OK, I’ll Tell You

You have repeatedly asked (countless times over many years [usually silently]) “Why do you do that? Why do you insert yourself into the lives, circumstances, and private space of total strangers?” OK… I’ll tell you. It is because I have been alone for most of my life and I see your aloneness.

Yes, you and I have been surrounded by friends, colleagues, family, fellow worshipers, and companions, both passing and lasting. Yet we have been alone in our most intimate concerns, fears, doubts, wonderings, and apprehensions. I see you, when you are in the company of others who defer to your charisma; acquiesce to your projected confidence; still themselves to hear your voice; encourage your humor so that they can laugh, safely out of the limelight of prominence. And my heart hears the beat of your heart that is pounding out a message of ‘S.O.S.’ as it struggles with an isolation that is completely alien to the awareness of all about you.

And I recall, from my own storehouse of accumulated pain, the need that you have for an answer to your spoken and unspoken supplications to Life, as you have sought some word of comfort; some note of acknowledgement that Life is aware that you are struggling. “Here I am” I offer “You are heard … Life is with you … You are never alone … You are forever loved.”

This is my mission; my quest; my calling; to let you know that life knows you; hears you; is responding to you; has help, instruction, and encouragement for you. This I allow Life to use me to do … for you.

When I see your name in my address book; when I see your eyes in a crowd; when I see you across a busy restaurant; when I pass you in the market; in all of my life’s moments I am sensitive to you and available for you. I am yours … because I chose to give myself to you, long before we ever knew of each other. Our actual meeting was but a simple detail that I entrusted to Life. And here we are … in this moment… neither of us ever again alone. If we but accept the gift that is ‘Us.’ (“Thank You Life”)

So, perhaps, now you can be a bit more comfortable with this “Us” thing. I truly hope so. To that end, I remain, as always, your constant Friend and Servant,

John-Michael

31 January 2006

When the Time is Right ... Confirmation

How do you know that you are walking “Your Path”? What endorsement … what validation … what affirmation cements your confidence in the right-ness of your elections? Just like you, I had the desire for certainty. My confidence skated on the thin ice of a fragile Belief and wavering Conviction that I was being the person that I was created to BE. I, like you, was challenged by the voices of loving, caring, concerned, and trusted friends who offered their opinions and perspectives on my life choices. And none … absolutely none of them could see the rationale for my determinations. Yet … I persevered on the strength of an inner conviction that I was in harmony with the leading of the Source of all that is true.

Then Life reached out with a steadying Hand and a reassuring Voice in the person of the only individual who (as a consummate human being) could command my absolute confidence and respect. He was a respected and honored Scientist and Educator … and a deeply committed Spiritual Being. Inasmuch as he is no longer with me in physical presence (though certainly still-known in spirit) I can, and will, reveal his identity (want, as he was, to remain invisible, humble, and unobtrusive.) Swaminatha Sundaram, (Professor-Chairperson (Physics), University of South Florida, 1982 [B.Sc.; M.S.; Ph.D., D.Sc., Annamalai University, India, 1960]) became a dear Friend, Confidant, and Joy in my life from the moment of our initial meeting (as he placed his mail in the post-box at the curb, and I delivered the morning newspaper in the pre-dawn hours of the day.)

It was during one of our treasured luncheon visits together, that he (being a man of very few … yet each one valuable … words) said “You, My Friend, are a true Priest. You walk your daily path as lead by The Spirit … minister to each life encountered along that path … asking nothing and expecting nothing save the meeting of your physical and material needs. All at the direction and through the provision, of that controlling Spirit.”

Confirmation! I can tell you, My Dear Reader, that I have never, in all of my life, been more honored, humbled, and moved than at that moment. Life had warranted and authenticated my convictions in terms that I would never have known to ask for or expect. And I can now share this story with you, as my personal testimony to the certainty, that you will know, with sureness, the appropriateness of your life elections ... if you will but exercise that awesome power, of your own Free Will, to follow the Inspiration … the Inclination … the Leading of your own personal and individual “Still, Quiet, Inner-Voice.” Mindful that doing so will often be to the exclusion of all outside "influences."

I cannot promise you riches, fame, glory, or applause as an expectation resulting from such a disciplined and oft-courageous (and sometimes lonely) choice. What I can, and do, guarantee you is Joy, Confidence, Peace of Mind, and Spirit, that gives (in time … and with patience) rhyme, reason, and meaning to all of the conflicts, pains, disappointments, and sorrows of a life so lived. And ... at that time and in that place, when and where you need, and are ready for it ... you can expect, in some form, a confirmation and validation ... from the Creator of all that You are ... from "Life." A confirmation and validation of the reality of your BE-ing that unique and particularly special Individual, that You are equipped (by nature, inclination, and experience) to … BE.

This is, I promise you, My Dear Friend, the greatest reward that can possibly be imagined. To know that you are living in harmony with the intention of your Creator in the world that is your daily walk. That all is Right with You and your place in all of Time and Eternity. And it is to the encouragement, endorsement, and enabling of You, in your personal pilgrimage, that I am committed … as I remain;

Your constant Friend and unwavering Servant.



IMAGES through the gracious courtesy of Jon Sullivan, PDPhoto.org

Re-visiting An Interview

Almost two years ago, I was interviewed by a Contributor, to a Web site that provides "timely, in-depth, trusted medical information, personalized tools and resources, and connections to a vast community of leading experts and patients for people seeking to manage and improve their health."

I looked over the completed interview, and considered the possibility that some, of what was shared there, might be of some benefit to Readers of this site. So, with the blessings of the Contributor, I am posting the complete interview here.

I do hope that You, My Dear Reader, will find some idea or thought to be of use to you as an encouragement, consideration, or, perhaps, a provocation to further thought. I have deleted the name of the medical information site as well as that of the individual mentioned in the Contributor's introduction to the interview. The interview is, otherwise, unedited.

How to Cope
When Your Adult Child has a Physical Disability

I was looking over the questions asked here at [medical information site] and I began to smile as I re-discovered a question from a lady named "[DELETED]." She was worried about her adult son who had been diagnosed with MS. And although the title of her question was: "Can MS affect the ability to match clothing (plaids with stripes) and colors?" the true intent of her question was to be found in reading between the lines.

This was a mom who was worried about her son's disease and how he would manage the potential physical and mental challenges that Multiple Sclerosis could bring. I began to think about this disease from a parent's perspective. No matter how young or old your child is...they are always still your child. How does a parent cope when their child faces the daunting challenge of a physical disability? What is the best way to be of help?

In order to delve more deeply into these questions I have enlisted the help of fellow blogger and self help writer, John Michael. John Michael's extraordinary way of writing stems from having to face his own unique challenges including parenting a son who has cerebral palsy. You may find more of John Michael's insights by visiting his blog authentically entitled, "Just being John Michael." http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/

Based upon your life experience, what comfort would you give to a parent who has an adult child who is facing physical challenges?

To begin with, please know that I do not, in even the most remote way, hold my opinions or ideas up as any kind of standard of measure or (God forbid) sort of rule to go by. They are, quite simply, my own perspective and individualized inclinations. That said, I can tell you (and any Parent reading) that my comfort with what Matthew (my son) and I share, in our partnership in life’s challenges, began with my acceptance of, the reality that we all … every living, breathing, struggling one of us, live with our own set of ‘disabilities’ and ‘handicaps.’

