For the Pedestrians and Coffee Drinkers on Wellington Street: An Apology, An Explanation

Last week we had a particularly bad morning—Jessie and I. I think the pedestrians and coffee drinkers on Wellington Street—who witnessed a car suddenly swerving to the curb and braking and a young legging-clad woman jumping out, yelling in furious anger and then slamming the door shut—might agree. So might those inside the trendy stores who just may have seen the rock-clench of my jaw and the full-body energy stomp executed by Jessie on her way to rehearsal. Where I had “kindly” driven her, as a favour, in an effort to get her to rehearsal on time in a rainstorm.  

I am learning that you must NEVER, EVER do a favour to an adolescent-brained being. Or at least only deliver the favour with the understanding that it will immediately and forever more be held against you in some Freudian warp that has morphed you into an evil car-driving, dinner-making, message-taking, cell-phone-bill-paying necromancer whose only intention is to entrap the adolescent-brained being forever in some hell that resembles, uh, let’s see, a house with people who love you and feed you and drive you places and ask you every now and then to do your laundry.

Okay. I am not being totally honest here. It’s true; I did drive Jessie when she usually takes the bus. But I think I also took advantage of the captive audience bit and may have nagged her. About getting to bed on time (so she would wake up on time and get to the bus on time), or about writing things down so she doesn’t forget them, or about being responsible, or about how if she doesn’t get her act together the only place she might be able to move out to is a GROUP HOME. . . and well, that’s probably how it went.

So when she told me that I wasn’t the boss of her and that she could do whatever she wanted and I should just deal with it, I may have pulled over to the curb a bit too quickly. Where I told her, calmly, to get out of the car. (I did check to make sure that we were close to the dance studio and that she could find her way there.) Where she heard that very dangerous calm tone and knew to step out. Where she had impeccable timing that allowed her to yell angrily at the top of her lungs “I LOVE YOU. SO THERE!!” just as she slammed to door shut. Where the pedestrians and coffee drinkers on Wellington Street (referred to at the beginning) got their mid-day entertainment.

Three blocks up the road, my cell phone binged with a text message. Jessie, as always, had the final word:

Notice how she was able to cap "NOT," just to make sure she was being clear.

31/21: Bittersweet

Yesterday’s Retro Jessie postwas bittersweet. In typing it up again (the whole series was done on a different and incompatible computer system), the irony of re-posting a letting go piece from 1996 just when we are struggling with that same process right now, left me deflated and somewhat depressed. Perhaps, if it weren’t so close to Halloween or the days were lengthening instead of taking on those long November shadows, the reposting would make me laugh, or just refocus me on the love part.

Instead, my sadness was fed by a Sunday morning sermon on Job and a car full of CDs by women singer-songwriters with dark and love-lost stories of loneliness and aging regrets.  I came home, went to bed, and pulled the covers up over my head. I let my family fend for themselves (I think this made them happy) and in my head argued that I was regenerating positive energy. Or not. Whatever.

Let us just say that there are points in the transition years where I have no idea whatsoever about what we are doing or where we are going. While there is the Jessie-defined North Star—a clear and welcoming vision of a bright and loving future—the getting there is a very bumpy ride with many detours and sinkholes and one-lane reductions. I am very slow at learning what I am supposed to be learning (and obviously have not learned it yet). I know it has to do with letting go, and letting go again, but I also know, because it is Jessie, it has to do with support, and that particular mix for an adult achieving independence is a particularly tricky concoction. 

Oh I wish we still had that Harry Potter potion maker that Jessie got one Christmas, and that in addition to elixirs of life, polyjuice potions, and veritaserums, there was a nicely package potion for parenting into adulthood. But, alas, we sold it at the last garage sale and I am not sure we had any potions left.   

At heart, this transition bit makes me see just how much I struggle with loving and letting go. And I read about other families going through a similar process and find them all so much more, well, positive. And energetic. And loving. And witty! Oh I long to write about this period with wit and humour and good grace. But mostly I just yell. Or answer cell phone requests for redirections after getting on the wrong bus. Or drive to pick up said lost traveller.  

So, for today, I will not detail the yelling Saturday morning we had trying to let natural consequences reign, but will leave you with the only photo we managed to take at the previous evening’s Down Syndrome Association’s annual  general meeting—which is a wonderfully attended dinner dance (free for members!) for families and friends of all ages. 

Jessie and drummer boy sat at a table of more than nine young people their age, and we had to drag them away at the end of the evening. It was a Halloween theme; I can’t remember exactly what drummer boy and Jessie were, except that there was some underlying punk theme. I will post another time about having to read the riot act about dirty dancing at a family dance.      

Lovingkindness

Every night, before bed, I bless Jessie:

May you be happy.
May you be healthy.
May you be peaceful.
May you be loved.
May you be safe and protected and free from fear.
May you find joy in your own true nature.
You are God’s beloved.

Every night. No matter what. Even if I have yelled at her. Even if she has yelled at me. Even if we are not speaking to each other. Even if it is 2 in the morning and we are both too tired to get undressed and she has just fallen into bed without brushing her teeth.

Every night. No matter what.

This began during a difficult time in my life, just after a difficult time in Jessie’s. I was taking a mindfulness course and was introduced to a variation of this lovingkindness meditation. I fell in love with the word lovingkindness and was delighted to also find it in the Psalms. I thought, what better way to end the day with your child—no matter your faults and falling downs, no matter your age or theirs.

And so, we began the night-time blessing ritual that, when started, I promised her I would do no matter what. I was challenged, and graced, by this promise many times. Sometimes both challenge and grace arising out of the same, the very same, moment.

Such as the time Dan and I still laugh about when Jessie was so angry at me (for some reason that I cannot, now, recall) that she slammed countless doors downstairs, stomped loudly up the stairs, yelling “YOU CAN'T MAKE ME . . . YOU'RE NOT NICE . . . IT'S NOT FAIR” at the top of her lungs before slamming her bedroom door and finishing with “ I HATE YOU!!!! . . ." [pause, wait for it, in a much milder plaintive voice] "Will you bless me?”

“Yes Jessie,” I was able to answer, because of my promise. And in my blessing show her that she was valued, loved, and indeed, blessed in her anger and her adolescence.

May we all go to bed at night knowing we are beloved.