how to use them.

The deck contains 44 beautifully illustrated cards with accompanying guidebook that offers practical healing processes and affirmations.

It should be noted that I have yet to draw such cards as the ones above, and have even dug through the stack to make sure they were included in my stack. No, I continue to draw Our Lady of Truth, Our Lady of the Inner Gate, Our Lady with the Moon at Her Feet. Go ahead and say it with me, "No accidents."

Over and over I receive messages such as, "You must provide the trust in me that gives you courage to take the journey." "Your world is changing, triggered by the transformations already happening within you as you grow spiritually." "I will help you outgrow that which no longer serves, so that what you struggle to attain now, through effort, in time will come naturally to you."

There is also a theme running of not getting what I want, because something different is intended, which begs the question, why even ask?

Each morning I try to quiet the monkey mind, sit in my prayer space with lovely music and lots of candles, and pull a card after shuffling with some degree of inner guidance. One option outlined in the guidebook is to draw three cards, and line them up left to right. The first one you draw represents the past, the second the present, and the third, the future. You are to have the intention of integrating the past, understanding the present, and opening up to your best possible future. This is what I drew today:

By integrating the past, I know that the changes I have encountered, were actually blessings of answered prayers. By understanding the present, I know that I have to surrender all doubt and fear, and trust in Mary's loving grace. By opening up to the best possible future, Mary promises to replace fatigue and struggle with boundless energy of compassion and passionate purpose.

Yes, please.



You can order yourself a set here.

Mesothelioma Awareness Day

I first became aware of Heather Von St. James and her blog, Dying to Be Heard, only a couple of months ago. I had not heard of mesothelioma, and did not know if it's devastation. Won't you please take a moment to read about it, and possibly "donate" your social media? Thank you for your help!

Letting Go

I had this comment from a reader, recently, and the question has been with me ever since, "Was it hard to learn to let go? To just believe that the right things would happen? I struggle with this and just wonder if you ever do."

While I know it in my bones, and feel it in my heart, and have proof all around me, yes, I still struggle to let go and believe the right things will happen. 

I'm not sure what that's all about. Probably a messy combination of being human, needing to feel in control, habit, mistaken belief that if I'm not worrying, I'm not "doing" anything, and the influence of outside voices and forces.

To spend any significant amount of time dwelling on the past, or projecting fear into the future, can whip me up into a right proper frenzy, instantly. 

I think more needs to be made about the word "right," too. Do I believe the "right" things will happen? Do things have to go my way to be right? When things aren't going "right," it's very easy to fall into the trap of generalizing, globalizing, panicking and believing everything is a catastrophe. Sometimes, perhaps often, the "right" thing comes into our life wearing a clever disguise.

Wil starts his new job today. He's been out of high school for three months now, having pretty much the time of his life, doing only what he wants to do and very little of what he doesn't. He's been happy, and the temptation is to keep it that way, arranging life carefully for him, so that he only has to do the things he enjoys and finds easy. We've been working to create a volunteer job for him where he will spend most of his time doing the things he prefers, but at least part of every day he will do something that challenges him, something he doesn't necessarily like and doesn't find easy. He will have a job coach, he will have supervision, he will have support, he will have checks and balances to make sure it's all going well, but there are many aspects of his new job that I am simply not in control of.

It's very hard to let any adult child go out into the world and face the challenges you know they will face. It is particularly hard to let a special needs adult move into the world, even with a lot of support, and enter the work world. But it's time. It's necessary. It's the next step towards greater independence. It's the next step towards greater self-actualization. It's the next step towards letting go.

Cancel, Cancel

You may recall that my dear friend, Terry Whitaker, AKA "Toeless," once gave me a healing session (via phone) with Pat Longo. Pat is known largely through her connection to Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium, which is how I heard of her. She was able to help heal Theresa's anxiety, that had plagued her for years, and help her discover and accept her gift of speaking to the dead.

Anyway, this is not a post on Pat Longo, except that one thing I learned from her that has really stuck with me, is the "trick" of canceling negative thoughts before they take root and manifest into other things. She says that when you catch yourself starting to spiral, when you have a negative thought that wants to grab onto others and really get going, you say, "Cancel, cancel." You yank that thought back from the Universe and keep it from gaining any momentum. If you believe that our thoughts turn into "things," then it's important to stop the thoughts that we do not want to give strength to.

