Amazing!!

There is a saying, "Everything happens for a reason." 

I believe that Madeleine Kate Beacham happened in this world to remind us of the true meanings of kindness and love.  And last night, I couldn't help myself, but to smile as I watched my beautiful daughter sing her heart out to her talent choice, "Welcome to New York" by Taylor Swift. 

When we got home last night, she asked me, "Mom, am I still Miss Amazing?"  I told her she is and will always be Miss Amazing. I cannot help but sob when I think of the ways that my Maddie has defied so many odds in her short little life--and yet she remains so happy and so authentically kind and full of love.  It has been an exhausting 16 years to navigate Maddie's health concerns.  But the flip side of having Maddie in my life is that I have the gift, the joy, the grace of continually being in the presence of a being who is pure and will always possess a purity that most of us merely try to emulate, but fall short of due to our humanity.

I am so grateful to be able to associate with people like Rebecca Ford, and her amazing entourage--volunteers, student escorts and so many more that make Tooele's Mr. & Miss Amazing Pageant happen every year now for five years!! 

If you missed the pageant last night, you missed stories of unbelievable triumph over life threatening health issues; and you sure did miss multiple, truly heart melting moments and pee your pants laughter—There simply was not a dull moment because these contestants are FUNNY and REAL and they are each AMAZING—as are the mommas, dads and other caregivers who continue to care for and love them!! 

At the end of the evening, joyful tears filled my eyes as I watched how my sweet Maddie genuinely wanted to hug every contestant she crowned and handed a staff to.  She has so much love!  She handed over her throne gracefully as she carefully crowned the new Miss Amazing 2015, Amber Bailey.  Maddie's Mr. Amazing 2014, Joshua Curtis, whose incredible talent was playing the bass crowned Travis Graves as this years' Mr. Amazing. For their talents, Amber did a dance and Travis sang.  Congratulations Amber and Travis!!!

This pageant is truly one of the beautiful, heart-melting, inspiring and amazing experiences in my life.  I am grateful to witness the simplicity and unpretentiousness of such amazing souls who are in it.  I wish to cheer on and thank the stewards of these beautiful souls--the mommas, dads, and caregivers who choose to protect, care for, advocate for, and see to the safe, healthy, happy passage these amazing souls deserve.  It is not a job for the faint of heart.  It is a job I feel inspired to write about.

Here are a few pics from last night. Enjoy….

Mr. & Miss Amazing 2014:
Joshua Curtis and
Madeleine Kate Beacham

Maddie singing "Welcome To New York"
by Taylor Swift

Mr & Miss Amazing 2014 & 2015

Mr. & Miss Amazing 2015:
Travis Graves & Amber Bailey

Entertainment

Did you know schnauzers are "huntin' dawgs??"

I didn't either until this past Easter morning.  Every year, when the Easter Bunny comes to our house, he loves to hide eggs for Maddie to hunt.  He hides them all throughout the house and Maddie has to go searching for them. 

This year proved to be no different than any other year, with the exception that there were LOTS and LOTS of eggs-- so many so that Maddie finally just hiked up her nightgown and made a makeshift bowl with the material in the front and started filling it up.  I was giggling because she just kept saying, "Wow, mom, he brought sooo many eggs.  I must have been really good."  ("Or E.B. just forgot which house we live in," I thought to myself.) 

Finally, the hunt seemed to wind down.  Maddie returned to the front room, where she dumped the contents of her nightgown onto the table and began inspecting her booty.  I continued to grin as I watched her shake her head in disbelief at how much candy she had just scored. 

As I sat watching Maddie, I could see out of the corner of my eye, Zoe, our mama Schnauzer, creeping slowly into the front room, with her ears pinned down—dead ringer for, "Hopefully, no one will notice that I'm feeling guilty about something I've just done."  "Mamaaa?" I asked.  Zoe stopped dead in her tracks and dropped a Hershey's chocolate egg wrapped in bright pink foil out of her mouth onto the floor and then froze.  Maddie busted out laughing, and I followed suit.  Well that must have given Zoe the 'all-clear' because she leaned down to take the egg back into her mouth.  

I jumped up, "No, no, no," and scooped up the egg before Zoe could retrieve it.  Laughing, I patted her head, and said jokingly, "Good little hunting dog." 

In the mean time, my sweet daughter decided she had so much candy, she was going to share it.  So as she set out to go to each of our neighbor's homes, I went up on my balcony, outside my room to watch as she proceeded to knock on their doors, and offer them Peeps and chocolate eggs.  As she segued from one house to the next, she reported up to me what people opted for, or when--as unbelievable as it seems, "they didn't take any!!"  Like what fool would turn down Peeps or chocolate??!!

As I'm cracking up at my daughter, the door-to-door Easter candy peddler, out walked Mama Zoe onto the balcony with another Easter egg in her mouth!  She dropped it at my feet.  This time the tin foil had teeth marks engraved in it.  So I couldn't tell if Mama Zoe was getting braver or if she simply wanted me to remove the wrapper for her.  

