Now before we get to into this blog post, I just want iterate that you need to read this all the way through before you judge me on the title. I swear it was more just an attention grabber than a true statement. As we all know, upon Thanksgiving's passing every year, there is an almost instantaneous jump to the theme of Christmas everywhere you look. And thats okay, I have nothing wrong with that. But I'm kind of the odd man out in my family when it comes to loving Christmas. Or at least the odd man out in my "immediate" family. Allow me to explain.
I come from a VERY family oriented family. We're the kind of family that is so close that your first cousins are more like your siblings, your second cousins are more like your first cousins, and your aunts and uncles are more like extra parents. And I love it, because even though by blood I only have sisters, I feel like I have a lot of brothers too, since a lot of my cousins are guys. Plus I just love the family dynamic, IT'S AWESOME!
But there's a reason we are as close as we are in my family, and that reason was my grandmother. She believed in the power and strength of family, and understood no matter ones faults and failures, especially a family member's, they're always deserving of love and that you must never turn your back on them. Growing up, her home was almost every family member's first home. I know it was mine. Heck, we were there everyday for like the entire day. It was to the point I didn't even consider my actual home, home. I saw it more as this place where I would go to sleep and that was it.
Unfortunately, like all people will, my grandmother eventually passed. I was in the fifth grade. Given how close we were as a family, especially to her, since she was the glue really, watching her go down hill was rough. I definitely handled terribly compared everyone else in the family too. I was acting out, causing problems in a time when I should have been helping, and ultimately just being a class-A DICK! But I'll never forget the night she passed. A lot of the family was in the hospital room like we were every day and night, just hanging around, enjoying each other's company the best we could, since at this point she was in a vegetable state, so we really could be there for her. When it happen, the sound of a person grasping for a breath that wasn't there. I looked over like everyone else to see my grandmother trying to breathe but getting nowhere. Eventually the sound stopped; my grandmother was dead, and I had watched her die.
I can remember if the heart monitor actually made that sound like you hear in the movies when someone dies, in fact I can remember too many of the little things from that evening. I went numb almost instantly when it happened. The biggest thing I can recall is that I wasn't much of a cryer, and also knew I needed to be strong for my mom, so I did my best to remain un-phased. Eventually a break in the sadness seemed to occur. I took advantage of this, and excused myself from the room. I walked down the hallway to this lounge/lobby-esque area of hospital floor, collapsed to the ground and cried. People passed by, but I didn't care, I just let my emotions pour out of me. Finally I recomposed myself and returned to the room. I didn't shed a tear about the incident again.
Now I'm sure you are thinking, "But Chris, what on earth does this have to do with Christmas?" Well that day she passed was Sunday, December 19th. Christmas was a week away. Now, every year, as Christmas gets closer, so does that day, and we are all reminded of the sadness affiliated with the holiday season. For me though, I don't get sad about her death or let it bring my Christmas down, because I know she wouldn't want that. But here's where I become the odd man out. I can tell my Mom and sisters all do let it spoil their holidays. Plus, my sister even verbalized to my dad one year that "no one in this family likes this holiday because it just reminds us she's gone!" And it sucks they feel that way, for two reasons.
First, because I think they feel this way partially due to none of them having come to terms with her death yet. Which breaks my heart, because they are brought down by it, and I know my grandmother would not want them to be. And second, because it does end up making me the odd man out. Maybe that reason is a little selfish of me, but it's hard to enjoy something when you know those around you don't and just putting on a smile for the public. It brings down your (in this case, my) vibe.
So as for my title, Christmas doesn't really suck. In fact for me it's a great way to cope about my grandmother's passing. Because it brings my are already close family closer, at least physically, since mentally its not there yet with my sisters. But like I said, it brings us all closer like it does with all families. And this even closer closeness that is present during the holiday just reminds me of the strong family my grandmother pioneered in the creation of and presents hope, since here we are years after her passing and we're all still standing with her legacy as a beacon to guide us everyday of our life. I just wish my mom and sisters could see it this way too. Because that's really the only thing that sucks; knowing that I'm the only one that's happy.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Thursday, December 5, 2013
An Indirect Hurt
As I mentioned in a previous and very recent blog (Two roads...), I have this good friend who I like as more than a friend but have chosen to keep my feelings suppressed. But today was a real test of my will.
