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On the days when I have the most to say, I am the most tired and often want to collapse in front of the TV for a good movie. But tonight I don’t even have the energy for that. And I need to get to bed early, so I don’t have the time either. So I am going to try to get some of those thoughts down to clear my head before sleep.
There were a lot of thoughts running through my mind today. It’s been a rough day. And it started at around 1am with Sebastian getting up for the night with his poor gassy tummy. We didn’t get back to bed until 5am and up a few hours later.
This week has been a bit challenging in the way that living in a developing country can be. It takes its toll when you walk all over your neighborhood, down the busiest roads — with your son in the baby carrier because a stroller wouldn’t be safe enough crossing the streets — and come up with nothing that you set out to find. We went to ten stationary stores in Maadi, I didn’t even know there were that many. Not one had padded enveloped or boxes which I needed to get our first shipment of calendars ready and posted.
Despite the road blocks, I remained positive. I was pleasantly surprised by the shop keepers helping me best they could, me speaking in English and them speaking in Arabic and using smiles and gestures to come to a common ground. Not once did we get frustrated with each other and this felt good.
I decided to compromise and got regular envelopes with a bit of cardboard to keep the calendar flat. Made of sturdy card stock, it was just an extra precaution. I found an old box for the big shipment and doubled up on envelopes for the others. I stayed up later than I wanted to in order to get everything addressed and taped up.
The breaking point came mid-morning, at about 4am, when I was more than exhausted and up with Sebastian. Calling my mom, thankful for the 7 hour time difference, sobbing about living in Egypt. Sometimes I can handle all the little quirks involved with living in Egypt, but less so at 4am after being up for a few hours and having only slept a couple.
I had a bit of a meltdown at the post office when they insisted on opening everything to go through it, even though we showed them what was inside. ‘What if we stuck money in between the pages?’ Somehow, there was a manager that made it his mission to make me happy. He took care of everything and sent us on our way, after reassuring me that the packages would be easily opened and re-taped. Of course Customs isn’t likely to be so kind.
We set off for Garden City to Sebastian’s ABM session. I wasn’t sure how he would do since he had little sleep but he was brilliant. He was so happy and did so well. Anticipating moves, moving with intent, scooting, reaching, rolling. Awesome. Short aside: I love doing ABM and am thankful that even though our practitioner is going out of town for a couple months, (miraculously) another woman has arrived just three weeks ago that will take her place with us. The added bonus is that she lives in Maadi!
Sebastian was exhausted and our trip back to the post office was not without hiccups. We had to go back to pay for the postage and take care of the paperwork side of things. Our taxi driver didn’t know how to get there so what would have been a 25 min drive turned into one of going in circles. Sebastian decided to cry until we got out of the car and although the taxi driver gave us a picture of his wife and children to look at (?!), Sebastian was only momentarily cheered. He then found a taxi driver in another cab that could lead us to where we would go. Despite the high charge on the meter from all the circling, the driver insisted I had paid him too much. This was another first as taxi drivers sometimes don’t think you give them enough, even when you really do.
We finally made it and there was more to do with the packages than anticipated. Some of this involved taping up a box they decided to put together for one of the shipments that I was planning to ship as two since I didn’t have a box. I was grateful that they did this and could see they took great care, even if some of the words were misspelled on the return address. (Road–Rode) At least it would make it to the destination intended.
Back to the taping. Sebastian HATES the sound of packing tape. It upsets him so much, as do many loud sounds like mixing machines, vacuums and the like. So while they are taping he is screaming. Tired, hungry and not liking the loud sounds around him. The other workers were visibly upset that he was upset and tried to cheer him to no avail.
Despite the horrible situation that would have been so much easier in a developed country, starting with the availability of proper envelopes and boxes, and not having everything opened and resealed, we were still blessed with people that were trying to help us out. I make this point because it was very unusual. Most times people just don’t care. They have their own agenda and you are not on it.
When I was walking home today from our walk to the club, Sebastian sat in the stroller crying the whole way. It was his tummy again and although he tried to have fun at the club, content on the swing and slide, he was miserable all the way home. I looked at everything as if it was for the last time. Not because we are leaving Cairo for good, but because someday we will. And I want that day to not be too far into the distant future. Not because it is a miserable place to be, but because it is not the best place to be for us. For Sebastian. And to explain that is another post.
