Cat's Cradle

A little over a week ago I made this entry here. The article also appeared as my monthly column over at Hopeful Parents, a gathering place for those of us parenting under special circumstances and those that love and support us.

From the beginning I realized that I had touched upon a tender and most likely a very painful subject due to two e-mails I received almost immediately after the post went live. What was weird is that there were virtually zero comments left by readers at the two websites. Even after my Facebook page picked up the article (not once but actually three times) there was absolutely nothing left in response...until the following arrived in my private messages. 

Cat McCauley Labbe is a friend of mine from a few years back. In fact other than rekindling our friendship via Facebook we havne't laid eyes on each other since high school. Over the past year or so we have discovered many things about each other including the fact that we have (and still do) walk an almost identical path. After reading her thoughts I knew why there was so much silence.

I just read your beautiful post, Bennie, very heartfelt, and very true, as we have lived it firsthand. The only tidbit of knowledge I can add for you, and it is a tidbit...is that there is indeed a summit on Mt. Neverest. Everyone's is different, a different time and place on the climb, but trust me fully when I tell you that when you lay down your equipment, when the climb has gone as far as it can go, you will look back on the journey of a lifetime; one that very few familes are chosen to ever get to take.

Would you go if you knew what was ahead? Hell no! You'd be insane! You go because you are called and someone upstairs knows you can manage the climb. I hope you and Joan never have to lay down your equipment but even without the early loss of a special child, inevitably, the two of you will get older and unable to do as much as you do for Ben right now. So either way the journey will come to an end one day.

When it does, in spite of the heartbreak, crazy grief, helpless feelings, angry feelings....and they will all be there, you will also feel a since of accomplishment that no other life experience can or ever will give you. You will know that you did all you could do to make this very special life that Jesus Christ chose you and your wife to guide, protect, love, and nurture, has had a joyfull journey filled with unconditional love and acceptance. You will wonder what to do with yourselves and this was the point that we almost lost our 26 year marriage. What do we do now? We were lost.

After much prayer and contemplation and feeling like a failure, I realized that we had not failed at all. We took the climb. We gave it our all. We fell. We got hurt. We got banged up but we kept getting back up and going forward on the next leg of the hike. When you have fulfilled God's destiny for you to the best of your ability, and have accepted God's will for your precious child (whatever that may be) you will look back and know that you did indeed reach the summit - one that very few ever get to see because only a few are called by Him to see it. Those of us who have been called, are the luckiest parents in the world.

We spent ten years as virtual shut-ins too but the life lessons, the strength in adversity, the laughter, and the love that Eli graced us with for 16 years turned out to be the ultimate summit in life. Looking back on it now, I'd climb down and do it all over again. 

My advice? Accept help - don't be ashamed to ask for help...after all, you can't expect to hog the whole blessing! I haven't seen you in years, but I LOVE YOU, and I mean that. I feel every word you write to the marrow of my bones. Ben's smile reminds me so much of Elijah. Eight years ago I would have sobbed seeing his picture. Now I am able to smile with him because I know that with a strong family, which he obviously has in abundance, his story will have a happy ending no matter what God intends that to be.

One Day at a Time

“Hello! My name is Bennie and I’m an alcoholic.”
Shocked? You are not alone. Even some of our closest friends are just finding out and most of them are just as surprised. Other than my immediate family (including my brothers) folks are still questioning my decision to join Alcoholics Anonymous.

As soon as I decided to embrace sobriety I knew that I would eventually blog about it – the difficulty has been figuring out how and when to do it. After much thought and the fact that I happened to mention it in my monthly column at Hopeful Parents earlier this week it made sense just to put it right out there for the rest of the Blogosphere. For some a revelation like this might be too difficult or personal to discuss in public much less broadcasting it to a million potential cyber readers.

Long time “Ben Fans” know that we’ve never been ones to pull punches; our lives have been an open book from the very beginning of our exceptional journey which include some difficult not-so-pretty moments. Also every artist who is good at his or her craft is in a never ending search not for perfection but for Truth. Although “Truth” can be portrayed in one of my brightly colored seascapes or in my friend Conni Togel’s "whimsical" sheep paintings, it can just as well be disturbing or somber like Picasso’s Guernica or one of Van Gogh’s peasant paintings. As Oscar Wilde once wrote “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

In case you are now wondering, no, I am not one of those alcoholics. I haven’t been found sleeping under bridges at night neither have I disappeared for several days only to sober up in some jail cell. But that isn’t the definition of an alcoholic – it’s just an extreme example. My addiction is more subtle, hidden for the most part within the walls of our home. Had I taken my disease elsewhere, to that gutter under the bridge or some crowded pub filled with folks like me, most likely I would’ve spared my family (mainly Joan & Jessie) at least some of the emotional damage a selfish sot as me can unknowingly dish out.

I am only at the beginning of this new detour from my original life journey. Interestingly I am neither afraid nor ashamed of where I find myself. In fact I am excited. There is freedom ahead of me and I am anxious to discover it despite the hard work I will be facing in the coming weeks and months. There is also baggage to shed that has anchored me from moving forward with my life. Instead I’ve been mired in my anger, resentments, anxieties, and fear all of which collectively have stolen my joy.