When Maddie finally returned home from her quest to share her treasures with the neighbors, I told her how Zoe must really be part retriever--and, again, I patted Zoe on the head, this time saying with a thick Suuthen drawwwal, "Yup! Seems we got us here a reeal huntin' dawg!"  Maddie threw back her head and laughed and mimicked me as she patted Zoe on the head, too.  Then Maddie looked at me and asked incredulously, "Where is she finding these, mom?" 

Honestly, I couldn't figure it out either, because Maddie had already spent a good part of the morning thoroughly probing the house.  I even followed her during one of her final sweeps, and being that I've been around some twenty-nine years (give or take a few),  I've seen most all of E.B.'s hiding places.  But because we were so perplexed by Zoe, we decided to peruse the house one more time.  It kind of felt like a Winnie-The-Pooh story adventure, what with Maddie, me, Mama Zoe, and Harley (I think he decided he wanted in on some chocolate action, too.) all trekking room by room, searching high and low for anymore rogue Easter eggs. 

After an intense and thorough search, we finally satisfied our minds that we’d located every egg.  So, we retired to the couch.  I was pooped.  Maddie was wired—perhaps it's plausible a plethora of Peeps caused the problem.  Maddie kept asking me about E.B. and, “How does he go to all those child’s houses in one night, mom?”  Tired of the questions, and knowing it really won’t matter what I say, I respond, “Sometimes he gets Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy to help him.” 

Silence.

Ahh, bliss.  Sometimes it pays to fabricate false truths. 

And just when I’m about to drift off to a nice Sunday nap, Maddie busts out laughing again.  I open my eyes to see Zoe with—you guessed it—another chocolate egg in her mouth!!!  And that’s the day we learned that schnauzers are true huntin’ dawgs.  I think I’m gonna ask my broker, Steve if he’ll take me on his next pheasant hunt and see how she does….

Why I write...

I am a woman. So naturally, I possess the gift of creativity.  For me, creativity is going to the heart of who I am and allowing what is there to blossom.  It is daring to be seen and heard without reverence to the rules.  It allows me to be ridiculous, candid and genuine—without judgment and with compassion.  Creativity occurs when I hold a space in my heart for that which is innocent and completely dependent upon me to allow it to safely explore new beginnings.  Creativity is about letting go of fear and intentionally offering the purity that resides deeply inside me. Creativity is knocking at my door; and I am not sure how far I want to let it in...for when I do, I have a responsibility to entertain it, to respond to it.

As a woman, one of my creative roles is to give birth. So I write to give birth to the voice inside me. I write to know my spirit's wisdom and to make sense of my life. When I take time to write, and weed through the jabber and confusion in my head, I become connected with the truth that resonates in my heart. Each time I sit at my computer and allow my fingertips to begin their dance across the keyboard, a harmonious rhythm is created—and a conversation with me is begun—one I could never have with another because they don't know all my secrets, hopes and dreams—and thus could never be as authentic as I can be with my paper.

I write because words matter.  And because in between their spaces and pauses are silences where truths can become known to us, if we listen.  I write to remember and reflect.  I write to articulate how my journey has led me to become the person I am today. I write with hope that my choosing to create and share my creation will cultivate connection, both with the Divine and with others.

Compassion

I have been told multiple times that I should write a book about "Being Maddie's Mom." I have written about some of my experiences as her mother in my journal; and until now, only in my journal. There have been many private and painful moments where I have felt I couldn't share them--either because they hurt too much or because of fear of judgment that my own feelings were wrong to feel. This is silly because logically I know that our feelings aren't right or wrong--they just are. And if we are truly healthy we allow ourselves to go "through" these emotions. However, there is a part of me that has been so unforgiving of my own humanity. There are moments that I haven't begun to write about because I simply cannot go there yet and some I am still trying to make sense of their purpose in my life. But that book isn't going to be written by leaving those journal entries hidden away. So today I am commencing a new beginning: a journey to unearth these writings and to write even more.

Today, I am simply picking a starting point--where I can begin to weave the individual threads (experiences) into a tapestry that represents the complexity, the richness and the colorful hues of the last eleven years. There may not seem a rhyme or reason to the threads introduced, but I am convinced that, if allowed to unfold, a picture will be unveiled and a story will be told.

The following is a journal entry dated January 4, 2008. It just happened to be the first journal entry I picked today to review. I decided to peruse no further. I did so because I was surprised by my own lack of recall about how long I had been trying to deal with the most recent episode of depression in my life. 2009 was undoubtedly the most horrible year of my life. And I was never so happy to see a year come to an end. But when I looked at the date of this journal entry, I was shocked to see written evidence that I had been in denial about how long things had been so bad; apparently 2008 was the beginning of the crescendo into the chaos of 2009. It was also evidence that we are not alone and that small miracles grace us daily.

