Following Elias

Meet Max from Parenthood

If you watch the show you'll know why.

And why I can't stop thinking about the scene of Max Braverman's parents driving him home from the aborted overnight.

Something like:

If my Aspergers is suppose to make me so smart,

why can't I understand why they laugh at me.

They called me a freak.

And I think I am one.

A freak.

 

And more, so much more.

(Watch.)

 

I rained as I watched

with my head on Nick's shoulder,

a tsunami of sorrow,

flood of worry,

avalanche of pain.

 

And I replay the scene,

replay the scene,

replay the scene...

 

Roll it like a stone in my pocket.

 

Finger it with my own need,

of not knowing,

my son.

 

And how to protect him

from scenes like these.

 

In honor of April as National Autism Awareness month,

please share.

 

Or reach out to a child who may seem a little odd.

 

Everyone should know Max.

Or someone like him.

 

Blame it on the Sunshine

 

But Elias and Olive are actually getting along.

Laughing more than screaming, blame it on all the vitamin D, but...

I'll take it.

I'll take them both.

And may the sun keep shining...

on us all.

My favorite part is at the end when he runs cane-free

This summer we were featured in a video for Neighborworks Anchorage, the non profit organization that helped make our walkway accessible for Elias, and I just realized I never shared it here with all of you.

We are the second story in the video and they return to us at the end as well.

Elias even has a speaking part.

So if you have a moment...

 

 

 

Kicked By A Moose And Still Running

But I'm lucky to be here.

Whole and not broken.

Only a bruise on my leg from the sidkick the moose gave me as it charged my dog. All I saw were hoofs in the air and I thought for a second they were coming down on me.

Thank god for Tonsina,

my part-Lab part-Border Collie running partner who somehow spooked the Mama moose on a single track trail through the woods. I ran behind him, listening to James Brown sing I Got The Feelin', rockin' out on a warm sunny evening, feeling free, after a long few stressful post-spring break days of work, when out of the corner of my eye, I see a large dark figure and in that oh-shit-its-a-mad-moose-moment she is already besides me, hoofs raised.

This is it.

But she's focused on Tonsina, so instead of her 1000 plus pound weight crashing down on me as I dive off the trail, she just flares her leg out and kicks me in the shin before her front hoofs land in the direction of my dog.

Tonz runs back along the trail and the moose turns towards me where I hide in the deeper snow behind a thicket of trees. The hair on her neck stands up and her ears lay back and she stands with one leg still raised as if any moment she could charge again.

And she looks right at me.

I look away. Not wanting to provoke her with eye contact. We are only about 15 feet apart. I try to back up to another tangle of trees but my foot sinks into the snow catching on fallen branches below and I know I can't cross quickly with snow up to my knees, so I opt to stay at my current shelter and hope the moose loses interest in me.

I see a smaller moose behind her eating the branches of an Alder tree and now I realize I got a mad Mama moose staring right at me, with a much meaner look than my meanest mom glare.

And I feel so small.

And this is how it goes, for what feels like fifteen minutes, her left front hoof raised ready to step, her eyes on me, her ears back, hair raised.

Tonsina lays in the trail fifty yards away, he whimpers occasionally, but never barks, as if knowing any aggression on his part would only make matters worse.

I take the headphones out of my ears and my sunglasses off my eyes, wanting, needing, every sense to help keep me alive.

We see so many moose in Anchorage, that we sometimes forget they are dangerous animals. This week alone, we woke to a moose in our yard, walking right past it to get into our car and on a previous run I spotted a moose only twenty feet from the trail and chose to pass it instead of turning back, trusting it was busy eating branches and not interested in me and my black and white dog.

With this Mama moose's eyes locked on me, all I see is a dangerous wild animal.

Trapped behind a small tangle of trees.

I both want and don't want someone else to come walking down the trail. I consider backing up again, but the soft snow on top of brush proves to be another trap, so I have to step back towards the moose to regain my cover of trees.

Please don't see this forward step as aggression, I think, I just want to go in peace.

The second moose walks forward--oh shit not two--but his or her demeanor is relaxed, and the younger moose just nuzzles the Mom, who finally turns away from me.

I take the moment to retreat, making my way through the knee deep snow to another stand of tress. I look back and the Mama moose looks back at me, but this time her ears stand tall and her hair lays flat.

And then she turns away and walks back into the woods.

I make my way back to Tonsina and the trail and run to an intersection where a familiar street is just up a short hill or another wider woods trail turns off to the right, and though part of me wants to sprint back to the safety of pavement and people,  I make a conscious choice to stay on the trail, to not let my fear turn this place of solace into something else.