For now, I must get some sleep. It’s early to rise tomorrow. We are selling the Seb Can Do Calendars at the Maadi Women’s Guild Christmas Bazaar. Hoping to sell lots and lots. We still need to recover our publishing costs.
This week I posted some more pic of HBOT over at Sebastian Can Do, with a link to more therapy photos. Shhh, it’s the guest pass.I tried to upload a cute video of us in the chamber but thanks to our internet connection it didn’t go through. So just imagine him watching the Wiggles and his smile breaking out midway and the silent laughter that follows from one of his favourite songs. Then he gets serious again. Priceless.
This week Sebastian came down with a cough and it’s very difficult for him to clear his throat. He wasn’t sick at all and swallowed some water too fast on Wed. and then got the hiccups and then got the cough. I’m worried about pneumonia (from aspirating) even though the doctor says he has a virus (no meds) and it’s not pneumonia. I’m worried anyways but we are going back to the doctor tomorrow for the check up and I am going to request an x-ray to be sure.
This week has been an extremely rough week for me. I’m feeling better today. I think sometimes I am not over the trauma of the birth and following days spend in the NICU. Actually, I think that I am over it and that I don’t blame anyone but then I read something or have to tell the story for whatever reason and then thoughts cloud my mind and tears well up in my eyes.
This week there was one thing after the next. First, I read this article in the NY Times that I found on another blog about the trauma parents feel after their child has been in NICU (often being diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder from the experience with little to no counseling over the experience by the hospital). The article mainly addresses parents to babies born pre-maturely, because babies born at term aren’ts supposed to go into NICU, right? Anyways, the article brought back a lot of memories and feelings.
This week I saw on facebook that a friend had her baby at term but had an emergency c-section. Continuing on from that, I saw two shows on tv where the woman had to have an emergency c-section, one because the cord was around the baby’s neck. I have to get over the fact that we should have had one but didn’t and even though most of the time I feel like I have there are moments I feel like I haven’t. It’s complicated.
This week I went to Maadi Women’s Guild and met some new people. I don’t even know how it came up but there I was telling the woman next to me that Sebastian had a traumatic birth and now has CP. I felt like I don’t even know how to socialise anymore because Sebastian is my life. I was at the meeting to mainly meet with the woman in charge of the Christmas Bazaar so that I could sign up to sell calendars and cards for Sebastian’s next fundraiser.
Our weeks start on Sunday. And so tomorrow is the start of a new week. It will be better. I’ve had some good talks with Ali. But I miss talking to my mom. I’ve had some good laughs with Sebastian. I’ve worked on some projects for myself. And I’m feeling a bit more balanced and ready to live in the present again. One day at a time.
Photo essay ONE
We spent two months in Michigan at my mom’s. It’s gorgeous, peaceful and the air is clean. Thanks Mom and Jerry for taking such good care of us!
This is the view from the field out back, the house is hiding behind the barn. The naked* tree to the right was cut down but the township. I’m so glad I got a picture of it.
Here is the view of the field from the house; one of the places Sebastian and I took walks. I love the shadows created by the large white clouds above.
Here is a tree that that marked the end of each walk. We walked toward it and sat in the quiet of its shade.
Close up. I couldn’t help sharing this one too.
I didn’t use auto settings for these photos, but focused on the aperture with the manual setting. My husband would be so proud!
*My mom lives off of a dirt road. Sebastian and I often took the stroller out and walked along the edge of the road. Sometimes cars would pass, but most times it was quiet. There were several dead trees along the way with vines crawling up their trunks. They looked bony white against the crisp blue sky. On one walk my nephew, Logan, called them naked trees. I like that. Each time I would stare up at their branches, arms reaching toward the sky, rooted in the earth below. I took mental pictures and said I’d remember my camera next time. There was a fierce thunderstorm which knocked two of those trees down, split by lightening or wind. And each time, I lhad eft the camera behind. But the memory is still crisp in my mind.
