Leaving day

He’s certainly not happy about our going, but he is going.. “For me”. After a whole day of crying and struggling about this decision, Owen finally came to me and said: “you know mom? I am lucky to have you for a mom. Some other woman would have said ‘eh, he’s broken’ and ignored or tried to change me. At least you want to understand and help me.” I instantly grabbed him up and told him over and over that he is a beautiful, terrific, creation and that I am so proud of him. That I am not trying to change anything about him.. I am just trying to help him find a little peace in his busy head. ♥️
So, here we go… Love to you all… Continue reading

Telling Owen

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Biteybird: Baby, can I please talk to you like this? on Steam?

Biteybird: This is not something I am doing TOO you, I am doing this FOR you, for US! I am NOT trying to change anything about you… I just think you need some help with the depression and the anger… BEFORE it gets too bad. I can’t fathom losing you baby!

Biteybird: I don’t want you to feel like I am tricking you, or trying to hurt or punish you. That’s why I am telling you now.

Biteybird:  I know you are reading these, just please just know I LOVE YOU MORE THAN MY OWN LIFE. I am JUST trying to do the best I can for you. I just want you to have a little help coping. I want you to have a little help with the stuff going on inside your head, that is all.

Biteybird: We leave tomorrow.

Biteybird: I love you so much Honey. I really think that just a tiny amount of medicine will make all the difference in the world as to how you feel. It helped me, to be a better mom. It helped Marissa. I know it will help you. Wouldn’t it feel better to actually FEEL like doing something? To WANT to hike again? to WANT to go on a road trip? I will be getting my own help while we are there. I will be getting therapy and help from other moms that homeschool and have the same struggles with life and how busy we are.

Biteybird: this will be good for the BOT of us!

Biteybird: Im not trying to change you my sweet boy. Just HELP you. That is all. I love you so much Honey.

Turkish Spaghettie: mom i just don’t want to talk right now i love you too im just in a horrible mood

Biteybird: Did you read the whole thing? from the first?

Biteybird: thats all I ask

Turkish Spaghettie: one second

Turkish Spaghettie: oh no
Biteybird: please just read it, you don’t have to say anything

Turkish Spaghettie: i will sorry i didn’t know you posted all this

Turkish Spaghettie: i just did

Turkish Spaghettie: ugh i just don’t want to think about that stuff

Biteybird: I know you don’t honey. and thats ok. I just beg you to PLEASE don’t fight me when its time to leave tomorrow. We will be back before the weeks out and you should fell so much better. even playing your games will feel better.

Turkish Spaghettie: is now offline

I haven’t updated in a long time. Mostly due to the fact that I was under investigation by CPS for over 6 months, but also because I have felt like I could do this all on my own and didn’t need any help/advice/comments/ect… filling my head.

But, my friends, I have run into a brick wall. I have reached my limit. I can no longer continue down this road, completely alone.  I am not my son’s savior. I am just his mom and I can’t fix him the way I thought I should be able to… and I am at the lowest point a parent can reach.

The point of Hopelessness, the point of the nasty realization that I. Can’t…. I just simply CAN NOT do it anymore, not alone.

So, Monday, while all my friends are posting pictures of happy smiling kids on their first day of school…. I will be checking my son into a children’s mental health hospital.

He doesn’t know yet.  He is sitting behind his computer, mindlessly shooting bad guys, oblivious to the turn his life is about to take.

He is depressed. He is angry. He is raging more and more. I fear for his life. I fear for my safety. I fear for our future. He is only getting worse. I have tried everything i can possibly do. Alternative meds, diet, meditation, yoga, hiking, counseling, home school, numerous books/websites/self-help ideas…. nothing is working. He cries all the time, he stays angry, anxious and exhausted. I can’t get him to participate in life. I can’t make him happy, or even nice at times. My sweet boy, has disappeared.

So… I give. I throw my hands up and cry out, “Please, somebody, HELP US!”

I am taking him to a Dallas facility. Amarillo has nothing more they can offer us. This facility specializes in Autistic children and all the complications that comes with that diagnosis.  I knew this day would come, eventually. I just never knew it would be when he is only 11.