While Matt’s are more obvious and clearly pronounced than others’, I have accepted the fact of my responsibility to confront and manage my own … and to help him identify (in the most gentle and tenderly ways possible), and deal with his. I have, simultaneously, allowed my Self to be open to, and receptive to, the difficulties and frustrations in the lives of those whose life-paths intersect mine. And I discuss, with Matt, these obstacles, to ease-of-living, so that he can share, with me, an active appreciation, of the hurdles that beset others. We discuss possible ways that we can compliment and make easier the lives of Friends. And we have conversations centered around our responsibilities, as Human Beings, to the world around us. This has given him a sense of participation and worth, in caring for people along the way … and has (while not spelling out or focusing on his own set of Complications) allowed him to gain a sense of worth as a Care-Giver for others. It, also, takes the intensity of focus off of all of the daily irritations that his cerebral palsy unrelentingly visits upon him.

This “Mechanism” (if you will) has proven to be a ‘tool’ of some considerable worth in my set of ‘coping implements’ … for us both.

How emotionally difficult is it for a parent to see their son or daughter unable to do things that others may take for granted?

The “emotional difficulty” is compounded by the reality that (in Matt’s life) he does not possess the mental acuity to enable him to thoroughly process the complexities of his handicaps. While he is at a high level of what would be labeled as “trainable” (God! How I do hate those labels!) he is obviously vexed by his awareness of the areas of life and living that are part of the experiences of those around him … and his inability to participate or be included in them.

I then, accept the responsibility (inasmuch as I am able) to “feel” and “sense” these vexations for and with him … then translate them into means of communicating to his level of comprehension and appreciation of them … to him. All the while wanting (at my emotional core) to curl up in a corner and weep for him. Emotional exhaustion and an ever-present sense of being emotionally spent has, consequently, been my life-companion.

How does a parent express concern for their child's well being without coming across as overly intrusive or pushy?

In a word … you can’t! Yep! That’s about it. My experience has been that if I am willing to let Individuals or Organizations … whose role or mission in life is to ’administer’ the programs or services (I use the word advisedly) that are intended, by well-meaning Initiators, to reach out to the needs of those who find themselves less than optimally functional … operate at their own discretion or with their own set of priorities … my son will suffer neglect and even some measure of abuse.

Yes, I know that that sounds harsh. And I do wish that it was not the fact. But it has proven, over and over, to be the Reality. But … when I take the active, involved, persistent, and (in the view of some) “overly intrusive or pushy”, I have found that I can cut through the layers of superficial and uncaring individuals and programs … and mine the nuggets of wonderfully committed and professionally devoted gems who give of themselves willingly and thoroughly, for the benefit of those to whom they have dedicated their lives and careers.

So, I make Matt the “Good Guy”, and take the mantle of “Enforcer” upon myself, for his benefit. This has worked out to be most successful and beneficial for all concerned. It gets past the layers of incompetence and wasted time and efforts quite quickly. And gets us to the “good stuff” with a minimum of wasted energy and emotion (which, by virtue of living with this situation, are already in short supply.)

What is the best way for a parent to offer help?

I think that this is most effectively accomplished by becoming a living and breathing part of my son. I have permitted my Self … nay, demanded of my Self … to be … actually and legitimately become an element of my son’s Being. I feel what he is unable to feel. I think what he hasn’t the capacity to think. I sense what he wants to sense, but can not get through the haze, of his brain’s unwillingness to cooperate, to sense. I offer tears when appropriate … whilst not giving in to self-pity. I offer determination … where he is not equipped to be determined for himself … whilst guarding against insensitivity or lack of empathy. All the while recognizing that this commitment to Matt is made at the expense of other life-demands that must be sacrificed (willingly … even happily … and without remorse of bitter regret) for his ultimate benefit.

All too often, I have known parents who let it be known that they are some figure of “Noble Sacrifice” and are ’giving up’ something for their child. Horse hockey! (That’s about as ’cleaned up’ as I can make that. [smile]) Firstly, their child is constantly aware of this added burden upon their shoulders. They hear and sense their parent’s bemoaning of their ’plight’ in life. And that child has this ’gift’ to deal with, in addition to all of the garbage that is incumbent with whatever life has given them.

No! My son’s handicap is something that I accepted, at the very outset (when he was diagnosed, at less than one year old), as Life’s enabling me to grow and develop into far more than I ever would have, otherwise. I had to become more of whatever a man can be … to be what my son needs his father to be. I accepted Life’s challenge to develop Character and Strength that I would never have known without the demands and needs of my son’s circumstances. Matthew has only sensed and known the reality that I am indebted to him for my life’s flourishing. And he has a comfortable and calm assurance that I appreciate him … far beyond his cognitive abilities to reason out those truths.

These are my own perceptions of the best ways that I can be of help to my son … and simultaneously, my Self. Best summed up in ... give. (Which, I suppose, is the best way to benefit any relationship.)

Can you give any advice to the parent who has been seemingly pushed away after offering help to their adult child?

This question stings.

Three years ago, Matthew phoned me and asked me to cease phoning him, and/or seeing him. “When you call or we are together, it upsets Mom. And that makes me nervous. And I can’t deal with it.” he said. Understanding his Mom’s temperament and personality (which I have [Thank Goodness] taken a good deal of time and invested a considerable amount of effort in studying), I understood what he was saying. So, I agreed. And said, “Goodbye.”

Because I have an absolute certainty that Matt’s ability to make that phone call to me was born of all that we accomplished over the thirty two years prior to the call … and I know the stresses and tensions that he was referencing (after twenty years of marriage to his Mom) … and my certainty that I can look Life full in ’the face’ and give an honest account of my Self, and my having given absolutely all of all that I had of Me, to him … I have accepted, and respect, his choice.

For me to demand some form or sort of “Parental Rights” in maintaining contact with Matt, would be an exercise in selfishness. It would be at the expense of his comfort and tranquility. And it would serve no purpose other than negative ones, including putting him in the center of a tug-of-war that would render no possible benefit of value. So, I have had no contact with the Son who I spent every week-day, of every year, after he ’graduated’ from school (9 years) … for nearly three years now. Hence the “sting.”

In your experience of parenting your own child who has a physical disability, what was the hardest aspect for you?

The loneliness.

What gave you the greatest joy in parenting your son?

The day that he looked at me and said “My brain doesn’t cooperate sometimes.” It was a bitter-sweet moment in which he attained the level of acknowledging his challenges. This represented a heartbreak in our joining of awareness … and the joy of his readiness to deal with some of his own frustrations.

Last thoughts?

Life is … ultimately and beautifully .. GOOD!

Painful Presumptions

As with the previous post, I have offered this one before ... a bit over a couple of years ago being the most recent. But it is something that resonates within me, and I want to offer it to that those who are newer Readers. Again, with apologies to my lovely Friends who have seen it before ... here 'tis ...

Pre-sume /verb/ suppose that something is the case on the basis of probability
[The New Oxford American Dictionary]

He went forward on the presumption that He had the necessary understanding of the situation to equip himself for success. The elderly Gentleman (assumed to be the next-door neighbor) told him that after the locked door was overcome with the assistance of the ax (offered by the Gentleman for that task) He would encounter some resistance due to the rug that the occupant of the house customarily kept rolled up against the door as a deterrent to cold draught. And, indeed, after smashing the lock mechanism with said ax, He did, in fact, realize a firm, but yielding, resistance quite natural to a heavy rug. Hence, after persuading the rug to allow the opening of the door for a distance barely sufficient for his body to crawl through, he flattened himself to the floor and projected himself into the smoke-filled room and made his first attempt to evaluate the situation.