For more photos from this set Free As Trees on flickr. (As always photos of family are protected. Leave a comment if you’d like the link. It’s also posted on my facebook profile if you’d like to check it there.)
Ali brought these to my attention. I just finally got around to sharing them. Good stuff.
Have fun!
From the eyes of a pedestrian.
Walking the streets in Maadi, can get a bit hairy with the sun beating down, creating a shiny glare on the pavement in front of us. When Sebastian and I take to the streets he’s strapped into the Bjorn and we are headed somewhere. Take your pick of about a half dozen places we usually take walks to. By the end of the week, all the destinations have been used and we find ourselves a bit bored. But I digress.
Our most frequent walk is to the LRC (Learning Resource Centre) for Sebastian’s therapies. Some weeks we are there every day, other weeks, it’s three times, which is our schedule most recently. We walk along a semi-quiet road until we reach the round about near the Grand Mall, from there we walk along a busy road next to the satellite area until we reach the next round about which is very busy.
There is a brief patch of sand between the mansions built facing probably the worst view in all of Cairo, the walled in satellites. At each corner of the high cement wall sits a guard who sometimes whistles or says hello, in a way you don’t want to be said hello to, as we walk by. I try never to look up. We try to walk close to the wall to hide in the shade that slowly disappears as the sun rises. On our walk back we are practically hand in hand with the wall as the shade is just a sliver. This is the safest part of our walk and the only part where we don’t have to worry about cars running us over.
At the round about there is a truck full of police guards that just hang out in their blue pick up truck with large weapons slung over their shoulders and berets on their heads. I don’t know why they are there, maybe back up in case someone wants to attack the satellite station? We have to walk in front of them every time and they just drool and stare. It must be pretty amazing to see a blonde woman with a baby attached to her chest walk by like clockwork each week.
Fairly recently they installed lights at this round about as well as painted zebra crossings. Sometimes there is even a traffic policeman hanging out midway between the two zebra crossings that Sebastian and I have to cross. I say hanging out because he doesn’t actually do anything. Except stare. Of course. I have seen him mediate traffic once in awhile with the lights. Lights are very recent in Egypt. Well, perhaps they have been here since the time the British were here, but they never actually used them. And now they are supposed to. Which means they are supposed to know how. Which if they do, you can’t always tell.
This brings me to the zebra crossings. I’m not sure why they painted them because NO ONE knows what they are. Except Sebastian and I. I mean, Egyptians don’t use them to cross the street. They would rather zig zag dangerously through the traffic, resting on a poorly made median. And the cars? They definitely have no idea what they are for, even with the large yellow people painted before them, which imitate someone walking.
I’ve actually had the best luck with the taxis. I have to step down from the curb and wait for a break in traffic and then walk as fast as possible across. Many times taxis will stop for us and then the cars behind them honk. I say a lot of curses under my breath. I always stare down each car because I have to see if they are aware we are even crossing the road. Sometimes they aren’t because they are talking on the phone, leaning down to light a cigarette or just not looking. One encounter was with a woman driving with a baby on her lap looking at the passenger (another woman with a baby on her lap) while talking to her, and a couple of small kids in the back. If I had gotten the attention of this woman, there would have been an accident, so it was a good thing the pedestrian watches where she is going. {Don’t even get me started on car seats and babies, toddlers, and kids sitting in the front seat leaning on the dashboard. Seriously, what is wrong with people?!}
I always take Sebastian in the Bjorn because the traffic on the way to the LRC is so bad and so is the up and down walking from road to sidewalk (when it even exists). But one day while Moira (ali’s mum) was here I wasn’t feeling very well so she suggested taking the pram. When crossing the road, via the zebra crossing of course, I stepped out first to stop the traffic since getting across was a little slower than walking and I wanted to make sure my son was safe. A yellow car was headed straight for me and was not going to stop. I stood in front of it with my hand out and he just kept coming. He was slowing down but he really thought he should keep going. I started shouting at him. Moira says I was speaking Arabic, but I don’t remember. And I don’t know that much Arabic anyways. Then he was shouting at me. I felt so this rage from deep within myself come to the surface. I was so angry at him, I could feel a dryness in the back of my throat and tears stinging my eyes. I really thought, what the f*ck is wrong with people and where are they going that they can’t let a woman, her baby and his grandmother cross the freaking road?!!! After we crossed we walked by the traffic policeman. He was still staring at us. Is it really that hard from him to step off the curb and stop traffic for us?
