Leisa A. Hammett

Special Friends

In a moment's breather, I stood behind the counter and surveyed the packed house. That's when I saw her down at the counter's end where she stood scanning the choices of appetizers before her. She'd arrived sometime during the night's hustle at my daughter, Grace Goad's, solo exhibition reception at The Artery Gallery in Greensboro, NC, this past Saturday. She was an young adult and I knew, that like Grace, she was special. I came from behind the counter and introduced myself. She told me her name and came with me willingly when I asked her to walk over and meet Grace.

And then. It happened.

I've only experienced one of these magical moments, as a curious bystander, maybe three times in Grace's life. Several around me saw it Saturday night and felt the heart-opening energetic spark that occurred the minute Grace and the young woman locked eyes. It was as if the moment they met, their eyes simultaneously lit up, exchanging sparks of energy. Their faces followed suit, lighting up and their smiles matched. All at the same time, Grace got up from the stool where she was perched and moved toward the young woman and stretched out her hand for a shake. With their countenance, it was if they were saying: "I know you." To behold, it was bedazzling. Precious. Sacred-like.

I remember the first time I witnessed one of these magical moments. It was in our special needs dentist's office. A family walked in with one of their two adopted sons with autism. I would, 10 years later, profile this special family in my first book, From Heartache to Hope, middle tennessee families living with autism. Christopher was about 14 at the time, Grace only around 3. He came into the waiting room and Grace saw him, stood up and immediately walked to him, just as she did Saturday night with the young woman--as if drawn to him (and her) like a magnet.

Standing nearby, having witnessed this connection in the dentist's office, Grace's father, I and Christopher's mother, all three then looked into each other's watering eyes. Like Saturday night, we knew something special had occurred. We didn't know what exactly. Both times, we bystanders were just that. Akin to aliens witnessing contact with another life form. I guess that sounds crude, perhaps. But WE were the aliens observing them, the special ones making contact on some other level, in some other language and form of communication. Something. Special.

The first time I witnessed one of these connections, from one person with special needs to another, it was  back when autism had begun to rise in incidence but then still capped at 1 in 1,000 and not today's 1 in 88. I asked an autism mother-mentor friend of mine if she's witnessed such. Yes, she had. It was the first time her son ever met another young person with autism.

There was a shaman there the night of Grace's reception. I'd met him before during a previous trip. He and his partner knew the young woman and her family. We agreed: it was as if two light bodies were connecting on an energy plane. One higher than our own.

And, yeah. I totally get that this is woo-woo speak for many readers. Still, others will get it. And to all of us I say: there's so much that our finite minds don't understand. And maybe part of it is why so many special people have come to live amongst us at this time. To be continued....

Photo: The artist in one of her many shining moments during Saturday's solo reception.

GraceArt Weekend Happenings

Cloning oneself is necessity for our community during April, which is national Autism Awareness Month. It's also the threshold of gotta-get-outside-and-play spring events, cool retreats, and the Nashville Film Festival, and, of course, all things autism. Conferences, fun events, awareness-out-the-wazoo, and, our fave--art exhibits. So, what's a parent to do? Well, by the time some of you read this, Grace and I'll be on a jetplane to Greensboro, NC, for her weekend solo art exhibit there at The Artery Gallery. Today is also the exhibit reception for the Good Purpose Gallery's "Shifting Perceptions, Art of Autism" show in the Massachusetts's Berkshires. Grace is one of nine featured international artists with autism. (wOOT!) Have a great weekend everyone! More shows, more conferences, more details coming....

A Nashville "Author First, Autism Second" April Book Debut! wOOT!

THIS is what it's going to take folks! Especially here in state disAbility-services poor, Tennessee: entrepreneurship, as demonstrated by young adult Leo Kennedy, who's written his first book, Devin and the Greedy Ferret (http://www.devinandthegreedyferret.com.) YAY, Leo! Here's an interview with this exceptional young adult, who makes it clear, he's an author first, and secondarily, has autism. Yes! Leo! Yes!:

 

So, what am I talking about when I write "This is what it's going to take?" People, we have 500,000 youth with autism, and possibly up to 700,000 people total (including autism) who have disAbilities, and who are fast-approaching the perilous precipice of young adulthood with diminishing services within the next decade. We can wait until Jesus or the cows come back or create it ourselves! And I'm so encouraged that people like Leo and his special family (proud to be friends with his very smart and creative mother, Nancy,) are thinking creatively and outside the box. Way to go! (And you go and order Leo's book now!) Support #local #entrepreneurship #socialEnterprise #disAbility #autism #authors #artists !!!

MotherStrong [Special for MusicCityMoms.net]

Today I'm back over at MusicCityMoms.net. I'm talking about the labels heaped on special needs children and more specifically, their moms. And, then, what's the difference between. You. And. Me?

Join me in considering the difference...or lack thereof. Click here.Thanks!