Having never before confronted a burning building, He was encouraged by the realization that the long ago learned (from sources not remembered) theory that there would be a space at floor level where the smoke would be eight or ten inches above the floor itself. And surely this was the reality that He encountered, as into that narrow space He crawled, and inched toward the room where He could clearly see the flames hungrily consuming every element and surface. This was the room that the neighbor had told him that the three children were normally in. Three small children who had been left by their mother who had gone for a quick visit to the store that was but around the corner. Three small children whose voices had been heard screaming for help just a short while before He had appeared upon the scene.

And now He was trying, through the acrid, oxygen-starved haze of that narrow corridor at floor level, to locate the children. Back out of the room He came to recharge his lungs with air. Choking, spitting, and coughing out disgusting remnants of that life-denying gas, He steeled himself for another entry. Again, He pushed past the rug-impaired opening and extended himself still further into the kitchen and toward what seemed to be the now fully consumed dining area of this small tinderbox of a dwelling. No luck … nothing … not a single child in sight and the heated chemical residue of all that the flames were converting into toxic gases scalded his eyes and his throat.

Back out, across the tiny deck that served as the back porch and into the small yard that was itself becoming engulfed in the stench of the fog from the fire. This time the neighbor was there with water (from some source that was not noticed) and offered to cool and wash his face. The water was gratefully accepted and used to wet his handkerchief, which He placed over his now-parched mouth and nose for his last foray into the hellhole of that inferno. He could only think of three small children who had not been heard from nor seen for what was beginning to seem like forever. Cursing the weight of that damned rug for its bulky resistance, He pushed yet again into now known territory and this time beyond until his lungs demanded retreat. Failure! With the mucous of a pulmonary system ridding itself of intruding threats pouring from his mouth, his nose, and even his eyes, He heard the arrival of the fire fighters.

To the first Firefighter to come into the back yard (where He and the, now still and silent, ancient neighbor stood) He yelled the information that He presumed to be a statement of all pertinent facts. The Firefighter gave him a look that was a puzzlement to him though it lasted but a fraction of a second. Then, to his astonishment, this huge (or so he seemed, clothed, as he was, in all of his fire-fighting equipment) fellow simply took a seat on that self-same tiny porch. The Man just sat there … “How absurd” He thought. He had just moments before used that surface as a launch area for entry into the chamber of unspeakable horror. “How can he be simply taking a seat and not doing anything?” He thought and wanted to scream.

Then … calmly … with measured deliberation … that Fireman leaned back, reached behind himself, around the still-open door, and, obviously (from the grimace of effort registered on his face) grasped that rug that had thrice been such an impediment to the would-be Rescuer, and pulled forth ... not a rug … oh no … a small boy! Cradling the inert form in his arms and hurrying toward the waiting medical equipment at the front of the blazing structure, the professional Angel of Mercy looked at the pair of dumbstruck observers and said “The children always go to the nearest door … and that’s where we usually find them.”

He had gone past that child three times. He had presumed the bulky weight to be what He had been told to expect there. He had presumed that He had all of the information necessary to do his best for the best outcome. He was ignorant of unknown probabilities. It is now thirty-seven years later and He still feels … really senses an actual awareness of the soft, ungiving weight of that little boy’s body as He pushed against it. He had cursed it for its impediment to his efforts to reach the children. Every time He now hears or sees a fire truck on its way to affect a rescue He instantly relives that moment. That boy would be somewhere around forty five years old now … but he is not. He never had a chance to be. And I … that’s right, I … will never stop regretting the presumptions that I made that day.

If there were no other reason for my efforts to share my perspectives … my ‘lessons learned’ … my little insights into this business of life ... the provision of an expanded set of possibilities for your consideration would be reason enough. I will do everything that I can to equip you with a wider understanding; a broader scope of outlook; an awareness of a more useful set of possibilities for your use in your entering into whatever areas of unknowns that present themselves to you. I can never accept the possibility that my reticence could leave you vulnerable to the pain, the unhappiness, the disappointment of missing the potential blessing of any experience … because your presumptions were left minus an expanded scope of possibilities that I could have offered you.

When I pledge myself to you as “Your Friend and Servant” (as I so frequently do) there is always, in my Soul, an awareness of the weight of some ‘rug’ against which you may be pushing in your life. And I must help you see the life potentials that could be there if only you know where to reach … what to grasp … perhaps, how to react.

To that end, I remain, as always, Your faithful Friend and willing Servant,

John-Michael
(originally penned 29July2005)



(IMAGEs: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com)

Generosity of Spirit

"It is the individual who is not interested in his fellow men who has the greatest difficulties in life and provides the greatest injury to others." ALFRED ADLER

Many years ago, I found myself kneeling at the finish line, on a track with six lanes of “runners” coming toward me … my camera at the ready … cheering the Runner progressing toward me in the lane that I occupied … and feeling the tug at my heart-strings as I saw him falling further and further behind the competitors in the five other lanes. The runner was my son. The event was one of several that he was competing in as part of the annual Special Olympics (a version of athletic competition tailored to the special limitations [all mentally impaired to differing degrees … some physically impaired] of its participants.) My son has cerebral palsy and the portions of his brain effected result in a moderate impairment of his intellectual functions as well as a minimal impairment of his hips, and legs. He was, on that day, the only participant in that race who relied in the services of crutches. And it was due to this limitation that he was losing ground to the other competitors.
My role, in all of this, was to subtly assist him in maintaining a focus on his own lane so that he would not drift off into the adjoining lanes. (That challenge of "focus" being one of the aspects of his impairment.) I accomplished this (without causing him the embarrassment that would accompany an obvious display of my intentions) by appearing to be intent on photographing him as he raced. I could see the growing dismay in his eyes as he recognized the inevitability of crossing the finish line well after all of the others had.

Then a wonderful thing, that (even at this moment, all of these years later) still has my eyes brimming with tears, at the recollection. The runner in the lane to my son’s right looked over his shoulder … saw the sadness and frustration on my son’s face … and stopped … and waited … and ushered my son … ahead of him … across the finish line. And then applauded my son (while also cheering him.)
Need I say anything more? Is there anything that my words could add to the eloquence of that young man’s sermon in demonstrated compassion and self-sacrifice? Can the poetry of one person’s obvious generosity of spirit be enhanced by anyone else’s commentary? I think not! So rather than speak to that young gentleman’s nobility, I will speak to us … You and Me.
Would it take so much for us to step aside and allow the one struggling along-side us to move ahead? Will our position in our own life-race be jeopardized by a spirit of generosity and sacrifice? Is that “finish line” of immediate gratification worth the loss of the higher goal of betterment of our shared environment? Will we be any “better off” as a people if we insist on focusing on our own agendas to the exclusion of a sensitivity to the plight of our neighbors? Did that young man not demonstrate, to all of us, the noble value of assuming responsibility for and taking action to benefit those who (while doing all that they are capable of doing) are falling behind?
No, My Dear Reader, I can not add to, nor do I wish to detract from the beauty of the message delivered by that wonderful Human Being’s behavior. So, in this thought on reaching out and touching others, I will dry my tears of recollection … and send these considerations to your safe-keeping.