I will update. Prayers for answers and renewed life. And please be delicate in your opinions and comments… this was a decision that took many years of pain, tears, frustration and searching, to reach…

Giving Birth to Death (From my other Blog)

I was lied to, back when I was in lamaze class.
Pregnant with my daughter, a scared, 20 years old, and feeling so lost and alone. My husband had left me at 5 months pregnant, I had lost my job and was homeless, so I moved back home with my parents. My mom stepped in, doing all the things a partner should be doing. She went with me to the lamaze class, just as she had gone with me everywhere else those past 4 months. Through all of the doctors appointments, nursery shopping, walking in the evenings, preparations for the baby, she was my constant companion. She rubbed lotion on my legs when they ached, she cooked nutritious meals for me and my baby, she listened as I purged the history of my abusive marriage and told the deepest and darkest of my secrets, never judging, never criticizing… just loving me and being there for me. We quickly became best friends and as a joke I started referring to her as my “diary”.
As we sat in lamaze class, me between her knees my back against her chest, feeling her breath on my cheek, holding her hands as they circled my growing belly… the lamaze teacher told us simply, “Child birth is the most painful thing you will ever experience in your life!”
She lied
Losing my mom, watching her take her last, gasping, breaths… THAT is the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life. There is no epidural for that. There are no drugs available to “take the edge off”. There are no focal points, no breathing exercises, no coach, no support partner. Just you, alone in your grief, alone in your emotions, alone in your loss.
The labor pains began when Mom informed me, first and alone with her in her hospital room, that she had cancer and had been hiding it from everyone for over four years.
The news socked me in the stomach harder than any upper cut ever could, knocking the air out of me. I was stunned, automatically feeling ill, panic rising in my throat I ran from the room looking for a bathroom, a lounge, any place I could be alone in my shock and pain. I found a lounge, and a hard orange, plastic, chair. I sat, gasping, shaking, crying silently into my hands with panic. Screams of “why MY mom?!?! Why now?!?! Please God, NO! Don’t take her from me!?!” streamed through my head. I was only there a few minutes, quickly gathered myself back into a tidy package of strength and stability, and returned to mom’s room.
She needed me to be strong, to hold her hand, to be there for her as she had been during the birth of both my children.
My sister, dad and I talked her into fighting the cancer. Begged her to give chemo a chance… for us. Mom was scared of chemotherapy, terrified really. She had watched her parents, family and very dear friends suffer more from the effects of chemo rather than the actual cancer itself. That’s the reason behind her hiding her cancer for so long, not wanting to have to subject herself to the effects of chemo. We knew her reasons, but still selfishly asked her to fight, and because of her love for us, she fought. She fought valiantly for 2 years with only a few minor set backs. She was forever a lady, never complaining, never asking “why me?” She just went into treatment like she did everything else, just daring it not to work, demanding it listen to her and make her well. She became thin, tired, sleeping often and staying nauseated most of the 2 years.
I got to where I was calling her 2-3 times a day, checking on her, telling her funny grandkid stories, saying “Thank You” for every little thing that ever popped into my head that she had ever done for me the past 38 years. Daddy took wonderful care of her also, doting on her, feeding her, driving her over on the days she was too sick to drive. Taking her to the hospital when she was so sick with Pneumonia that we were worried we were losing her at that point. He never left her side. We all fought together.
During these two years of her being sick and going back and forth to chemo and PET scans, blood work and boughts of Pneumonia, I tried my best to be there by her side. I was busy by now with two children and working nights and weekends in labor and delivery. I would stay in town after work long enough to sit with her in the waiting room and her being hooked up to the drip. She always felt bad when I did that, always worried I would be too tired. “You go on home, honey! I’ll be fine, you need to sleep”, she would say.. I couldn’t tell her I was clinging to every second I had with her, clinging to her every breath. I would just obediently kiss her cheek and tell her “I love you”, and go home. I remember those mornings at the Oncology Center, how the nurses would light up when they saw her come in, everyone loved Yvonne, she was always so sweet a gracious, asking about them and their families, she was always selfless in that way, never wanting to talk about herself or her health, it was always about others.
Finally, one day, the news came that she was “all clear”, she had fought and won, she was in remission.
She started getting her strength back, began walking again, immersed herself in her church activities more than she even had been before. She walked in the “Walk for a Cure”, both as a survivor and as a caretaker for her parents. She had beat cancer! She had won, we all thought.
What most people don’t realize, us included, is that once you have poisoned your body with chemotherapy, you become more susceptible to infection, your immune system is shot, plus the type of cancer she had also wreaked havoc on her heart and arteries. She was a ticking time bomb.