I feel this rage beneath the surface most days when we take to the streets. It’s because no matter where we walk, I always have to be on high alert to make sure we don’t get hit by a car. Even though the cars are usually going fairly slow where we walk sometimes they come really close to us and there is no where for us to go and I imagine one hitting me and me putting my hand through the open window and grabbing the driver by their hair and pulling them out and just punching and yelling at them.
I am not a violent person. I have never been and I don’t even like watching violence in movies. I don’t believe violence can solve anything. I’ve actually campaigned against violence. But mess with my kid and you better watch out. Watch yourself on the street. This is one mama you don’t want to run in to.
I remember my first Mother’s Day so well. We were waiting at the second bus stop to take us to the hospital. My phone rang. “Happy Mother’s Day!” Shouted two of my very favorite people from far far away. It was J and A and I had to choke back the tears. I never imagined that my first Mother’s Day would be spent waiting for buses on the way to the hospital to hold my son. It would be the first time my mom was able to hold him. It was the first Mother’s Day I celebrated with my mom in over eight years. It was a special day indeed, as I had just become a mom three days earlier.
This Mother’s Day I carried Sebastian home from one of his therapy sessions and he fell asleep against my chest. Carrying and holding my sleeping baby never ceases to amaze me. I love feeling him breath against my chest. Sometimes I look down at him and hold on to that moment for I know that time goes fast and there will be a time when he is too big to sleep against my chest or fit into my lap. I treasure each moment with my son.
Happy Mother’s Day to all you mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers out there! Thanks hubby for the wonderful evening. I’m so happy to be a mom.
What a glorious day. I can hardly believe it’s been a year. I still remember sitting in the big orange chair in our flat in London, holding you as you cried unable to be consoled. You were just a few weeks old and it was in that moment that I realized I was really a mom. Your mom. I wanted to pull my hair out. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to make you stop crying. I rubbed your back. I sang songs. I held you close. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, although it was likely gas bubbles in your belly. The only way you could communicate your pain was through your tears. And your wailing. But we got through it. You eventually quieted. We sat sleeping in the chair together, waiting for your dad to come home. Or sometimes, you cried until he arrived, after I had called asked him to come home early. Those early days were not without challenges. But rewards too.
Now, you still get the occasional air bubble, but I know when and I know how to make it go away. I know every cry and what it means. I see your lower lip quiver and I know you are hungry and tired and just want to be nursed to sleep. I waited three months until you decided to breast feed. I spent every two hours pumping and feeding you breast milk, even throughout the night. Just before we moved to Egypt you decided to breast feed. Thank God.
You had a pretty busy first year of life. Your passport has more stamps than most Americans have just in your first year of life. Your first trip on an airplane was with Swiss Air to Switzerland to visit some of my friends. Shortly after that we moved to Egypt. We’ve taken trips back to the UK and into America so you could meet your family in Michigan. You are a seasoned traveler. You prefer public transportation over a ride in the car any day. Your favorite are buses. Well, London buses at least.
Everywhere we go people stop to bless you, kiss your cheek or your hands, even have their photo taken with you. People feel your bright spirit each time you flash one of your contagious smiles. So cute. You are our sunshine. Your happiness cheers me, even when I am tired or frustrated, I just look at you and everything is fine. I remember your first smile so vividly. I waited so long and tears welled in my eyes when you did it. I know the same will happen when you first say my name. Mama.
You work hard to accomplish everything you do. And you will accomplish everything. I love you Sebastian. And I am looking forward to all our adventures together in the year to come.
Today is World Cerebral Palsy Awareness Day.
“One in every 500 children will have cerebral palsy. 8,000 babies and infants are diagnosed with the condition each year. In addition, some 1,200 – 1,500 preschool age children are recognized each year to have cerebral palsy.”
Our son has cerebral palsy.