IMAGE: Matthew Michael Brown (My Son)

Prelude to "The Magician's Blanket"

My wife asked me (more than once) why I felt compelled to tell my world about all that was most personal and private in my life. I remember, quite clearly, responding with something closely akin to “My experiences are the only things that I am the authority on. Only I can speak of the intricate details and elements that surround my experiences. And if any part of what I have lived can be used by anyone to make their life easier, less painful, better understood, or more enjoyable or happier … then I will not exercise some sense of protective selfishness in denying that person, or those persons, a gentler, more satisfying, or joyful moment in their pilgrimage. This is all that I am capable of giving … and I will not hesitate in giving it.” My answer did not assuage her desire to cloister her life from the knowing of others. But that is her choice. You, Dear Reader, know mine.

That said, I am responding to the urging of Lady Muse … and giving, here, some of the details surrounding my earlier “The Magician’s Blanket” post.

Breakfast at our favorite Diner had been previously planned … and (after my morning run) it was there that I went (still wearing perspiration soaked sweat-clothes) and found my business Partner in a booth with two young ladies.

“Here we go again!” I thought. Knowing my Partner to be the most charismatic and accomplished “Gamer” that I had ever met (and he still, to this day, holds that ‘distinction’), there was no shock at seeing him fully engaged in his favorite sport.

He introduced me to the two … one, the glamorous and finely turned out woman who was obviously accustomed to being the center of attention … the other, a very pretty young woman who was the filling the role as “companion to the Looker” that I too was familiar with in my social and business engagements with my associate and friend.

So, here we were … the two of them happily playing their well-rehearsed, and finely polished, game with each other (something akin to two creatures strutting their finery at the peak of mating season … determining whether there would be a conjugal conclusion that would be chalked up as one more on their sizable scorecards) … and the two sidekicks who had heard and seen it all far more times than could be tallied.

She and I said little … quiet looks exchanged … smiles and rolling of eyes that said volumes of understood knowing.

Then the two leading characters in our little play decided to move the production to the apartment that the two girls shared. It seemed that they planned to move to a new address in the near future. Mister Mover (pun intended) suggested that he and I (my participation was an easily assumed given [in his estimation]) wanted to survey the size and scope of the proposed move (the furniture, and etcetera … not the unspoken, but well understood ‘move’ that both he and she were sparring around). Thus we left the diner. Mister Smooth and Miss Glamour in his new, sporty, and very trendy car … and (by default) the two attachés in the second car.

Much like two ‘Seconds’ at a duel or sporting event, She and I accompanied our ‘Star Players’ as they continued their jocular joust.

But this time … something new and unanticipated was happening ... the magic of a drawing bond between us. It was first evidenced by our gently, quietly, and quite naturally taking each other’s hand as we walked to the car. We attributed it to the cold and our need to share some warmth. It was so appropriate and right that we continued holding each others' hand throughout the ride to the apartment.

Then, as The Two continued their ongoing sport, the two of us sat next to each other on the earlier-mentioned sofa … and talked. I still remember (these 30+ years later) what we talked about. This unassuming and delicate creature enjoyed her weekends driving a huge, four-wheel-drive pickup truck in “mud-boggin” competitions. I was amazed! And appalled. The thought of people purposefully abusing and misusing equipment and/or machinery was something that I could not countenance. My Dad had programmed me to respect, care for, pamper, and always protect all things of mechanical or technical nature. I could not fathom someone going into a deep mud-filled swamp with a beautiful piece of finely engineered machinery and, with intent and forethought, try to see how much abuse and challenge they could get their truck to survive. So, we talked, at length, about every aspect of this avocation. She was as amazed at my concern for her truck … and for her personal safety and well-being. An invisible chamber, of private seclusion, formed around us, as we shared perspectives.

It was quite cold in the apartment … so we employed the blanket spoken of in the earlier post. Then, after a while of celebrating the silent, yet eloquent, communication that can be known in holding hands (something that I will yearn for ‘til my last breath) ... without words, a kiss.

The noise of silliness coming from the others became almost an embarrassment … so we pulled the blanket up … over our heads … and formed the magical cocoon that I have spoken of. The rest I have already shared. (Save our, eventually, agreeing that we should go upstairs and “survey the bedroom furnishings” in keeping with the advertised purpose of our being there.) [conspiratorial grin] The Two were so wrapped up in their game that they assumed that their sidecar parties were simply attending to the mundanities that fringed their superficial frolics. (And we quietly giggled our appreciation of their self-absorption.)

So there, Dear Friends, is what is oft referred to as “The Rest of The Story.”

When I received an unexpected invitation to be a Friend (on a social networking site) to a lovely young woman, who I met recently, I happily agreed. She had made a very notable impression on me at our meeting. Beyond her obvious beauty, there was an evident depth of character … and something that rang familiar about her. So, I visited her profile … and was moved by a stirring that was profound and not understood. This 'stirring' kept me awake all night, with a powerful force that was beyond my understanding. It was most unsettling!

Then, in the stillness of early morning … with my first pot of coffee … it all came back. It was a bit over thirty years ago … this moment in my past … but crystalline clear. And I began to understand the similarities in my new friend, which brought that past treasure into my present.

I had met the young lady in question at a gathering of a group of friends … in a place that was very active and energetic … and she was a still pond in the midst of an active sea. There was a depth that was neither presumptuous nor disattached about her. … just as that precious woman had quietly and oh-so-beautifully displayed on that morning … so long ago.

And, on that morning of my recollection, as I recognized who my new friend reminded me of, I was engulfed in the the tsunami of recall that washed over me. It was overwhelming! And, at this writing … four days later … I am still dealing with tears welling up in waves of tender emotion and remembering. Sweet tears that taste of delight and peaceful joy. What a gift!

So, there you are, Dear Reader and Friend. I know not what benefit may be known, by some unknown Individual, from these revelations from my Library of Memory. But, trusting in the wisdom of my unfailing Lady Muse, and in keeping with that life commitment expressed to my former wife, I lay it all out there for the use of whomever may find some encouragement, insight, understanding, or even entertainment, in it. For, ‘tis still true that “My experience is all that I have to offer this world that I live in.”

And I do so … in love. [smile]

Erdrich's "Advice to Myself"

LOUISE ERDRICH: [I’ve]” just got to be Erdrich. I can't do anything else. I'm going to read this, 'cause this is what I finally had to do. I had to give myself advice …”

Excerpted from: the transcript, of Bill Moyers’ interview of Louise Erdrich, found at … http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/04092010/transcript3.html ... and edited by John-Michael (in structure only [spacing, capitalizations, and punctuations] … no text altered)

Advice to Myself
Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.

Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.

Leave the black crumbs at the bottom of the toaster.


Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.

Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.

Don't even sew in a button.


Let the wind have its way … then the earth
that invades as dust … and then the dead,
foaming up, in gray rolls, under the couch.

Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.


Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzle ...
or the doll's tiny shoes …

Don't worry who uses whose toothbrush …
or if anything matches ... at all.

Except one Word to another … or a Thought.


Pursue the Authentic.

Go after it with all your Heart.

Your Heart, that Place
you don't even think of cleaning out.

That closet stuffed with savage mementos.


Don't sort the paperclips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner again.

Don't answer the telephone ... ever ...
or weep over anything that breaks.


Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator.

Accept new forms of life and talk to the dead
who drift in through the screened windows … who collect
patiently on tops of food jars and books.


Recycle the mail, don't read it … don't read anything
except what destroys the insulation
between your Self ... and your Experience.

Aristotle (pretty smart guy) on FRIENDSHIP

The ancients listed friendship among the highest of virtues. It was an essential element in the fully flourishing life. “For without friends,” Aristotle says, “no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.” Words worth remembering in a world of perishable “goods.”