You see, have you ever liked someone, and because so, however they are feeling, you are feeling too? Thats the predicament I am currently in. This friend of mine is just going through a hard time and it sucks because I just feel helpless in helping her. It's out of my control, and just like anybody, I don't like when things are out of my control.
It's just I saw the way she just seemed so overwhelmed and distraught and it hurt me knowing there was nothing I could do. I just wanted so much to grab her by the arm, pull her close into me, kiss her gently on the forehead, and tell her that it's going to be alright, that she's going to make it through, and that I'm going to be with her every step of the way. To let her know if she falls, I'm there to catch her.
But that's when the dilemma of hiding my true feelings come into effect. I can't very well do any of that without showing how I feel. But hell, I feel like I'm at this point in our friendship where there's very little I can do that won't unmask the truth. And that's the last thing I want because I dont want to scare her away. The friendship we have means the world to me. But more specifically, she just might mean the world to me. And seeing her struggle, hurts, but more specifically, seeing her struggle knowing there's nothing I can do without revealing the one truth that might scare her off...that, that right there, that hurts the most.
Monday, December 2, 2013
Why I Think I'll have a Child with a Mental Disability
Growing up, I was raised catholic, as I have stated before, and in my family that meant you attended private Catholic schooling up until college. Then we could decide where to go, WITHIN REASON. One of the things the Catholic church stresses is "WORKS" or as others may call it, Service. Nothing wrong with that; we all need help each other. But, once you got to high school, or at least for the Catholic high schools in my hometown, you have to complete a certain number of service hours each year to graduate. Which is understandable; some people need an extra push to get out there and help others. But I noticed a trend with me and the service I did, sometimes coincidences even, or at least what I thought were coincidences.
It started the summer before my freshman year of high school. My sister was about to be a junior in high school and was looking to get her junior year service hours out of the way before the school year started. Her friend explained to my sister that her mother was head of campus ministry at a local Kindergarten through 8th grade catholic school and that each summer they run a "Bible Camp" for kids ages 4 to 9. So she signed up for it. But, she also convinced my mom to have me sign up for it as well. My mom figured it would get my freshman year service hours out of the way too. So I did.
I was hesitant, but that's because I was only fourteen and not even truly in high school, but I took a deep breath and did my best to step up however I could. That's when John Kelly entered my life. I met John when he was four. Just like any four year old, he was wild, marched to the beat of his own drum, and threw the occasional tempter tantrum. But John was different in one way. He has down syndrome. Now the way the camp was set up, there were three groups. 4 & 5 year olds, 6 & 7 year olds, and 8 & 9 year olds. Each age group was given a certain amount of Counselors to help the Adults working the groups of the camp. So no one was paired with anyone individually. Except for me.
John, given his condition, required more one on one attention then the rest of the campers, and I can't explain it, but him and I just worked well together. I was able to "talk him down" unlike the rest of the camp, and so I was asked to just keep by his side for the week. And so I did. Him and I have formed a great bond that grew from him and I both doing the camp for five years now. And I couldn't imagine not signing up for the camp that first year I did. I'm so thankful.
Then there was sophomore year. This is where things got interesting, because sophomores at my school, instead of going on a retreat of some sort, would have a day of service. The day you went depended on your homeroom. My homeroom was selected for a day later in the year, which is irrelevant, but I thought I would explain that. So the way this day of service worked is each sophomore was randomly selected for where they would go to do service for the day. I was selected to go to a local school that helped to teach children with mental disabilities. When we got there, I was hesitant, given my experience with John, and I jumped right in. I was helping the kids with work, eating, and playing. I had a blast, and again I seemed to work really well with the kids and just gel with them really well. It was awesome.
Junior year however is when coincidence, started to seem less like coincidence. My junior year of high school, I went on a retreat in West Hartford, Connecticut with a group of from my school. On one of the days during the retreat, we went out into the local community for a day of service. Again, where we went was random selection. And again, I was selected to go to a school that works with both children and young adults who have mental disabilities. When we got there, the gentle at the school who helped organized this said he was in need of a, "Special Volunteer". Hesitant, but eager because I felt in my element, I said I would. After I agreed, I learned this special assignment was to be paired with someone individually while the rest of my group worked as a group. It was reminiscent of when I was asked to work with John individually, and so I felt very comfortable. I was paired with a young man, I believe 19 at the time, named Louie. Great guy, who was full of energy and charisma. After spending the day with him, I couldn't help but kind of think that I was really good working with people who have special needs.