I have an iPhone, like many of you. My phone doesn't work as well, and sucks up a lot of battery usage, when I have a bunch of apps open - things I don't want open, necessarily, but have not bothered to close. I remember the day I learned the trick of double-clicking the home button, and pulling up all the open apps, then giving them a swipe and making them go away. One friend even showed the the joy of flicking them shut, and if you are really feeling feisty, using three fingers and closing the apps three-at-a-time.

In essence, by closing the apps,  you are "canceling" what you don't want "out there," and are concentrating your energy for what you do.

Flick, flick, cancel, cancel.

Manifest, manifest.

Amen.

Living Autism Day-by-Day

12 years after Pamela Bryson-Weaver's son received his diagnosis of ASD, she decided to write a book about her arriving at a place of acceptance and peace, and the realization of the many blessings in her life, as a result. Since this struck very close to home, I was intrigued to see how Pamela would structure her "story." Part inspirational, part calendar, part journal, part reference, the book is aimed at busy parents/grandparents/caregivers, family and friends affected by autism spectrum disorder.

Seems like about the right amount of time - 12 years. One does not arrive at a place of acceptance, peace and the appreciation of blessings, quickly, in my experience. This book can help with that process. While faith-based, it's not preachy. The quotations are lovely, and come from a whole myriad of people. There is room to write in it, and it would be fascinating to write in it for a year, then start the book all over again, and see how your thoughts have evolved, or not.

With the numbers being 1 in 50 children being diagnosed with autism now, there are so many people that stand to benefit from the support, education and loving care this book offers. You may order your copy of Living autism day-by-day through Amazon.

Storm the Heavens

Wil and I recently spent a weekend at "Family Camp" with our church. Correction: we spent all day Friday, and all day Saturday at camp - we were not overnight campers. There are many things Wil enjoys about Family Camp, namely, the time to meander and chat up a lot of his favorite people. There are many things Wil does not enjoy about Family Camp, namely eating, sleeping, and using the communal bathrooms. This creates a bit of a challenge, so we decided to day trip it this year, and we experienced great success.

He made it very clear that we were to "pretend we don't know each other," he went his way, and I went mine. We would meet only after everyone but him finished dinner, then we'd head back down the mountain. Occasionally, I'd see him with a group, sometimes other adults, sometimes teenagers, sometimes younger kids, sometimes a mix. He was happy, and I was left with a whole day at camp, to fill in any way I chose, it was great.

Many of my favorite people were also at camp, so it was easy to find someone I'd been wanting to catch up with anyway, and enjoy doing just that. Sometimes I'd start talking to someone, we'd walk to wherever we needed or wanted to be, and then we'd bump into another person or group, and the weekend progressed organically, with rich conversations and time spent in community.

One such "chance" meeting had us in a small group discussion about the power of prayer. One of the people in the discussion is going through a personal challenge, and is feeling the prayers that surround her from the community. The question came up about whether there was just as much power coming from one single, focused, ernest, prayerful person, as there was when a whole group was praying. Do we need to "storm the heavens" for God to hear us?

My uneducated response is, yes and no. I don't feel like God requires a "petition," with a certain number of names on it before "He" starts to pay attention, refusing to move our little prayer to the top of "His" pile until it has all the pre-requisites. Certainly, one "little" prayer is heard.

I think, instead, that prayer is energy, and raises vibration. I think that God/Universe/call-it-what-you-will, is love. I think that love is energy. I think that when we truly pray (as opposed to wishing), we are aligning our energy with that of God's, and raising the vibration. The more souls raising the vibration, the more energy and love there is - which, in effect, "storms the heavens."

Goodbye

                                           

(First day of kindergarten - only 2 boys in the class)

Wil has a million friends, perhaps more than his "fair share," but that doesn't make saying goodbye to this one, any easier.

Ian will be heading off to the University of Montana this morning. He made sure to pick up a Grizzlies T-shirt for Wil when he went to visit, and intuitively, Wil put it on yesterday, not realizing that would be the very day he said goodbye.