This is the story of how we came to find out, and our journey from ignorance to awareness and understanding. We talked about it with each other and with our parents. But we found it difficult to share the news with others, although we knew we should. I really wanted people to be positive. I didn’t want any negativity surrounding Sebastian or his abilities. And just as we had no idea what CP was originally, we knew that many others wouldn’t either.
When Sebastian was born, his umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck. As he emerged into this world, he was covered in meconium and was a bluish-gray color from not breathing. My mom had been taking pictures because I wanted her to document the birth. As his head emerged, she knew something wasn’t right and stopped immediately and started praying. Sebastian was taken to the resuscitation table in the corner of the room and I remained on the bed, in shock. He was intubated to breathe after the doctors suctioned out the meconium. He did not cry. Sebastian suffered from grade 2 HIE and had neonatal seizures. He stayed in the neonatal intensive care unit for 16 days.
Just before he was allowed to come home, he was given a magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) scan to assess the damage. I accompanied him into a very cold room which featured a large machine with a tube-like hole. He was wrapped in blankets and heavily sedated. I wore my jacket and used earmuffs to drown out the noise of the magnets moving over his body, taking pictures of what was going on inside his brain. Then we waited as the images were sent to the best neurologists in England. The results came back soon after, just before Sebastian was to be discharged from the hospital and while my mom was still in the country. I only remember the words cerebral palsy. We broke down and cried. It was devastating, mostly because we didn’t have a clear idea of what CP was. Images of a child in a wheelchair, unable to eat or function independently entered my mind. Would this be our son? Pushing this possibility to the furthest part of our minds, we told only our parents. I prayed; for healing and health, for a creative miracle.
From the age of four weeks Sebastian was seen by a physical, occupational and speech therapist. We didn’t always get very much accomplished because Sebastian cried a lot and didn’t want to do anything on the floor with the therapists. But they gave us exercises to do at home and we did them daily. It was tough because we didn’t know what we were looking for and because Sebastian didn’t like to be on his stomach on the floor, but we were determined to do anything we could to ensure our son had the best possible future. We didn’t have a diagnosis yet, but it seemed like the therapists knew something they weren’t telling us. Everything was blamed on the insult to his brain at birth, but I was searching for some normalcy in everything, that the reason for his tears was the same as for any other baby.
At about this time we found out we would be relocating to Egypt at the end of the summer. Would we be able to find therapists to work with Sebastian in Cairo? And if so, would they be good enough? I began searching via the internet and contacting online groups in the area to find out what Cairo would have to offer our son in terms of care. We were also put on a waiting list to see a neurologist at Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH), a famous children’s hospital in London. We needed to have a specialist explain the brain scans. When we met with the neurologist just two weeks before leaving London, he gave us a definite diagnosis of moderate cerebral palsy. Sebastian was three months old. The doctor didn’t say what Sebastian would and would not be able to do; he said every child with CP is different. We remained positive, but were still heartbroken, leaving the hospital in shock. In the days that followed I swung between bouts of anger, sadness, loss, yet hope. There was, and remains, hope in my heart for my beautiful son.
It is in situations like this that our distance from family and friends feels most pronounced. We chose a couple of close friends to share the news with and I will forever be thankful to A, who shouldered the burden of sharing the information with our other close friends in the area. I say burden because it is very difficult to accept and understand myself what it means to have a child with CP and I couldn’t have handled sharing the news over and over again.
We moved to Egypt when Sebastian was almost 4 months old. He began physical therapy (PT) a month after we relocated at a center twenty minutes walk from our new apartment. He has since started seeing an ortho-motor therapist (speech and language) and we will finally meet with the occupational therapist (OT) next week after being on a waiting list since arriving – there are only four OTs in all of Egypt!
