Tuesday, May 27, 2014

two worlds collide

TURN IT UP!!!! We scream from the back seat.  I LOVE this song!!!

Jealousy
Turning saints into the sea
Swimming through sick lullabies
Choking on your alibis
But it's just the price I pay
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside

My friend and I are singing at the top of our lungs; I'm banging on my drums and shaking my hair back and forth in such a way that will certainly cause a sore neck tomorrow -but that's the last thought that enters my 31 year old mind. I'm comfortably buzzing from a simple life and a dinner made up mostly of margaritas. We are driving to the strand of Hermosa Beach in Los Angeles and will stay out until last call. The night is a symphony of song and music and talking and laughter. The air smells faintly of cigarettes and summer and beach and endless possibility. There is no thought of tomorrow. The future doesn't exist. There is only right now.

9 years later- Today.

It's almost noon and I'm driving to pick up the boys after Behavior therapy. The Killers- Mr. Brightside comes on the radio and is faintly playing in the background. I've heard this song a million times since that night but today for some reason the stark contrast of then versus now collide. The past me. The me of today. I stop thinking. I turn the song up loud to push out any scattered leftover thoughts. There are still a few left so I turn it up twice as loud. My left foot vibrates on the floor and I feel the music rumble in my chest. I sing so loud that I collide with the past me and there are tears in my eyes. The music brings me back. I am still her. She is still me. And even with chaos and lack of simplicity, I choose now. Of course I choose now. Sometimes when two worlds collide, debris flies off and it is permanently lost. But two things also slam into each other so hard that the main parts can't help but become solidified as one.

                                                                   *****

Greyson was diagnosed with autism in March of 2012. It took many months of processing through the initial gut wrenching pain but once that agony and I separated -a cloud lifted. It felt like someone opened a door to reality and I walked through it. Everything was beautiful and loud and clear and much shinier than I had ever seen in my entire life.

It was amazing the way autism edited my life. There were friends that just suddenly weren't friends. It was hard but important to lose that debris from the collision. There were important things that suddenly weren't important at all. Things I didn't care about for the first time in my life. Like being skinny and working out. In fact, I had been so depressed I could barely eat and I was so skinny that all my clothes were liquid and moved with the extra fabric. It didn't matter. It was no key to a door called happy. I didn't care that we have the crappiest carpet upstairs or a teeny back yard filled with toys resembling the left overs of a garage sale. For the first time in so long I could see the things that had actually been important all along. It blew my mind. I was raw to the world and tender towards all the people that also knew pain. I had a hard time relating to people who still lived under the cloud I had lived under most of my life.

And I don't know when it happened, but all that perspective, I realized it's just not there like it was at first. And part of that is just natural- it's not normal to be breaking into sobs at the grocery store from the beauty and pain of life. But the cloud of what's certainly NOT important feels like it's back sometimes.
I don't want to be in its darkness, so I come here to remember what I must never forget.

I focus and breathe in and out. I've been removing distractions from my life like Facebook and the phone that until a week or two ago was constantly in my hand. It's helped cut down on the constant thinking. It's helped me dig deeper into that perspective and remember what is important to me in my life. I'm realizing with a big shew- it didn't actually just- poof- go away. It's still there, but it must be worked out like any muscle. It must be shined like heirloom silver. It must be simmered on the stove. It cannot be forgotten about. It is not gone- That world and I already collided a couple of years ago. We are the same.

                                                           *****

How was your weekend? Ours was good and filled with playing and friends and food and napping and fun. Here's some pictures.

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Parker carries a pen and paper or a notebook EVERWHERE lately. He babbles and writes pretend notes every so often. I had to take the ink catridge out of the pen because he's decorated all of our furniture and walls.


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Frank's awesome summer bean salad.

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With love and honor to all the men and women (and their families) who have given their life to serve in the armed forces.

Love,

Chrissy



8 comments:

  1. That salad looks good! I have similar vivid, fond memories of listening to "Somebody Told Me". Many years ago, also pre-children and pre-complicated life. It was so much fun, but I wouldn't trade then for now if I had a chance either :)

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  2. GREAT idea to take the cartridge out of the pen. So simple and so much better than just taking it away. I'll have to give it a try for my youngest.
    That salad looks delicious, can you share the recipe?

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    1. yes! Annie- send me an email to kellyc43@gmail.com and I'll get it for you. It was funny- at first we took away the pen. A thousand times a day because he was ALWAYS finding a new pen. (I can NEVER find a pen!!!) So I gave up and now we have 3-4 inkless ones.

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  3. Oh the Killers! For me it was a ski trip to Vail -- blaring the song on our way to the mountain. Now I blare it in the kitchen, over a messy breakfast, as my kids beg me to turn it off and put on "Let it Go." Again...
    Thank you, Chrissy, for the reminder to keep our perspective about what's important!

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  4. Your pictures are always so beautiful - thank you for sharing them. I have the similar moments where I'm transported back to my former (mostly carefree) life of superficiality in Los Angeles. Autism strips you down to the bare bones of who-you-really-are and shakes you free of everything that isn't important and real. Autism threatens to keep you there, too, which is sort of a gift if you think about it. Thanks again for sharing. If I thought I was the only former Angeleno, current NorCal Autism Mommy, I now know otherwise! xo

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    1. "Autism strips you down to the bare bones of who-you-really-are and shakes you free of everything that isn't important and real." LOVE that... how raw and real. - K

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  5. "There were important things that suddenly weren't important at all. Things I didn't care about for the first time in my life. Like being skinny and working out. In fact, I had been so depressed I could barely eat and I was so skinny that all my clothes were liquid and moved with the extra fabric. It didn't matter. It was no key to a door called happy. I didn't care that we have the crappiest carpet upstairs or a teeny back yard filled with toys resembling the left overs of a garage sale. For the first time in so long I could see the things that had actually been important all along. It blew my mind. I was raw to the world and tender towards all the people that also knew pain. I had a hard time relating to people who still lived under the cloud I had lived under most of my life." WOW Chrissy, what an amazing thought. This is exactly how I've been feeling yet have never been able to put into words. I read this piece over a few times because I felt like it was ME writing it and me finally being able to explain myself. Its amazing how something devastating like Autism can make you pull our the real inner you. I'm grateful for that, I just wish it didn't take my son being diagnosed to realize that... Amazing piece, thanks again for sharing. I have been waiting all week for your post, it helps me get through life - K

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