The day was hot, super hot, near 100. I'd lowered the shades on one side of the living room in the morning, to keep the morning sun out. As the sun moved to the front of the house, Wil lowered that side, making a cave-like effect. 

I hated it.

Wil loved it.

As the sun went down, I tried to raise the blinds more than once, he wouldn't hear of it. 

I tried to turn on a lamp.

No.

Wil had already had an unusual evening in that he'd gone to the mall with three friends. When they came back to our house, he entertained them in the darkened living room. They left, he was humming and stimming in the living room, decompressing and getting ready for bed, when I got this text from dear, sweet, how-will-we-live-without-him, Ian:

Ian showed up in a car with three other friends, two newish, and another dear friend that has also been in school with Wil since kindergarten, Claire P. I wanted to stay downstairs, hang out, turn on the lights, open the shades and hear the banter, but he wanted privacy with his friends, and deserved that, so I poured myself a G & T and went upstairs. Looking out my window while distracting myself on Facebook, I saw another car pull up. Three more friends, including one in Wil's special program from high school.

There is something very right in the world, when six "typicals" make it a point to spend time with their very dear friends, who just happen to have special needs, before heading off to college.

The room may have been darker than I would have liked it to be, but the world isn't. There is every reason to believe this next generation is kind, considerate, loving, selfless, compassionate, and good.

Thank you, friends, for giving us all reason to believe in the light.

Personal Support Worker

They say the hardest part of writing is getting your butt in the chair, and keeping it there. That is certainly true for me, and especially true in the summer when there is no consistent schedule - only consistently inconsistent interruptions.

This summer is a summer like no other, in many ways it's the easiest, and in some ways the hardest. It's the easiest in that I've never had more help. It's the hardest in that Wil is not going back to a full-day school schedule in September, and my fear is this "perpetual Saturday" will be our new norm.

Wil qualifies for what is called here in Oregon, Support Services Brokerage. He has been assessed and assigned a certain number of hours a month (a lot) that he is able to have support with things like activities of daily living, community inclusion, and in September, job support/coaching.

Because there are no accidents, and an abundance of angels, Wil has had the great blessing of a friend as his Personal Support Worker (PSW) this summer. Long story short, I met with a friend in the spring, was casually telling her about Wil's future, and when I mentioned we were in the process of finding a PSW, she said her son would love to be that person. Actually, a dream come true.

And a dream come true it's been for us. This friend, Michael, as in the Archangel (no accidents) has been doing fun things with Wil all summer, and it has been liberating for all of us. They have many mutual friends, and have been able to do outings, without me, that are age-appropriate, fun, and are giving Wil independence skills. He's learned to use a wallet (and has only left it behind once, where Michael quickly retrieved it, fully intact). He's ridden bikes, walked, hopped on the bus and light rail, as well as taken Michael's or others cars all over town, including downtown. His horizons have been broadened, his pallet expanded, his comfort-zone stretched.

Michael, unfortunately, is leaving for college soon, and we will be adjusting to a different PSW or two. We have two wonderful ones in mind, and I'm certain others will be "there" when we need them, too.

Simultaneously, I've moved into a personal support worker role for my mother-in-law. She, too, needs help with activities of daily living and community inclusion. She, too, needs someone to be her second pair of ears, to hear/interpret/feed back to and help form appropriate responses. She, too, needs someone being the second pair of ears to make sure the wallet comes with us, stays in our possession, and is returned to a safe place when we get her back home. She, too, needs someone to do the driving, the arranging, the making-it-all-happen.

That's the circle of life, isn't it? We go from dependent, to some level, ideally, of independence to dependent again. I know there are spiritual lessons intrinsic in the recognition of that circle, the acceptance, the hopping on and off of it when it's our turn to be helped, and be of help, and back around again.

It helps to detach from all outcomes, to simply show up, be a support "worker" of the personal kind, and have no expectations of "results," or effectiveness. It stretches one's definition of what true support is and isn't, what is "personal" and what is simply a matter of pertinent fact, and what is "work" and what is simply love.