Home of the Four Trans

Things have been coming along for us day to day. The boys are well and happy, learning, and growing. I suppose if you were to see us on the street, you’d say we were a pretty adjusted family, a mom with her boys, put together and carefree (with the exception of the stroller which is always packed with stuff).

Justin has been making progress with his gross motor, language, and cognitive skills. He’s taken a few steps on his own between Loi and I, although not consistent in his abilities. His favorite words are Elmo, yes, no, please, milk, Mama, and thank you. He can put two to three words together now, like “more milk please.” He’s becoming more proficient with board puzzles, naming things, and matching. He can also follow instructions much better than before and has a longer attention span. He’s come quite a long ways in this past year.

Nathan is still Nathan, as bright as ever. He is still homeschooling with me, although we’ll be registering him for kindergarten this coming September for the half day program. He loves teaching his little brother new things and announcing to the house when Justin achieves something new. His favorite things to do are build Lego, assemble jigsaw puzzles up to 48 pieces, draw and color, play the Wii (on limited time of course), play with his many cars, learn how things work and why, and read. He started basketball at the beginning of the month, but quickly grew bored of it, and wants to pursue tae kwon do and soccor instead. He still does not like a structured school program.

I’ve been counting and recounting my blessings. We are so blessed. My children, Loi, and I shared many trips, adventures, meals, walks, reading sessions, and family time together. The year had been so good for us that I’m sad to say goodbye. This next year holds many new and uncertain things for us with Justin’s next open heart surgery on the horizon and him starting preschool (without my attendance!), and Nathan starting Kindergarten. I suppose while starting school is a big milestone for both our children that brings me some anxiety, Justin’s next open heart surgery is the main event that has been weighing my heart and mind. I question how he’ll come out of it this time around, and how our hospital stay will affect Nathan, how all of it will affect Nathan. We don’t have a date for surgery, yet, but my heart’s been heavy thinking of it. It can no longer be pushed to the back of my mind because this year is the year…

I can’t decide if it is the changes I am anticipating in the coming year that is making our move to a  new home so much more difficult, or the fact that we’ve shared so many good moments in our former apartment. I walked through our apartment today gathering some of things–children’s books, a stepping stool, my purses, air fresheners, shoes, Justin’s Elmo DVDs he got for Christmas–and held my breath in fear of breathing out tears. I looked at our kitchen and thought of the meals I cooked for the kids and Loi, the cupcakes and cookies Nathan and I baked together, and the birthday cakes I baked for the boys. I looked around our living room and thought of all the games we’ve played on that floor. The dining room brought back visions of craft projects we had done. The walkway leading out our front door reminded me of the many stroller rides I’ve taken them on. A corner reminded me of where the Christmas tree was and the 2 Christmases we spent together there. Justin was with me, and I didn’t want him to worry, so I didn’t cry. Inside, though, I was drowning in a puddle of tears because this was our home for almost two years, a place where we lived and led life and were a family.

The reality is home is where we are together. It’s not the house or apartment that determines our home. But, leaving this place behind is like leaving a part of us behind, a good part, and accepting the changes that are upon us. Change and uncertainty are the obvious realities of life that we had learned to accept early on in our pregnancy with Justin, and it is the foundation of how we live our lives. Yet, when the changes come and and the uncertainties appear in the rearview mirror of our forward moving lives, no matter how prepared we think we are, we’re never prepared enough. So sometimes, it’s nice to pretend, step away from reality, and find some thing to attach myself to, some thing that isn’t as fluid as the seasons of our lives.

These past two weeks included my cousin’s wedding to the love of her life and the funeral ceremonies of Loi’s 90 year old grandmother. My heart and mind is brimming with emotions, and here I am just pouring some of it out (I don’t want to flood you all at once). The following thoughts are very close and dear to me that I’d like to share with you, though I do not expect you to agree with me. Thanks for allowing me the time to share a piece of me with you.

What weddings and funerals do for me is they remind me of life as a God sent gift. During these types of celebrations, I’m able to step out of the haze of everyday life and focus on these minute but significant moments that magnify what matters most.

At a wedding, the bride and groom look into each other’s eyes after up to a year of planning the reception, flowers, music, dance choreography, savings…to exchange these few words…

“I  take you  to be my wife/husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.”

that are meant to bind them for the rest of their lives even after the flowers wilt and memories fade. It is in this small pixel of a moment that would determine the rest of their lives where two would become one…what God has put together cannot be undone…”until death do us part.” Powerful words of commitment, no?

That absolute moment in the entire wedding ordeal is what does it for me. It is that moment that reminds me of my own marriage and all that I promised my husband when we stood up on that church alter 6 years past. That excitement and full fledged willingness to do anything and all for him is how I should always feel because I had promised him so. Of course then, when we had said those words, I was 23 and he was 25, we had no children and had only us two to make happy; life was much simpler then. Baggages of resentment, anger, and failure soon enough came from the pressures of working and parenting, meeting our finances, (un) realizing our dreams. These baggages, though short lived, were never unloaded which eventually accumulated into strain on our marriage; for those who are married, you know that these are the facts of life, for those who are not, I’ll be the first to to tell you that marriage is not all bliss all the time, but you work at it. It is events like witnessing the exchange of vows between two people in love that encourages me to unload the unnecessary baggage in our lives to feel like I felt on our wedding day–excited and eager to pursue life together.

Funerals have the same affect on me in that while partaking in the ceremonies, I am given the opportunity to reflect on the unnecessary baggages in my life and am encouraged to let it go as to lead a more fulfilled life. Since having Justin and experiencing life like it’s a ticking time bomb, I’ve learned to strip myself of my many wants and material possessions. I’ve shed the anger and resentment layer by layer. Still, a stubborn human part of me can hold a pretty good grudge and am afraid to let it go (because it would mean that I have to change! *gasp*). Outside of the hospital setting, after adjusting to our normal life, it’s easy to think that life is anything other than a ticking time bomb. When times are good, it’s easy for us to fool ourselves into thinking time is all we have. But, the sun will continue to rise and fall as our time on earth dwindles. So, I remind myself to let go of the negative feelings that prevent me from nurturing the people and relationships in my life. Seeing a person laying lifeless there reminds me that in life, there is an end, and I need to say what I need to say to and do for those in my life before that silence settles between us forever. Sorry if this is a bit morbid. My heart is heavy.

Loi’s grandma lived a full life surrounded by countless children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, great great grandchildren (?) (Seriously, her family is so big, it seems like at every family function a new person pops out of the wood work). The effect of her life was so great that I believe she will live on through her children and grandchildren as they each carry a piece of her in the form of a memory, her mannerisms, facial characteristics, character, or a lesson she’s taught them. Though I was not nearly as close to her as her grandchildren were, I do know the effect she had on me: her undying spirit. Even in her last year as her health deteriorated leaving her wheelchair bound and unable to eat, she always mustered the energy to smile, the kind that would light up her whole face. She’d have conversations with me about my sons. She’d ask about Justin and genuinely cared about him even though she barely knew him. She’d let me massage her shoulders and legs and answer my random questions. The truth is I barely knew her and she barely knew me. But, for the short moments that we had together, I’d been touched. It is with those moments that I remember her by and shed these tears of mourning that I finally allow to fall. Rest in peace, Grandma.  You are loved.