Since my junior year, I have tried to branch out and try different types of service I provide, but mentally, none have been so easy for me and put me at ease the way I felt and still feel about working with those with mental disabilities. But, I'm 19 now, and much more future oriented and can't help but wonder if there's a reason I do well in that situation. I can't help but also wonder if those coincidences were more than coincidences. Part of me believes that God, or some high power, depending on your beliefs, is just preparing me for fatherhood, but specifically fatherhood with a child who has a mental disability. Does the thought scare me? Hell yeah. But not because I wouldn't love the kid, because I will love the kid with my whole heart regardless, but because I know how much work it will be, if this is the case. Regardless, I'll dive right in. It just seems like there's a bigger plan here then me providing service.
It started the summer before my freshman year of high school. My sister was about to be a junior in high school and was looking to get her junior year service hours out of the way before the school year started. Her friend explained to my sister that her mother was head of campus ministry at a local Kindergarten through 8th grade catholic school and that each summer they run a "Bible Camp" for kids ages 4 to 9. So she signed up for it. But, she also convinced my mom to have me sign up for it as well. My mom figured it would get my freshman year service hours out of the way too. So I did.
I was hesitant, but that's because I was only fourteen and not even truly in high school, but I took a deep breath and did my best to step up however I could. That's when John Kelly entered my life. I met John when he was four. Just like any four year old, he was wild, marched to the beat of his own drum, and threw the occasional tempter tantrum. But John was different in one way. He has down syndrome. Now the way the camp was set up, there were three groups. 4 & 5 year olds, 6 & 7 year olds, and 8 & 9 year olds. Each age group was given a certain amount of Counselors to help the Adults working the groups of the camp. So no one was paired with anyone individually. Except for me.
John, given his condition, required more one on one attention then the rest of the campers, and I can't explain it, but him and I just worked well together. I was able to "talk him down" unlike the rest of the camp, and so I was asked to just keep by his side for the week. And so I did. Him and I have formed a great bond that grew from him and I both doing the camp for five years now. And I couldn't imagine not signing up for the camp that first year I did. I'm so thankful.
Then there was sophomore year. This is where things got interesting, because sophomores at my school, instead of going on a retreat of some sort, would have a day of service. The day you went depended on your homeroom. My homeroom was selected for a day later in the year, which is irrelevant, but I thought I would explain that. So the way this day of service worked is each sophomore was randomly selected for where they would go to do service for the day. I was selected to go to a local school that helped to teach children with mental disabilities. When we got there, I was hesitant, given my experience with John, and I jumped right in. I was helping the kids with work, eating, and playing. I had a blast, and again I seemed to work really well with the kids and just gel with them really well. It was awesome.
Junior year however is when coincidence, started to seem less like coincidence. My junior year of high school, I went on a retreat in West Hartford, Connecticut with a group of from my school. On one of the days during the retreat, we went out into the local community for a day of service. Again, where we went was random selection. And again, I was selected to go to a school that works with both children and young adults who have mental disabilities. When we got there, the gentle at the school who helped organized this said he was in need of a, "Special Volunteer". Hesitant, but eager because I felt in my element, I said I would. After I agreed, I learned this special assignment was to be paired with someone individually while the rest of my group worked as a group. It was reminiscent of when I was asked to work with John individually, and so I felt very comfortable. I was paired with a young man, I believe 19 at the time, named Louie. Great guy, who was full of energy and charisma. After spending the day with him, I couldn't help but kind of think that I was really good working with people who have special needs.
Since my junior year, I have tried to branch out and try different types of service I provide, but mentally, none have been so easy for me and put me at ease the way I felt and still feel about working with those with mental disabilities. But, I'm 19 now, and much more future oriented and can't help but wonder if there's a reason I do well in that situation. I can't help but also wonder if those coincidences were more than coincidences. Part of me believes that God, or some high power, depending on your beliefs, is just preparing me for fatherhood, but specifically fatherhood with a child who has a mental disability. Does the thought scare me? Hell yeah. But not because I wouldn't love the kid, because I will love the kid with my whole heart regardless, but because I know how much work it will be, if this is the case. Regardless, I'll dive right in. It just seems like there's a bigger plan here then me providing service.
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