Guest Posting @ VUMC: Typically Developing Peers Learning Alongside Differently Abled

I'm stealing this story. Totally. It's a story of a mother and father of a child with a milder disAbility that attends a public school "blended" classroom of students, some of whom have more significant disAbilities and some who are typically developing. [Come, follow me, click here, to read the happy ending of this sweet tale that's happening more and more everyday inside our largely public school classrooms.] See you there. :)

Resurrection [A Partial Easter Re-post]

 

"Happy Resurrection from Fear to Love, from grief to joy,

from ego to Field, from separation to Unity. You are Loved

and kept in the Light."

Photo & quote originally published last, and a much warmer Easter, April 8, 2012. An Easter message emailed to me while I was in South Carolina, from my spiritual teacher, Ken Wheaton.

Me or Her?

"I know there's a lesson here." I realized there was a lesson in the frustrating experience I was having and that realization came just as I said those words. It took me a while and a talk with my spiritual teacher, to whom I said those words, to know the object of the lesson:

Surrender. Priorities. Nurture.

All of those three things are particularly difficult for special needs mothers, I believe. We find ourselves too often easily caught in a tailspin, a whirlwind, a vortex of challenges associated with our children's disAbility. Obstacles which are frequently beyond our control. Systems designated to serve but often succeed in wounding both us and our children. Family dynamics. Social quagmires. Surrender? Yeah, sometimes we must let go to be at peace. Like that St. Francis prayer: give me the wisdom to know the difference of the things I can change and those I cannot....(Paraphrased.)

Priorities? How, when it all screams equally to be done yesterday?!

And that's where nurture comes in. Sometimes we have to put ourselves first, making our care our priority.

Part of that challenge of surrender, priorities and nurture comes from the survival of our very mother-spirit. Who are we as women? Not just as mothers. Who are we as individuals? And what do we crave to feed our hungry souls? And how are we going about serving that necessary urge?

For me, it's creativity. Yeah, this blog is a platform for my books, for my daughter, for our autism/disAbility community, for my social cause(s). But it's also a sheer indulgence for me. And for that no apology is offered forth. This is an exercise in creativity and fulfillment for me.

The next step is another book. The previous falls were times of adjustment and moving. So, the last two springs have gone something like this: Mondays, GraceArt. Tuesdays, my spiritual teacher. Wednesdays, the blog. Thursdays my home/office. Fridays, the book. And, the book, that's the one that's been getting shortchanged.

Like this morning when I got myself all in a dither about the images that had not gone through--in dozens of attempts over more than a month--to send them to our solo exhibition gallery in another state. WTH! I've done this hundreds of times during my daughter's art career, etc. I finally surrrendered. The kind co-owner was going to take apart the frames and photograph Grace's art for their publicity flyer. I could have educated myself on how to send a Zip file. I could have figured out how to release the available images from Flickr. Easy for you to say, maybe. I'm tech-challenged. I let go. I meditated and the answer came: send them via Facebook. I did. Problem solved.

And two-and-a-half hours had evaporated. And had I figured out the techy stuff, more would have vamoosed. Precious hours pre-designated for the book. The lesson was to surrender. Put important things on the backburner and work on me, my book, my creative nurture. I have no regrets about those two-and-a-half hours. I act as my daughter's agent, it was part of the job. But now there's the job of tending to ME.

It's not a Me or Her question here. It's both of us. As difficult as it may be. It's a matter of spirit survival. 

Kindness of Strangers

I walked to my car, keys in hand, my vision blurring with the moisture of tears. A woman had come up behind us in the checkout line and bumped the counter, causing her soup to slosh and spill a dollop. Busy with my order, the clerk didn't notice. So I offered to hand her the rag on the counter before me. She appreciated the gesture, thanked me, wiped her hand and then noticed my daughter standing beside me smiling widely at her. "Hi!" she said to Grace and returned her smile and held it. "Are you having a good day?" "Yes," Grace replied. The woman continued the banter a moment more.

It's most everyday that those who see my daughter recognize she's "different." Truth is she's pretty and has an infectious smile. It doesn't always catch though. Some people stare at her oddity. Some seem fearful. Others, smile back and then give me a wink or a knowing look.

After some analysis of those surprise tears that never spilled, I realized why they came on so quickly. It was how the woman took the time to stop. To acknowledge the humanity behind the tall, child-like, young woman beside me.

That. Felt. Good. Thank you, Stranger, for your kindness. I needed that. We needed that.

Grace? She'll go on being happy. She's natured that way. Blessedly. Me? I'm not blissfully ignorant of all the ways the world perceives my daughter. A dousing of kindness? That's appreciated on any given day.

A Marriage Ends: Is it a Failure, or a Liberation?