According to Aristotle, friendship either is, or it involves, a state of Character, a Virtue. There are three kinds of friendship. These are based on pleasure in another’s company (friendships of Pleasure), or on usefulness in association (friendships of Utility), or on mutual admiration (friendships in Virtue). All are essential to the good life, and the best sorts of friends will not only admire each other’s excellence but take pleasure in each other’s company and find their association to be of mutual advantage. Here is a portion of Aristotle’s classic discussion.

From: The Nicomachean Ethics

"As the motives to friendship differ in kind, so do the respective feelings and Friendships. The species then of Friendship are three, in number equal to the objects of it, since in the line of each there may be “mutual affection ... mutually known.”

Now they who have Friendship for one another desire one another’s Good according to the motive of their Friendship; accordingly, they whose motive is Utility have no Friendship for one another really, but only insofar as some good arises to them from one another.

And they whose motive is Pleasure are in like case: I mean, they have Friendship for men of easy pleasantry, not because they are of a given character but because they are pleasant to themselves. So then, they whose motive to Friendship is Utility love their friends for what is good to themselves; they whose motive is Pleasure do so for what is pleasurable to themselves; that is to say, not insofar as the friend beloved is but insofar as he is useful or pleasurable. These Friendships are a matter of result; since the object is not beloved in that he is the man he is, but in that he furnishes advantage or pleasure, as the case may be.

Such Friendships are, of course, very liable to dissolution if the parties do not continue alike: I mean, that the others cease to have any Friendship for them when they are no longer pleasurable or useful. Now it is the nature of both pleasure and utility not to be permanent, but constantly varying: so, of course, when the motive which made them friends is vanished, the Friendship likewise dissolves; since it existed only relatively to those circumstances…

That then is perfect Friendship which subsists between those who are good and whose similarity consists in their goodness: for these wish one another’s good in similar ways; insofar as they are good (and good they are in themselves); and those are specially friends who wish good to their friends for their sakes, because they feel thus toward them on their own account and not as a mere matter of result; so the Friendship between these men continues to subsist so long as they are good; and goodness, we know, has a principle of permanence….

Rare it is probable Friendships of this kind will be, because men of this kind are rare. ... [ Note: With regard to the matter of 'rarity', it is worthy to note that, given the definitions of values inherent to Temperaments and Personality Styles (as identified by the “Myers/Briggs” methodology) those individuals given to the “Utility” and “Pleasure” motivations, as their most NATURAL and easily followed inclinations, make up approximately 85% of the general population. For these (the vast majority of the population) to seek the "Good" motivation requires some determined effort of Will.] ... Besides, all requisite qualifications being presupposed, there is further required time and intimacy: for, as the proverb says, men cannot know one another “till they have eaten the requisite quantity of salt together”; nor can they, in fact, admit one another to intimacy (much less be friends) till each has appeared to the other and been proved to be a fit object of Friendship. They who speedily commence an interchange of friendly actions may be said to wish to be friends, but they are not so unless they are also proper objects of Friendship and mutually known to be such: that is to say … a desire for Friendship may arise quickly but not Friendship itself."

_______________________________________

With the insights stated by Aristotle and restated countless times since then by innumerable others in various forms ... it should be clear to all that we do not all share the same hopes for, nor desires in, our friends. It is, then, my humble opinion that it might suite us better (and be far more fun), if we could celebrate the rare gifts in Friends that Life has given us; exercise the particular senses of 'taste' that satisfy our requirements for new friends; and avoid the easily available habit of condemning others for not living up to our unique set of expectations and/or qualifications for our "Friends."

I found ... in my personal quest to find a means for understanding (and accepting) the vagaries of those supposing to, at one moment, present themselves as Friend ... then assume themselves to be but passing Acquaintances ... that Dear Aristotle's observations were of great help. I offer them to You, Dear Reader and Friend, in the hope that your happiness and comfort will be similarly served.

Acceptance ... Respect ... Honor ... and Appreciation of each other - as we are - makes for a delightful world in which to celebrate the wonder of who we are. Just a thought ... [smile]


This item submitted with credit and thanks to the work of William J. Bennet in his "Virtues of Friendship and Loyalty." (A wonderful idea for a gift)

How Real?

There is always the remote chance that someone reading my thoughts, or engaging me in a bit of a chat, focused on our responsibility to the Moment, will question "How Real" my actual practice of what I profess, might be.

I am sharing today's living demonstration of just such a happening. (Mind you ... I would never offer my personal response as any sort of 'standard' ... only my own individual choice of "Muse satisfaction." [smile])

'Twas upon seeing a very familiar name on a list of fellow graduates from my high School. Good ol' reliable Muse whispered her conspiratorial "Lest she never know!" And I clicked on the "Send Email" icon.

The message speaks for itself ...

Hi [name withheld],

It has taken these many years ... and Life 'nudging' me through Mom's reminding me of the instance (she was always very fond of you,[and knows how much I cared about you]) ... for me to muster the courage to confess what caused me to allow our budding relationship to wither.

Please know that I was totally enchanted with you. And on that night (that you have probably completely forgotten by now) when I was taking you home in our family car, I stopped and told you hurriedly that I had to "check on the strange noise coming from the rear of the car." What I did not then ... and it has taken 'til now to ... have the courage to tell you, was that I had an undiagnosed problem with my bladder. I, in fact, had to frantically get out of the car and hide behind the open trunk, to deal with the fact that my bladder had failed me. Yep! I wet myself. Hence, when I got you home, I could not get out of the car and walk you to the door. My pants were wet. (Believe me, this is still painful to recall.) I was humiliated beyond words.

When I heard later that you Dad forbade you to see me again because of my demonstration of poor manners and disrespect, I was despondent. But it was too much for me to speak of. Even after the doctor diagnosed what he called "spastic colon", and remedied the temporary condition with some pills, I could not overcome my humiliation, and sorrow, to tell you how devastated I was at the loss of whatever our relationship may have held the promise of being (and have revisited that loss with remorse many times since.) I was truly in love with you. There! At long last, I have told you.

I have lived, for a long time, with the guiding life-navigating star of "if it holds the possibility of ever being an 'I wish I had' ... do not let the moment pass without doing or saying whatever holds that potential." If I had not let you know the truth about that miserable night ... it would forever remain an "I wish I had."

I truly hope that this strange and unusual note finds you basking in the fullest of this Christmas Season's joy and happiness. I remain, forever, your admiring Friend and Servant,

John-Michael

There ... now You, Dear Reader, know that I do (even in the most awkward and challenging of circumstance) honor my Spirit's claim on me. As bizarre and odd as this example may seem, (and I know that you cringed [with me] as you read it) I cannot deny Life's claim on me. Responsibility to the demand of the Gift of each moment is what drives me on. And I promise You that it is a joyfully satisfying and fulfilling path to follow.

Just listen ... then trust the result or response to the omniscient power of Life's unfailing Love. It NEVER blunders.

I love You.

World Peace

It is not so large … this World of mine.
Some would deem insignificant in Space and Time.
But it is the World, that I touch …
And is all of the World … to me … as such.

Mine alone is this chance to express,
All that is Kindness, and The Best.
Open, only to me, is this moment to show,
Expressions of Love and Compassion I know.

In this instant of contact, in our shopping …
Or, perhaps on the street, we pass.
My chance to say “I love you”
Only briefly, will last.

So I catch your eye, give you my smile …
Say “Forgive my intrusion, please.”
“I am aware and have noticed a way …
To appreciate You … and give My World … Peace.”