So I keep running, charged on adrenaline, and its not until I finally make it home that I realize how scared I was, how close I came, and how lucky I am to be whole, not broken, and alive.

 

Happy Friday Everyone!

 

Holder Of The Discarded And Precious.

Remember this moment, I think, as my children laugh together, feet touching, faces aglow.

Hold onto it.

Put it in your purse with their discarded wrappers so when you find yourself on the brink of parental regret, when you feel exhausted and used and frayed beyond repair, you'll remember that sometimes your load is awfully light.

And this too is why I write.

Writing is the rope I cling to as I ascend from the darkness, as well as the frame for moments that just feel so right.

Hold onto it.

And write.

Only If You Have It To Give

Hopefully you read my previous post, Where My Worlds Merge, about our family's participation with Alaska's premier adaptive ski center.

And then you'll understand why we decided, albeit a little late in the game, to participate in Challenge Alaska's Snow Blast.

This is their annual fundraiser, and in order to participate, Nick, Elias, and I each need to raise at least $175 in pledges before Saturday March 29th.

Yes, as I said, we are a little late on the uptake. But hey, we thought we'd try.

That's what we told Elias when they switched him from the bamboo pole to the new ski-eze and he started to resist: "You just gotta try."

And he did.

If you are interested and able to make a tax deductible contribution, please email me at: [email protected].

Thanks all,

Christy

 

Where My Worlds Merge

Welcome to the Challenge chalet. Alaska's premiere adaptive ski center.

A place where hip young skiers, outdoor athletes, seasoned ski bums, and caring souls work with people across the spectrum of disabilities, from physical to cognitive, young children to veterans, to enable them to fly.

Downhill that is, skiing, anyway possible.

From sit-skis to tethers to bamboo poles to hula hoops, you name it, they'll try it.

And oh the smiles.

Courageous smiles.

Contagious smiles.

Because there is just something about snow and speed that makes everyone lighter, at least for awhile.

And as a former college athlete and lover of all things outdoors and physical, as someone who made a rash decision to move to Alaska while stuck in traffic on my way to an office when a car drove past bedecked with a bike and kayak and I longed to follow, and now as a Mom to a boy with multiple disabilities, in the Challenge chalet, I have finally found a place where my two worlds merge.

My prior to parenthood self sits comfortably next to Elias's Mom, surrounded by people who represent the various trails of this unexpected life of mine. And we are all at home in this understanding place where disabilities does not mean disconnection or disgrace. But rather a mere chapter in the story of who we are as people longing to fly.

When Elias walks up the stairs to the chalet's great room, like Norm, almost everyone knows his name and greets him like a rock star. This is his third winter skiing with Challenge, and my only regret is that we didn't start when he was five.

Olive, wary at first of wheel chairs and facial ticks, now runs around the chalet with her tutu and ski boots, making herself at home. She still stares at times, but we all do, don't we, in our own way, curious about differences that we may or may not understand.

And here, in this light-filled chalet on the slopes of Alyeska, in Girdwood Alaska, everyone has a challenge. 

And a story to tell.

And a desire to make it down the mountain.

Even if, like Elias, its is the ride up that inspires, the chairlift with all its mechanical parts and numbers that motivates, what goes up must come down.

And with the help of the volunteer instructors, Elias always makes it back down, only to ride up again, soaking up every detail, asking overly specific questions, but doing something that only the very fortunate can claim.

Skiing.

How are we so lucky?

We slept in the bunkhouse on Sunday night and after a full day of skiing Sunday, a day where Olive took to the terrain park and the half pipe and didn't even want to stop to eat, we took a walk in the early evening sunshine. We walked from the Challenge chalet past the Sitzmark Bar and Grill to the Day Lodge, where people without disabilities  base camp. Elias wanted to check it out and so we did, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for all those able-bodied skiers who have a cement cafeteria style home base and not our sofa-laden, carpeted, big-screen TV, fire place, open kitchen, foosball, bunkhouse, chalet.

Again, we are the fortunate few.

And not just for the amenities, but for the inclusive community of Challenge, a place where regardless of your abilities, everyone wants to know your name.

Thank you to the funders, staff and volunteers of Challenge Alaska, for creating a place I am honored to call our home base.

Till the next time...

 Cheers!

 

Photos From a Moving Car...

...And why I love Alaska.

Horray for the Weekend

During an after dinner boogie-fest to the Zac Brown Band on Friday bight, Olive says: "I'm dancing with my butt!"

And then on Saturday we get to walk from our house to the Chester Creek Trail to watch the Iditarod dogs teams in their ceremonial start through Anchorage.

 

Happy Weekend All!