She started pushing herself too hard. She had missed two years of life, and she was in a hurry to catch up. She became involved in writing the history of our church for its 100th anniversary. She worked tirelessly on a book of music and songs composed by a lady in our church, then soon became that same lady’s caretaker. She started keeping my son for me on the weekends I worked nights, driving him back and forth to school on the days I had to sleep. She dove into everything she did, head first, like it was a race…she hardly ever came up for air. I complained one summer morning, on the phone to her, that she “never had time to sit a visit anymore, she was always too busy doing for others, I was losing her”. “Well, honey”, she replied, “I have too much to do… and if I don’t do it, who will?” Perfectly mom in her reply.
That was in August, little did any of us know, she had already had 2 heart attacks. Non of us had a clue she would be gone in a matter of 6 weeks.
The labor pains became more persistent.
I knew something was wrong when I saw her the first week of September. I felt it. She was so thin, pale, almost a yellow color. She just didn’t look like mom. I questioned her and she dismissed it as being tired and run down from worrying about her friend. I still felt there was something more, but mom could convince the Pope he was Baptist if she had a few minutes alone with him, so I left it alone.
By the 29th of September she was in the hospital and 9 short days later, she was gone.
Just like that.
I compare losing my mom to labor.
It’s happening, be it fast or slow, things are changing. No matter how hard you fight to maintain control, no matter how hard everyone works to stop it, labor, and death, both march on.
I fought for my mom for 8 full days. I only left the hospital, her side, when forced by nurses with threat of having me committed to the mental hospital. I argued with surgeons, doctors, nurses, I threw so many residents out of my room it quickly became a joke among hospital staff.
I had promised her in the ER that she could trust me, that I wouldn’t let them put her on life support, I wouldn’t let them do heroic measures, to let her go if it came to that point, she made me promise, so in trying to keep up my promise I focused on, NOT letting her go. I was a woman on a mission… a mission to “fix my Mom”. I dreamed of her waking up and telling me how much she loves me and she could not have “made it through without me!” I focused on keeping her beloved “pink stuff” on her lips, I talked to her, played hymns that she loved on my Kindle for her, I read to her, I brushed her hair, covered and uncovered her feet, and silently prayed over and over that she stay with me.
Just as labor, the moment came when it was time to push.
There was nothing more the doctors could do. She was brain-dead.
Just as some women have beautiful birth stories, some women have beautiful death stories.
“Oh she smiled at me then closed her eyes and breathed out her last breath.”
“I told her it’s ok to go mom, and so she did”.
I’ve heard them all before, I am sure there are some very beautiful stories out there…
My moms story is not like that.
It was horrific, absurd, terrible, hilarious at times, painful and awful.
The hospice experience was everything BUT peaceful. (Maybe someday I can write down the events of that night, but now is not the time.)
I had been very proactive that entire day, I knew in my head that mom was already gone, that this was just her body lingering, so I tried to stay busy and continue doing for her, in hopes that she was in the room, watching, somehow. I fixed her hair, applied her makeup, washed her hands and filed her nails, not talking.. just doing.
After the removal of the breathing tube, the stepping in of hospice, the transferring of her from one building to the next and getting her settled into the room at the hospice, we were informed she would most likely be struggling for the next 6-9 hours.
Around hour 4 I realized this was it. I could no longer stop this from happening.
It was around hour 5 that my body went into shock.
It was around hour 6 that I started to give birth.
I gave birth to the pain, the heartbreak, the realization that I would never ever see my mom again. I would never hear her voice, feel her cool hands on my face, feel her play with my hair as I laid my head in her lap. I would no longer be called “Momma’s baby”. I was losing my mom, my best friend, my everything… and I could do nothing to stop it. The pain was unbearable.
I suddenly couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t stand the sight of her. I hated her for leaving me. I hated her for rather being with Jesus than with me! I was so disgusted by this pale, gasping, stiff corpse that had taken the place of my sweet, precious, beautiful, mother.
I wanted to beat it up! I wanted to scream at it! I wanted to demand it bring my mom back and it go away instead, but all I could do was cling to my boyfriend and wail as my heart literally crumbled.
If you don’t belive you can actually feel your heart-break, then you are one of the lucky few that have never lost someone who you love more than yourself. My heart literally hurt, felt bruised, for several days after mom died.
Then, at 5:35am, the nurse quietly said “she’s gone”.
And that was it. I no longer had my mom.
I had gone through the entire ordeal, the entire loss of my mom, without meds, without an epidural, without her to hold my hand. I was now a woman alone, a woman without a mom.