In Little, Tiny, Ways

I received, so very long ago, a plea from a Friend who was burdened and feeling overwhelmed by the immensity of Mankind’s currently demonstrated disregard for others. The meanness, cruelty, and abuse reflected in the news was discouraging her heart. “What hope is there? How can we make any difference?” her wounded spirit cried. So, today, I offer these two snippets, from my own past, as demonstration of some simple, easy, and readily available ways, in which we can reach out to the world that lives so closely with us.

My sensitivity, to this matter of Opportunities, in my immediate Personal World, came into play that day that I entered an elevator, in one of the up-scale office towers, in the mid-town business district. There amid an assembled group of up-and-coming ‘corporate wannabes’ was an elderly gentleman of very slight physical stature who (in contrast to the group of “G.Q. - Trendies" parading their fine “haberdasherie") was quite obviously “off the rack.” It was immediately obvious that the man was more than a little uncomfortable in these surroundings, and I was acutely aware of his discomfort. To add to the dynamic, the group around him were all much taller than he and looked down at him with more than just a physical air of disdain.

“Please forgive my intrusion, my friend” I began, (I love the gift, of this means of introduction … [Thank you Leo Buscaglia]) “but, if you will allow my intrusion, you are only one small adjustment from being perfectly tailored.” I then reached over without a moment’s hesitation and (as though I did this sort of thing as a routine matter) turned down the standing collar, on the back of the neck, of his (what was, in all likelihood, 'Sunday and Funeral intended') suit. After smoothing the wrinkles away, I declared “There you are Sir, quite dapper. And, if I may say so myself, perfectly ready to enjoy your lunch.” (For the elevator was on its way to the top-floor (Private Club [which, no doubt, added to his discomfort]) Restaurant.) The Gentleman looked up at me and said (to the accompaniment of the warmest and most gentle eyes imaginable) “You are from around here, aren’t you?” Knowing that he was trying to communicate, a felt sense of community, with me, I responded “Yes sir, you and I are a couple of Local Folk, and I am happy to know you.” He responded with a smile, and as he exited the elevator (exuding a newly-found sense of confidence and belonging) bade me a "good day." And it was, indeed, a good day.

In that same building, there was (across the opulent atrium, and at the top of the expansive bank of entrance escalators) a desk, for the use of the building’s Concierge. At this desk a young woman fulfilled the role of attending to the needs (some real, but far too many supposed) of all coming to that place to conduct business. Day after day I had observed this young Woman, as she greeted each passing person, with a genuine smile, that never wavered, nor faltered, no matter the lateness of the hour, or the crush of the masses.

Many were the times when I exited that 'conveyor belt' of Humanity to have my spirits lifted by her gracious “Hello.” Then, one day, for no particular reason, that I can now recall, that 'Little Voice' (within my spirit) said “She needs encouragement today.” No further discussion was required.

To the Floral Shop (around the corner from the Concierge Desk) I went. Having secured a small bouquet, I attached a Card, upon which I wrote a note, expressing my appreciation for her uplifting, and encouraging contributions, to my daily work life, and with a “Please forgive my intrusion” I delivered it to her and promptly took my leave. I have no idea what matters she was dealing with that day. There could have been any of innumerable difficulties that she was confronting, or none at all. The point is that none of that was my business. Mine was only the responsibility (to that Power that spoke to me) to reach out, in love ... in a caring, human, but unassuming manner. Herein lies the core of my addressing the World made available to me, with my own, intimate, and honest, Personal Voice ... as I have discovered it ... and learned to use it.

In any number of the smallest of ways, You ... and I ... and Love ... can change our world. You just wait. Just watch. You will see. We can do this thing! (And it is so much fun in the doing!) [Loving, Encouraging Smile]


IMAGES: Through the gracious courtesy of Ian Britton, FreeFoto.com

"Runaway Train" from Do-ing to Be-ing

“Every time that I have been here, you have instructed me to sit comfortably and then you have introduced your intended agenda …” I said to him, “Today, I would like for you to make yourself comfortable, and I am going to tell you what my agenda has been …” And I did. I told him about Her. I told him about “us”, and how we had become “us.” And this remarkable man (a gifted and accomplished Clinical Psychologist and University Professor), who had guided, coached, instructed, advised, listened to, exhorted, admonished, and cared about me, as my Psychologist and Friend, for four years … was thunderstruck.

“For all of these years, I have learned all about the make-up, the elements, the structure of You. Over that time I have witnessed you doing all of the 'right,' 'best,' and 'appropriate' things in your life. But this is the first time that I have ever seen you 'alive.’ The lights are on and you are 'at home.’ You have, prior to today, been a fully engaged Human … doing all of your life’s required and expected things. And now, for the first time, I see you as a complete Human Being.” I listened to his summary statement … and responded, “So, I have evolved from a “Human Doing”, to a “Human Being.” And we shared a mutual smile of acknowledgment and agreement.

Since that day, My Dear Reader, I have been focused on my responsibilities to that Being, that I now understand myself to have been wondrously created to be. And I have assumed the posture, that all of life’s required “doings”, of the “stuff” (the details required by the living of life), will be well and rightly taken care of, as a natural out-flowing from my moment-by-moment election ... my willful and knowing choice ... to be the most genuine and realistic Me, that I can honestly be. If I am Being the best John-Michael that I can be ... I needn't be focused on the doing of things. Those "things" will be done by someone else if I am not here to attend to them. But there is not ... has never been ... will never be ... anyone who can Be this funky individual that I have been so uniquely created to Be. Therefore, Dearest Friend, I must be about Being, and not sweat the Doings.

As Ghandi so beautifully put it, I “must be the changes that I want to see in my world. Hence the license tag on my vehicle that reads “justbeingme.” Just as my Email address is “justbnmebrown@juno.com", and this blog is “Just-Being-John-Michael" as my testimony to whomever may be open, and sensitive, to the message suggested there. For, My Dear Reader, that is what I was best created to be … Me. No other person can be this individual that I alone am. And Life holds no one else responsible for being all that I am capable of being … other than Me.

I went, that day, long ago, from that inhsightful Man's office alive, aglow, and being a functioning Me ... from the inside, out. He said that the energies, power, and force that She and I shared, reminded him of a “runaway train.” (And he mailed me a tape of a song so-entitled [which I still have and smile every time that I see it.]) That runaway train did as all runaway trains must do … it eventually surrendered to natural forces, circumstances, and elements … slowed … stopped … discharged its passengers, one at a time, at different stations, for them to pursue their own individual purposes. But I now write, and live, in the residual power of what I retain from that illumination, that life energy, and that sense of being that she and I discovered on our beautifully wild and wonderful train ride. And I will forever love and respect her, and all of my memories of that gift of our moments together.

Even better ... I can encourage You, Darling One, to whisper that question to yourself. "Am I being the person that is uniquely me? Or, am I doing all of the stuff ... fulfilling all of the expectations ... performing all of the roles ... that are imposed upon me by others?" It is my fondest hope that I can encourage you ... in this moment of quiet reflection ... to dare to see how truly wonderful you are. This is what I see when I read your comments ... visit your blog and read your revelations ... listen to various forms of expression of your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. I am aware (because I allow myself to be aware) of the "music" behind your words. And I want, ever so much, to give you a glimpse of the beauty that you can know ... if you will but permit yourself to dance a few graceful steps to that music ... the song of your Heart's yearnings.


To that end, I send this little note of personal reflection and experience to you. For, don't you know, I love You. Really! I do. [big ol' smile]

Why

The reasons for my compulsion to speak out, are few and simple. They are three, in number. And are both temporal, and spiritual, in nature.