We returned to London and GOSH for a follow up MRI when Sebastian was six months old. Sebastian had to fast for 24 hours before the scan, which was scheduled for eleven in the morning. I was never so thankful for Sebastian’s health as in the four hours we sat in that hospital and watched truly unfortunate children wheeled by en route to innumerable operations. Holding Sebastian while he was put under general anesthetic was one of the hardest things I had to do. Tears streamed down my face as Sebastian went limp in my arms ahead of the MRI. But half an hour later he was awake and feeding, and two weeks later we got the results back. The swelling had receded, his brain was growing. The area which sends messages from the brain down the spine to the rest of the body had healed and was developing at the rate of a ‘normal’ child Sebastian’s age. On top of that, Sebastian had started to smile socially (and for the camera) and make voluntary movements with his body such as rolling, jumping and sitting with support. These were huge developments and the doctor was very impressed. The only remaining damage affected about one third of Sebastian’s basal ganglia, the part of the brain that creates messages for motor function. The doctor diagnosed Sebastian with dystonic cerebral palsy involving all four limbs. I would say it’s mild to moderate.
Dystonic CP is a rare form that affects about 20% of people with CP. Understandably, a lot of the reading I had done up to this point was about more common forms. Still, I try to learn about dystonic CP so that I can better understand my son and what I can do for him. My basic understanding is that it means his (muscle) tone varies from relaxed to tight in his arms and legs and that his tone in his trunk is lower. It also means that there can be abnormal and involuntary movements. Our PT doesn’t see the latter at all and believes it’s too early to make such a diagnosis. I am happy for him to be so positive with Sebastian as he believes there is nothing Sebastian can’t do, it just takes teaching him and time. One thing about CP is that everything is delayed. I have no idea what Sebastian would be like or how long it will before he reaches milestones. Every day I prayed he would smile. And his first smile brought such tears of joy to my eyes. I imagine it will be like this each time he accomplishes something, just like it is for any mother. And he will achieve things, just in his own time.
Since his diagnosis I have read a lot of books; with stories, facts, exercises, advice. I read blogs written by other moms with kids who have CP. I have never stopped praying for Sebastian. It is a miracle that he survived his very traumatic birth and I believe more miracles will ensue.
On keeping silent: As I mentioned before, there are many friends who do not know about Sebastian. You may be one of them reading this now. I hope that you can understand the impossible challenge and mental exhaustion involved in sending people individual emails about our son. Due to our location, this is the method of choice, even though a phone call or a face-to-face conversation is obvious preferable. There are a lot of things I haven’t written about on my blog because we haven’t been ready to ‘go public’ with Sebastian’s diagnosis. But after the second MRI, we actually left the hospital smiling. We left with so much hope for our son who has already amazed us so much.
When I tell people about Sebastian I always feel the need to explain all the amazing things he is doing, like smiling and laughing and jumping. I don’t want people to have the initial image I had when I first heard those words: Cerebral Palsy. And this is why World Cerebral Palsy Awareness day is important. Sebastian’s intelligence has not been compromised. And this is true of so many with CP. But in our ignorance, we often think the worst. I want to be able to write freely of my feelings and now I can. And I want to answer your questions, if I can.
Edited by Alastair Sharp
Life. Is a beautiful thing. Cliche. Sometimes it’s the easiest thing to say.
When I awoke on Saturday morning, the morning of my 32nd birthday, I saw a text from my mom, sent just a half an hour earlier. Simply requesting that I call. With the seven hour time difference, I knew it was late there so I didn’t want to wait long to call, but I opened my first birthday gift from ali. I knew that the call would be about my grandma. It was time. She hadn’t eaten in the last five days and had slept for the last three. Her body had been slowly shutting down since her diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. I couldn’t help but feeling relieved that it was a day earlier in Michigan. I just don’t think I could handle my great-grandma passing on my birthday.
When I finally did call my mom at 7.30am Cairo time, I was greeted with the news that my Great-Grandma M had ‘gone home to be with the Lord’ a few hours earlier. At the same time that she left the earth, my cousin gave birth to a healthy little boy named Noah. It’s amazing how the cycle of life just keeps going and we are blessed in times of sorrow and need. The viewing is this evening, the funeral set to be Monday morning. I keep imagining the last time I saw my grandma. Sitting around her breakfast table, looking out the window, remembering when I used to play out in the field with my brothers.
I have a picture on our shelf at home. It’s black and white, taken in 1960. My great-grandma and great-grandpa sitting on a white bench in the sunshine. Smiling, arms around each other. Young. Vibrant. Happy. She had missed him since he died eight years ago. And now she joins him once again.