Journal entry dated January 4, 2008:
Our lives are reflected to us in the most unexpected times and places. Today I was standing in an aisle of a health store looking with desperate hopefulness for a supplement that would help me in my plight to find some hormonic harmony in my life. A woman asked me if I needed any help. Boy was that the wrong thing to ask. I started in spilling my guts; part of my brain was going, “Here she goes again with her blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.” and the other half saying, “Let her do this; this is her process. She is trying.” My brain banter was interrupted by the sound of my own voice saying, “I’ve been doing some research on PMDD (premenstrual dysmorphic disorder); do you have any Vitex?” “Of course. This way.” I followed her. I don’t remember specifically what I said, except that it was about being a mom to a special needs child and being overwhelmed and trying to take better care of myself. As I talked, she nodded and I watched tears form in her eyes and I found myself saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” As I said it, I wiped my own tears. She shook her head and said, “I understand how you feel. I have a special needs daughter, too. I am a single mom, too. And I had to make the decision to put her in a home. I couldn’t handle her anymore."

I fought to maintain my composure, but my tears were flowing more readily now. My heart ached with compassion for this woman I didn’t even know. How is it that I had come to meet this stranger who had dealt with the very issue I'd been avoiding considering about my own daughter this very week? “I can’t imagine how much courage that must have taken for you to make such a choice.” I said softly to her. She half-smiled, with a painful hint of something I wasn’t sure of…maybe shame or guilt, or simply just hurt.

We had made our way to the cash register, where she told me my total. As I handed her my credit card, she handed me a box of Kleenex. I took two. I really wanted three, but I was practicing restraint. As she handed me the receipt I was to sign for her, she helped herself to a Kleenex, too. We stood there talking and crying as if we were old friends; not as if she was at work or there were other strangers around, able to hear some of the most difficult and intimate details of our lives. As I took my receipt and sack of optimism, she said, “Wait.” She took one of store’s business card and wrote her name and phone number on it. As she did, she broke down crying. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m just going to cry some more.” I reached in my wallet for my own business card and wrote my personal cell phone number on it and said, “I think we need to get together for some tea or tequila.” We both laughed knowingly. I reached across the counter, awkwardly, but eagerly and hugged Cathy, my new friend. I sighed heavily, but with hope that when I left, she would feel the same little bit of peace she had just given me. As I got in my car and drove away, I was thankful for such a sorrowful, but sweet exchange.

It made me aware of the irony that even though I say I believe as humans we fundamentally require connection, and I know I truly do, I conduct my life in a fashion that prohibits this connection on so many levels; and the connections I do allow are very controlled. The sad reason for this is that I fear if people knew how I really feel, they wouldn’t want me in their lives. Instead, they would think I am crazy. I feel crazy. And the craziness is indescribable and terrible and truly awesome. Even people who love me couldn't love me anymore if they knew--so I keep them at a self-prescribed distance.

I desire so emphatically to live an authentic life. But lately this desire has been superseded by my level of distraction, depression and anxiety. Sometimes I feel like I want to crawl out of my body. I don’t know what to do with the racing thoughts or the bodily sensations. I feel tingly and numb, nauseous, and like I am having the onset of a hypoglycemic event, but I know I am not because I’ve just eaten. I feel like I have been robbed of all the pleasure receptors in my brain and body. I am hoping and praying that the nutritional supplements I’ve purchased will make a change.


My meeting Cathy today reminded me that even strangers can show us that we are not alone. Our exchange was a welcome and surprising gift. The wanting I felt to comfort her in her pain reminded me how compassion connects us to each other and to the deepest parts of our emotional selves in the most unexpected of ways.

In The Beginning....

...I thought I had something to say. But then I sat watching the cursor blink at me. Finally, fear and the self-editing monster stuck their ugly necks out and said in chorus, "Na na na na na na." "Oh, how eloquent!" I retorted. Then I squashed them both with the memory that I was inspired by my dear friend Kiki, who recently created her own blog and courageously published her first posting. I thought, "I can do this." I have wanted to do this for some time. You may ask why. Or you may not, in which case, I'll still tell you: because writing is both cathartic and inspiring for me. One of my favorite authors, Maryanne Radmacher, wrote, "Writing is the process one follows to learn what is already known deep within." These days it is the act of plunking keys on a keyboard which allows this knowing out. So my premise is to write what I know and do not know about life and myself. (I included what I do not know because this would be a very short blog otherwise.)

I have taken writing courses before. The main tenet in each of these classes is that in order to become a better writer, one must simply write. To become a master, one must practice. So that is what I intend to do. I make no guarantees you will find anything I write to be exciting or worth merit. However, my sincere hope is that my words may lead just one reader to a place of inspiration.

I invite your comments and ask you to be discerning, but gentle as this is going to be quite an intimate journey for me.