Firstly, I am driven to make the world about me aware, of the wonder and perfection, of our diversity of unique natures. The recognition, acceptance, embracing, and celebration of the varied temperaments, personalities, and characters that are ours, with their incumbent gifts, peculiarities, and challenges, is my desire for all, with whom I have occasion to interact. Respect is the key concept that I hope to impart to a world given, all too often, to antagonism, condemnation, rejection, and, even, hatred for all who differ in belief, conviction, practice, skill, or persuasion. Respect for your Self just as you were so wondrously created … and for Others who were created with no less purpose and wonder.


Secondly, I desire to create an alternative environment of consideration, kindness, gentleness, and yes, love in the world about me. This I apply myself to achieving, not only by active practice of a spirit that communicates these qualities, but through the more aggressive efforts applied in vocabulary. By speaking out. By voicing the words of caring, noticing, appreciating, and loving. That word … love … is one that I incorporate into my consciousness and my expression whenever impressed by the guidance of that inner spirit that I permit to be influenced by what I will refer to as our common Creator. Common to all of us … neither gender, nationality, culture, politic, nor religion, specific. The Creator to whom I have surrendered my Spirit, and in whom I have invested my Eternal Self, is the Director of those thoughts, impulses, and inspirations that so happily encourage my expressions of appreciation, and love, for many with whom I interact daily.

And it is my hope and prayer that, in the wake of my life, I will leave a People who are comfortable with saying “Wow! You sure are different … and I love you without regard for our differences.” To have accomplished that, in any small way, will define my life’s efforts as a success.

Lastly, I am driven by my lingering awareness of the pain and unhappiness that has clouded so much of my life. And I will do whatever I can to spare you those miseries. The pain was borne of loneliness, and the unhappiness, a result of isolation due to the lack of a means of communicating the nature, desires, and feelings of my heart. The loneliness was a product of my innate nature being so out of the “norm” of that of the majority of the world around me. And the lack of ability to communicate the depths of my thoughts and feelings due to the absence of any mentor, teacher, model, or example to learn from and/or emulate.

So I now write with a constant desire to provide a flow of new vocabularies and illustrations from which I hope that you may glean a few ideas or concepts that give you comfort with some of your own feelings and thoughts. Feelings and thoughts that you have, heretofore, not had adequate means to acknowledge or adequately appreciate. And then to enable you to express and share those precious gems that you have inside of you with your own personal world. Thereby allowing you to enjoy the wonder of being You. And giving your sphere of acquaintances and loved ones the gift and delight of knowing, respecting, and enjoying all, of who You are, more fully.

These are the three purposes in my life … simple and clear. So, for those of you who have been asking “Why?” I hope that this gives some clarity to my reasons for my periodic notes and essays to you. That, and … the fact that I have chosen to love you.

John-Michael
(Penned: 01 September 2005)

In My Passing

In my Passing, I am aware of my Influences.
To bring Unity or to leave asunder;
Give Harmony or allow discord;
To leave a Smile, or disregard the frown.

In my Passing, I can control little.
Not my travel’s pace … but its Rhythm;
Not my environs … but my View;
Not destiny; but, most certainly, my Experience.

In my Passing, I will know.
Confused bewilderment … or satisfied Certainty;
Clashing cacophonies … or simple Truths;
Muddled confusions … or clarified Revelations.

In my Passing, however fleet or prolonged,
My life’s savor will be as sweet … or as bitter;
As filled with Delight … or as miserable;
Beneficial to, or neglectful of, each element touched …

In accordance with what I, in my Passing, choose …
With every Individual encountered,
In each circumstance brought my way;
To give, or take … embrace or refuse … engage or deny.

All is mine, to elect, in my Passing.
Such is the infinite Power of my free Will.
In my options selected, and choices made, I can leave
A rippling wake of Serenity and Gladness …
Or not.



I bid You, My Darling Friend and enduring Reader,
the most satisfying and accommodating of Life’s best …
In this NEW YEAR

(And, in passing, please remember that, through it all ...
I love You )

Sharing An Interview

Having been interviewed by a Contributor to a Web site that provides "timely, in-depth, trusted medical information, personalized tools and resources, and connections to a vast community of leading experts and patients for people seeking to manage and improve their health" ... I looked over the completed interview, and considered the possibility that some, of what was shared there, might be of some benefit to Readers of this site. So, with the blessings of the Interviewer, I am posting the complete interview here. I do hope that You, My Dear Reader, will find some idea or thought to be of use to you as an encouragement, consideration, or, perhaps, a provocation to further thought. I have deleted the name of the medical information site as well as that of the individual mentioned in the Interviewer's introduction to the interview. The interview is, otherwise, unedited.

How to Cope
When Your Adult Child has a Physical Disability

I was looking over the questions asked here at [DELETED] and I began to smile as I re-discovered a question from a lady named "[DELETED]." And just by the sweet nature of how she posed her question, there was no doubt in my mind that her moniker was quite accurate. She was worried about her adult son who had been diagnosed with MS. And although the title of her question was: "Can MS affect the ability to match clothing (plaids with stripes) and colors?" the true intent of her question was to be found in reading between the lines.

This was a mom who was worried about her son's disease and how he would manage the potential physical and mental challenges that Multiple Sclerosis could bring. I began to think about this disease from a parent's perspective. No matter how young or old your child is...they are always still your child. How does a parent cope when their child faces the daunting challenge of a physical disability? What is the best way to be of help?

In order to delve more deeply into these questions I have enlisted the help of fellow blogger and self help writer, John Michael. John Michael's extraordinary way of writing stems from having to face his own unique challenges including parenting a son who has cerebral palsy. You may find more of John Michael's insights by visiting his blog authentically entitled, "Just being John Michael." http://justbeingjohnmichael.blogspot.com/

Based upon your life experience, what comfort would you give to a parent who has an adult child who is facing physical challenges?

To begin with, please know that I do not, in even the most remote way, hold my opinions or ideas up as any kind of standard of measure or (God forbid) sort of rule to go by. They are, quite simply, my own perspective and individualized inclinations. That said, I can tell you (and any Parent reading) that my comfort with what Matthew (my son) and I share, in our partnership in life’s challenges, began with my acceptance of, the reality that we all … every living, breathing, struggling one of us, live with our own set of ‘disabilities’ and ‘handicaps.’

While Matt’s are more obvious and clearly pronounced than others’, I have accepted the fact of my responsibility to confront and manage my own … and to help him identify (in the most gentle and tenderly ways possible), and deal with his. I have, simultaneously, allowed my Self to be open to, and receptive to, the difficulties and frustrations in the lives of those whose life-paths intersect mine. And I discuss, with Matt, these obstacles, to ease-of-living, so that he can share, with me, an active appreciation, of the hurdles that beset others. We discuss possible ways that we can compliment and make easier the lives of Friends. And we have conversations centered around our responsibilities, as Human Beings, to the world around us. This has given him a sense of participation and worth, in caring for people along the way … and has (while not spelling out or focusing on his own set of Complications) allowed him to gain a sense of worth as a Care-Giver for others. It, also, takes the intensity of focus off of all of the daily irritations that his cerebral palsy unrelentingly visits upon him.

This “Mechanism” (if you will) has proven to be a ‘tool’ of some considerable worth in my set of ‘coping implements’ … for us both.

How emotionally difficult is it for a parent to see their son or daughter unable to do things that others may take for granted?