I’m thankful my grandma led a full life. She was 96 years old after all, nearly a century. I just wish that I had been there in the final days. That I was with my family now as they say their final goodbyes and let her go. I have to find a way to come to a peace within myself. It’s strange to be so far away. The next time I am in northern Michigan, she won’t be there.
Amidst this death, we also celebrate life. The life of little Noah being born. My own life, all 32 years of it so far. We spent the day as a family. My first birthday as a mom. I sit here the day after my birthday, having just found this in my drafts, entitled ‘Great-Grandma’s’. I started it one year ago, exactly…
I’m so lucky to still have mine around. I just got my first birthday card of the season, from my Great-Grandma. She’s in her nineties now and still has spunk. While visiting her this summer we looked through some old photos. It was amazing to go back in time and see her in her thirties, married and happy.
I never finished it. That was the last time I saw her. Margaret Mulvihill. Born in Middlesborough, England on April 24, 1912. She was so happy that I had lived in England. But I never asked her about her childhood there. The pictures we went through that summer afternoon in July 2007 only went as far back to her early days with her husband James. She even had pictures of Holland, Michigan (Windmill Island) in the 70’s! I remember thinking how amazing it was that we had been to the same place decades apart and that I was only just then discovering this part of her history.
Of course you never know the last time you will see someone. I never thought that would be the last time, but it was. I recall those moments around the table, sipping hot tea, turning the pages of worn photo books, corners bent on the favorite pages, listening to her history as she remembered it. Suddenly I know that I’m ok and that the last time I saw my grandma possibly had more meaning to each of us than being there now.
All you Facebookers know about the latest Tag going around. I thought I would post mine here with links to stories from the past in case anyone is interested in the history behind the ‘Random Things.’ I’ve already tagged folks on facebook, so won’t be doing it to other fellow bloggers. Just enjoy. It was nice for me to take a waltz down memory lane too. Looks like I have a few more stories to write.
1. I believe in co-sleeping. (I’m still planning to write a post about this…)
2. I was a vegan for one year. Sounds like a great book title. I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life.
3. I still want to write (and publish) children’s books.
4. I still haven’t finished my MA in International Teaching but I am learning every day how to take care of my son.
5. I’ve dyed my hair every colour, even Tulip Pink. ( I still haven’t written the story about this one but have told it often.)
6. I make all of Sebastian’s baby food; he eats more fresh veg and fruit than I do! I don’t like very many fruits, I’m a vegetable girl.
7. I’m an activist. I organised and directed The Vagina Monologues in London in 2007 to raise awareness and money for V-Day. [Stop Violence Against Women.]
8. I am also a city girl, an island girl, and a country girl. Don’t knock it til you’ve lived it.
9. I haven’t lived in the US since the summer of 2000. But I visit every year. I wish I could visit more.
10. I have three nephews and one niece. I adore them.
11. When I was a little girl I wanted to travel the world. I’ve done it and I’m still doing it.
12. I used to play the flute but gave it up so I could take drama. I wanted to be an actress and was a theatre major for the first two years of college.
13. I have a tattoo that I designed and got just before I left Bangkok.
14. I met my husband on a small tropical island off of Malaysia.
15. One of my favourite places to be is Vietnam. I have been there 3 times.
16. When I was in elementary school, I had a pen pal in Egypt. Now I live here.
17. I climbed Mount Kinabalu (Borneo-highest peak in SEAsia). It was the hardest thing I have ever done, except give birth.
18. I love to dance. But I don’t remember the last time I went dancing.
19. I’m still breastfeeding my son.
20. I miss coffee. And wine.
21. I love trees. I’m pretty sure everyone I know, knows this.
22. I have a great memory.
23. I’ve kept a journal since third grade. Since I’ve started a blog, I write in it less, but still keep it by the bedside or in my bag.
24. I don’t use a purse any more. Thank goodness Katie gave me a very trendy diaper bag.
25. I love taking pictures. I want to be braver and take them of people I don’t know.
You may have noticed that I changed a couple…
What You are Saying