A hint of chlorine perfumed my daughter as we left the Y. Zippered and snapped into Gortex, flannel and down--a wool beret on my head, a hoodie on hers--we stepped out into the black night of Friday. A flash of memories streaked before my mind's eye. A deja vu. We've left this Y, the one in the westernmost suburb of town, many other Friday nights, just like this one. Only, two-and-a-half years ago, I left this area I'd called home for 16 years for what I thought was forever. I was marrying up, supposedly, and moving into a posher part of town.

A sick feeling began to seep up from my gut, the third chakkra. I start to fondle words like "failure," "embarrassment." A slide show projected faces of folks here that I'd run into recently. Folks I hadn't seen since I left. Their mouths gaped open and their eyes registered shock and then confusion when they learned I am back. Already.

"STOP!" I yell within to the voice. It is the voice of my Ego. The same voice that I allowed to drive and fake and addict me to a relationship that proved not to be what it first appeared while my true self, my spirit, my consciousness cried out "NO! DON'T!"

"The Ego will kill you, Leisa!" The refrain from my spiritual teacher rebounds in the echo chamber of my mind.

The Ego that on that cold, damp, March night was kicking and punching me as my thoughts crumpled me as if I'd dropped into a crouched position on the ground, hands and arms up alongside my head to protect myself. The same Ego that delivered the fierce kicks and wild swings is the same one that also, at other times, strokes and puffs me.

I didn't understand those cautioning voices back then. Confused, I continued into the relationship that felt so right in some ways, despite the truth-telling of my gentle, knowing soul whispers. I continued because I was a singed moth driven to the flame because that was how love was supposed to feel. The only way I'd known. Love that began with my father and repeated again and again throughout my life.

So, I beat back the voice on that cold, dark night. I told it to shut up and I sat on the lid and held it down until it did. And then, I told myself the truth:

This. That. Was not failure. To leave was liberation. It took courage and tractor-trailor-sized portions of guts. The enormity of that so-called failure finally awakened me. My adversity was opportunity for blessed change, awareness.

So, failure? No. Liberation? Yes.

Yes.

One More Sip of Tea: A Series Addendum

Just when I thought it was over....When I wrote this blog post series on tea, I thought I was a bit nutty. That no one out here besides me cared. (Although I knew the later was not true, just not sure any of my readers cared.) Thanks for the comments on the blog and Facebook saying you did, were interested and were learning.

I'm back to share another story on the healing power of tea. I shared in Part II, a couple of my "go-to" tea cold remedies. And for the drinking readers out there (ha,) you know that sipping tea is synonymous with slowing down a bit and take a moment's breather. At least. But, for as many years I've been drinking tea, I didn't discover the truly de-stressing powers of the hot beverage until the last half-dozen years.

Last Wednesday morning was stressful. Grace had an appointment with Social Security to claim benefits because she is now an adult with a disAbility. I barely got out the door with any breakfast, let alone tea. But, I did have the sense to brew what I was craving: chamomile. Good choice. Starting when I was pregnant with my now adult child, I have learned to listen to what my body craves--down to certain vitamins and minerals (it helps to know what foods have these properties). So, that rush-rush, stressful meeting morning, that craving--it was probably my body's intuitive way of saying: "Take some chill-out tea for this venture. You'll need it!"

I was nervous about the meeting as at nearly at the last minute, I didn't think I'd done all I should have to prepare and I'd heard so many horror stories of the process. (Long, long story.) And, funny, as I write that, I think it sounds awful lot like the process of entering the school systems with a child who's recently been diagnosed with a disAbility. Perhaps I was not taking my own advice here. The game has changed and it's a lot more bureaucratic now with a lot less relationships to be formed by fewer people delivering less services. And, who ever heard of a governmental office being warm and fuzzy?!

I digress.

It was Wednesday following a long-holiday weekend, with an extra day tacked on for Grace to go to the beach with his father and grandmother. She got back in the night before. Our appointment was at 9 that next morning. Okay: be early. But, being early meant we stood outside in 30 degrees temps--Grace with remenants of a cold--for those 15 minutes we showed up before our appointment. Out came the Teavanna mug with steaming chamomile. Sip. Sip. Warm. And then, midway through the interview, sip some more. And that's when I noticed that medicinal effect that I'd known of for more than two decades but only in the last half-dozen actually felt. So, remember: it's takes good tea. A fresh variety. Brewing according to directions. No wonder I never experienced the benefits of chamomile's calm when I was buying less tasty brands; purchasing them, unknowingly, old, sometimes; using less than stellar (microwaved) water and letting my cup get cold.

I'm glad I've learned these little tips over recent years because that day, that tea in the middle of that interview with a government bureaucrat, was the equivalent of a delicious yoga pose, a shoulder massage or maybe a hit of Xanax (or so I hear of the later).

May you also savor the joys and find your little oasis in a good cup of tea. Life is beginning to bloom on  beloved bare branches, but March, here, has started out fickle with snow, cold and warm and back to cold again. And right now? I'm sipping chamomile and lavendar. Ahhh. Thanks for reading!

Tea series I, II & III.