It’s common to think back on one’s life and say, “Before I had kids I…”
or “After I had kids I was changed in many ways, like…”
Well, it’s the same for losing my mom.
Before I lost mom, I was so carefree and innocent. I was still a child in so many ways. I relied on her for so many things. No matter how mad I would get at her, I still knew she was there for me if I needed her. She was my best friend for so many years. She was my confidant, my babysitter, my sister, my boss, my teacher, my everything.
My thinking is different now. I feel suddenly, old. Like I aged 100 years in those 6 hours. Like I now have privilege to a well-kept, ancient, secret… you can live through the pain.
My writing is more difficult to produce, less creative. I look back at things I wrote just 2 years ago and think “silly, nieve, dumb little girl! How simple life was back then!”

Life will go on without my mom, I realize that. I have to keep going, for my children, for my daddy, for myself. That’s what mom would have wanted. I know she is proud of me… I do, really.
And in writing this, I am hoping I can start finding some closure and some relief from the constant pain of loss and abandonment.
And just like the birth of my children, I will always have my own personal experience of my moms death. Nobody, Nobody… has any magical words that will instantly make me feel better. No amount of scripture can make me start “rejoicing in her heavenly rebirth”. Although I appreciate all the cliché words and phrases so many people have said to me this past 7 months, non of it will ever make me feel instantly better. Sorry, but I will never think “Oh, Wow! Thanks for telling me my mom is in a better place!” because I am selfish and I am in pain, and I’d rather have her here with me.
I have given birth to the loss of my mom… and it WAS the most painful experience I have ever been through in my entire life… but I came through it, bruised and bleeding… but gradually healing.

Someday I will only have sweet memories of mom, and the happy times we shared over our 39 years together.

Someday, the pain will fade… just like the pain of childbirth.

New Title, New Way of Thinking…

I love my boy, I challenge anyone on here to doubt that…

I love his quirky little ways

I love the way he stutters and stammers and twirls his hair

I love how he hugs me tight

I love the feel of his hair on my cheek

I love his wicked sense of humor

I love his big, soulful gray eyes

I love his crooked grin and his huge laugh

I love how incredibly smart he is

I am tired of trying to figure him out.

I am tired of making him feel like something is “wrong” with him.

I am tired of him thinking he is less than what I deserve.

I am tired of him not thinking he is “normal”, whatever that is…

So from this day forth, I declare Owen… perfect.

His rages

His tears

His trembly arms

His daydreaming

His mood swings

they are all part of who he is.

I am sure as he gets older, medicine or other measures will be needed.

But for the time being, I am just going to watch him,

I am going to keep him on his diet

I am going to homeschool him

I am going to play with him, and travel with him

I am going to show him the very best life has to offer…

He thinks that those best parts of life include me..

and until that changes, I am going to be a constant participant in living life with him.

Someday I wont be his only friend…

but I will always, always be his biggest fan..

and  really, someone who loves someone so very much…

shouldn’t be trying to “change” that person..

They should accept them just the way they are, and truely..

Love him.

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Old Posts Reveal New Things…

While moving some old blog posts over from one account to another, I came across this post.

March 31, 2008

Owen had his appointment today.

He fits the bill to a “T” for Aspergers Syndrom (a form of Autism).

Test results show he has a moderate level of auditory and sensory perception disabilities. That all stem from this form of autism. This also helps explain his sleep disorder, immune system disorders and strange allergies….

We still have more tests, more doctors and a long list of meds and herbal remedies to try.

His daycare is done with him, they don’t take “special needs” kids, this was the first time anyone has ever refered to him as “special needs”. Not only was it a slap in the face.. but it was also insensitive and thoughtless! I had JUST, within the hour, found out my son was for sure sick… and I have these words thrown in my face. I was allowed to let him stay… IF he behaved himself. No matter his diagnosis… he still has to remain in the “box” at daycare. 😦

We will get it all worked out. Daycare, meds, diagnosis, and relationships… it will all get worked out.

I just really feel like my insides are hammered dog pookey, I have beaten myself up over this all day… I am exhausted and devistated.

Everyone that knows keep telling me that “at least I now KNOW what is wrong with him….” and yes, that is a relife…

But I never though me sweet little boy, my sweet, sweet Owen….. would ever be anything other than perfect.

I never dreamed we would STILL be testing, fighting and working so hard for normalcy 8 years later! 😦

And the mention of Auditory and Sensory Perseption disorders??!?!Whaat the Heck?? I don’t remember that! And that is what Dr. Saure first wanted me to check around November.

I just found this interesting and a little eye opening.

 

Easy as 1…2…3??

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I received this info from a friend this morning.

I MUST FIND HEATHER FISH!!!

I need to talk to her.

We are not strangers to the probiotic lifestyle.  Actually, he is still on them.  After his digestive yeast infection at age 3-4, we have had to stay on them continuously.  It may sound strange to you, but between his gluten free diet and his probiotic pearls… his rages stay at a…. more manageable rate (?).   With things getting worse and worse though, then getting some better with the upped dose of probiotics, makes me wonder if his “leaky gut” isn’t just becoming immune?

I’m going to try this new kind, through Plexus, and see if it makes any difference.

BUT… for the mean time… if YOU have seen this Facebook post and you know Heather Fish, OR know how to get in touch with her.. PLEASE, PLEASE, SHARE!!!  I would love to follow-up with her and see what all else she is doing.

Thanks friends!

I’ll update 🙂