The “emotional difficulty” is compounded by the reality that (in Matt’s life) he does not possess the mental acuity to enable him to thoroughly process the complexities of his handicaps. While he is at a high level of what would be labeled as “trainable” (God! How I do hate those labels!) he is obviously vexed by his awareness of the areas of life and living that are part of the experiences of those around him … and his inability to participate or be included in them.

I then, accept the responsibility (inasmuch as I am able) to “feel” and “sense” these vexations for and with him … then translate them into means of communicating to his level of comprehension and appreciation of them … to him. All the while wanting (at my emotional core) to curl up in a corner and weep for him. Emotional exhaustion and an ever-present sense of being emotionally spent has, consequently, been my life-companion.

How does a parent express concern for their child's well being without coming across as overly intrusive or pushy?

In a word … you can’t! Yep! That’s about it. My experience has been that if I am willing to let Individuals or Organizations … whose role or mission in life is to ’administer’ the programs or services (I use the word advisedly) that are intended, by well-meaning Initiators, to reach out to the needs of those who find themselves less than optimally functional … operate at their own discretion or with their own set of priorities … my son will suffer neglect and even some measure of abuse.

Yes, I know that that sounds harsh. And I do wish that it was not the fact. But it has proven, over and over, to be the Reality. But … when I take the active, involved, persistent, and (in the view of some) “overly intrusive or pushy”, I have found that I can cut through the layers of superficial and uncaring individuals and programs … and mine the nuggets of wonderfully committed and professionally devoted gems who give of themselves willingly and thoroughly, for the benefit of those to whom they have dedicated their lives and careers.

So, I make Matt the “Good Guy”, and take the mantle of “Enforcer” upon myself, for his benefit. This has worked out to be most successful and beneficial for all concerned. It gets past the layers of incompetence and wasted time and efforts quite quickly. And gets us to the “good stuff” with a minimum of wasted energy and emotion (which, by virtue of living with this situation, are already in short supply.)

What is the best way for a parent to offer help?

I think that this is most effectively accomplished by becoming a living and breathing part of my son. I have permitted my Self … nay, demanded of my Self … to be … actually and legitimately become an element of my son’s Being. I feel what he is unable to feel. I think what he hasn’t the capacity to think. I sense what he wants to sense, but can not get through the haze, of his brain’s unwillingness to cooperate, to sense. I offer tears when appropriate … whilst not giving in to self-pity. I offer determination … where he is not equipped to be determined for himself … whilst guarding against insensitivity or lack of empathy. All the while recognizing that this commitment to Matt is made at the expense of other life-demands that must be sacrificed (willingly … even happily … and without remorse of bitter regret) for his ultimate benefit.

All too often, I have known parents who let it be known that they are some figure of “Noble Sacrifice” and are ’giving up’ something for their child. Horse hockey! (That’s about as ’cleaned up’ as I can make that. [smile]) Firstly, their child is constantly aware of this added burden upon their shoulders. They hear and sense their parent’s bemoaning of their ’plight’ in life. And that child has this ’gift’ to deal with, in addition to all of the garbage that is incumbent with whatever life has given them.

No! My son’s handicap is something that I accepted, at the very outset (when he was diagnosed, at less than one year old), as Life’s enabling me to grow and develop into far more than I ever would have, otherwise. I had to become more of whatever a man can be … to be what my son needs his father to be. I accepted Life’s challenge to develop Character and Strength that I would never have known without the demands and needs of my son’s circumstances. Matthew has only sensed and known the reality that I am indebted to him for my life’s flourishing. And he has a comfortable and calm assurance that I appreciate him … far beyond his cognitive abilities to reason out those truths.

These are my own perceptions of the best ways that I can be of help to my son … and simultaneously, my Self. Best summed up in ... give. (Which, I suppose, is the best way to benefit any relationship.)

Can you give any advice to the parent who has been seemingly pushed away after offering help to their adult child?

This question stings.

Three years ago, Matthew phoned me and asked me to cease phoning him, and/or seeing him. “When you call or we are together, it upsets Mom. And that makes me nervous. And I can’t deal with it.” he said. Understanding his Mom’s temperament and personality (which I have [Thank Goodness] taken a good deal of time and invested a considerable amount of effort in studying), I understood what he was saying. So, I agreed. And said, “Goodbye.”

Because I have an absolute certainty that Matt’s ability to make that phone call to me was born of all that we accomplished over the thirty two years prior to the call … and I know the stresses and tensions that he was referencing (after twenty years of marriage to his Mom) … and my certainty that I can look Life full in ’the face’ and give an honest account of my Self, and my having given absolutely all of all that I had of Me, to him … I have accepted, and respect, his choice.

For me to demand some form or sort of “Parental Rights” in maintaining contact with Matt, would be an exercise in selfishness. It would be at the expense of his comfort and tranquility. And it would serve no purpose other than negative ones, including putting him in the center of a tug-of-war that would render no possible benefit of value. So, I have had no contact with the Son who I spent every week-day, of every year, after he ’graduated’ from school (9 years) … for nearly three years now. Hence the “sting.”

In your experience of parenting your own child who has a physical disability, what was the hardest aspect for you?

The loneliness.

What gave you the greatest joy in parenting your son?

The day that he looked at me and said “My brain doesn’t cooperate sometimes.” It was a bitter-sweet moment in which he attained the level of acknowledging his challenges. This represented a heartbreak in our joining of awareness … and the joy of his readiness to deal with some of his own frustrations.

Last thoughts?

Life is … ultimately and beautifully .. GOOD!

Life Sculpture

a poem
by
George Washington Doane

( Born 27 May 1799; died 27 April 1859 )



Chisel in hand stood a sculpture boy
With his marble stock before him,
And his eyes lit up with a smile of joy,
As an angel-dream passed o'er him.

He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,
With many a sharp incision;
With heaven's own light the sculpture shone, ...
He'd caught that angel-vision.

Children of life are we, as we stand
With our lives uncarved before us,
Waiting the hour when, at God's command,
Our life-dream shall pass o'er us.

If we carve it then on the yielding stone,
With many a sharp incision,
Its heavenly beauty shall be our own, ...
Our lives, that angel-vision.

In response to the 'comment' (see below, right) of my Dear (and very insightful) Friend, 'Lime,' I gave this work some additional consideration. And to free the fuller, potential beauty, that lies within the metaphorical message of this sweet poem ... I offer these thoughts.

While it is so true that some of my most non-compliant characteristics require the severe application of Life's lessons ... that would be akin to the chiseled blows of the stone sculptor ... I am ever-so grateful for the majority, of my life-experience, that is far more in harmony with the creative forces, of the Painter or Sculptor who works with the more-malleable clay.

To have experiences applied to my development with the soft strokes of Life's lovingly applied brush-stroke, is a joy that I eagerly anticipate as I rest in the assurance that the canvas of my Being is taking on a continually improved and more satisfying presence. And to sense the addition of an insight or perspective, as a fresh bit of clay ... to have it tenderly and confidently applied to my willingly submitted form, as I choose to accept its modification of my previous Self ... in complete faith in the generous intent of The Creator ... is always an exciting new adventure.

Thus, when those less-compliant elements of my more-rigid Self require the well-aimed stroke of an occasional chisel blow ... I know that the unfolding work of Life's Designer is always directed toward that 'angel-dream' that will be the Masterpiece of my completed life. It is to this end that I willingly submit my Self to all of Life's artful workings.

I do hope that my little contribution, in no way lessens the impact of this lovely bit of poetry ... but will, instead, allow You, My Darling Reader, to enjoy a more satisfactory enjoyment of it.