Presence
I have been trying to eek out a post for over a month now. I’ve been writing random things, jotting down ideas when sudden inspiration strikes, but mostly unable to get to it… for a gazillion different reasons.
It came to me a few days ago, that I would like to try mini posts that are only maybe a paragraph or so. And post them in rougher format than usual. That seems more doable right now. We’ll see how that goes.
About us….
We are fine. My son Kyle has been home from his day program for a month now. By choice, I have had no help from my in home caregivers for the last 2 1/2 weeks. My retired husband and I are sharing the household duties and care of Kyle. My coaching and book business is on hold. My daughters and their families are doing ok. We are all doing what we believe we must do right now, one day, hour, moment at a time.
Presence
(as seen from above)
There they are again.
It’s become an every day event,
skirting Buffalo Ridge,
Phoenix, Arizona, USA.
He,
sporting a Sun Devils baseball hat,
she,
carrying a sagging day pack.
Something is different about him:
his gait
the way he hesitates
the way he leans on her,
grasping her arm
with both hands,
sometimes desperately reaching for support.
They stop and start a lot,
this unlikely couple.
Him:
loud sounds
humming
squeals of excitement
changing directions
running
pausing
spinning in place
challenging himself
then being fearful,
even panicking at times.
Autism tosses him this way and that.
Her:
calm and encouraging
at times, exhausted
following along
at his pace
encouraging and supporting
his rock
there for him, no matter what.
Motherhood tosses her this way and that.
Mostly he enjoys.
She likes that he can enjoy.
Mostly she enjoys.
She likes that she can enjoy too.
Everything seems okay,
right there, right then,
in the midst of a pandemic.
Buffalo Ridge knows nothing of a pandemic.
They show up every day,
like clockwork.
It is their not so small saving grace
in the not yet too hot Arizona weather.
This place adds shape and consistency to their days.
Nature and exercise,
soulfood.
Unknowing,
they walk across the disk golf course
and,
cutting them some slack,
the golfers wait.
Most seem to get it.
Perhaps they wonder “what’s their story?”
Like them, there are regulars.
They say “hello, how are you today?”
Simplicity of connection.
It’s nice,
extra special in these days of isolation.
They head to his favorite rock.
It’s a trek to get there,
walking on stones, loose gravel,
over miniature desert crevasses.
He has grown to enjoy the challenge
of getting to “their spot.”
Their spot:
he loves the predictability of it
the respite it provides
the place for regrouping
a “savor the moment” type of rock.
They sit.
Her mind wanders,
sometimes wishing things were different,
like they were before the world changed.
Her thoughts slip down the rabbit hole of:
should be
could be
would be
if only
not right
not fair
why?
Eventually,
she breathes…
(the kind you can hear.)
Breathing seems to be just what comes next.
She slips into the present moment,
not by choice,
but by default.
The wishes and should be’s dissolve—
on their own
without effort or intention.
Soon she is noticing…
the flowers
the peace
the breeze
the sunshine
the mountain
the quiet
the birdsong
his joy
the accomplishment of simply, but not so simply, getting here
the perfectly placed rock-seat.
Soon she is just there
in the moment
next to him.
They breathe.
His arm reaches around her shoulder.
No words,
he doesn’t have words.
She doesn’t need words
in this moment.
In this very moment,
right there
right then,
they are ok.
No place else to be,
nothing else to do.
The rock seat
next to Buffalo Ridge
is enough.
This moment,
enough.