Over the next few days I’ll share more about how I became addicted to fermented grapes and how an unexpected trip to New Orleans of all places brought me to my true senses. It is definitely an interesting tale and perhaps sharing my story will get the attention of another alcoholic so that he or she will seek the help so desperately needed.

Giving Thanks 1

This week I want to share some of the things I am most thankful for. Yeah, I know it's a bit cheesy but I do think that what folks treasure the most gives an interesting insight into their lives. Note that I'm not judging any of you posting your thankfulness each day this month on Facebook but I think it is much more difficult to condense one's true appreciations over the course of a few days.

Today I am thankful for my children. There was a time in my life that I would shutter had I not placed God in that number one spot. Jessie and Ben are the reasons I still maintain a relationship with The Heavenly Father/Mother albeit a much more improving one from this time last year.

In my honest opinion I think God likes this given his love for His/Her own son. For so many years I really never understood many of those passages where Jesus talked about looking at things through the eyes of a child or even his particular love for teaching children. I do now. In particular is the appreciation of Ben's incredible innocence. That boy has taught me more about unconditional love than any other person or experience in my entire life.

Today's cool quote is from Oprah Winfrey in honor of her retirement from her talk show: "Be thankful for what you have; you'll end up having more. If you concentrate on what you don't have, you will never, ever have enough."

True Inspiration

To find someone who embodies that particular phrase I have to look no further than across the room at my son Ben. He will turn 10 of age in a few short months and that is 10 years longer than he should have lived.

Ben was born with a rare genetic disorder called Pallister Killian Syndrome (PKS) leaving him with many challenges that he continues to overcome. He has endured numerous painful surgeries, strenuous physical and occupational therapies, and has even faced death on occasion. Seizures can be daily occurrences which interrupt signals from his brain that tell his lungs to breath or his heart to beat. Yet with all he has endured in 9+ years of life Ben is hardly ever seen without a smile; one so infectious that it is difficult not to return one to him.

As a father I had looked forward to many things once I knew my second child was a boy. Baseball was at the top of the list since it holds so much meaning and symbolism in my own personal experience. Ben even has his own “Field of Dreams” painted on his initial bedroom wall so he could look up before bedtime and gaze at my childhood heroes.

With the knowledge of his condition, after Ben’s birth the temptation was to embrace discouragement and disappointment. Knowing that the probability of me and Ben having a long toss together was not likely is still sometimes difficult to accept. Yet Ben has provided me and anyone else who has come to know him something a typical little boy can rarely achieve: inspiration to live life to its fullest!

My boyhood “heroes” were filled with names like Aaron, Bench, Yazstremski, Mays, and Clemente. My adult list of heroes has but one: Ben Waddell. This child has taught me more in his short life about courage, honesty, bravery, and selflessness than anyone else in my own 46 years. These days I cannot even imagine a life without an exceptional child living among our family and if you asked Ben’s mother and sister, they too would tell you that we wouldn’t trade our experience with Ben for anything else.

Truly inspiration is found by observing how well an individual meets and accepts adversity in life. Ben has not only conquered each and every one he has faced, he has actually flourished because of them! I thank God every day that I have Ben in my life.

Our hometown minor league baseball team is having an essay contest on "Inspiration." This is what I submitted as our entry. The Greenville Drive is the Single A affiliate of the Boston Red Sox. Wish us luck!

Anthem of Love

I need to thank my PKS sister, Gretchen Peters, for sharing a link with Facebook this morning. Before you go and visit this blogger understand that it is a homily written for tomorrow's service at an Anglican church. And before you decide to not visit let me challenge each of my readers to cast aside their own spiritual beliefs (or non-beliefs) for the moment. The message written by this Catholic deacon is a brilliant piece about how those of us living with exceptional loved ones should feel. The very sad fact is that many of us experience the opposite: isolation, loneliness, and abandonment and not just that occasional case of the blues. We know way too many families who find themselves emotionally and physically (completely) defeated by special needs living.

The author's revelation is simple: none of us were ever meant to walk this journey alone knowing how difficult our paths will be. This is particularly true for those of us parenting a special needs child or those who have a disability of their own. As he points out Love "does not exist in a vacuum."

Now go and visit the deacon's blog and be sure to watch the video. This is a story of triumph - story that bears repeating over and over again. You never know when one simple gesture (in this case 36,000 simple gestures) will change someone's life.

A Parent Should Not Outlive Their Child.

These words were whispered into my friend’s ear yesterday afternoon. About an hour earlier I had received a phone call, a similar call to the one David had gotten a few hours before that. The call every parent fears – an event we don’t even dare envision much less prepare for.

Although I am fortunate to have many friends, there are just a handful I label “best.” Of those few and excluding Joan there are two that I consider the closest of my confidants. In fact only the closest of my family members have known me longer. Ironically (if you are familiar with the Bible or the Torah) their names are Jonathan and David.

Even more ironic is that both of their fathers were Southern Baptist preachers. David’s dad baptized me when I was 11. Several years later Jonathan’s officiated over my first wedding. If you don’t consider those friendships along the lines of blood brothers then surely you have not sung “There’s Power in the Blood” in a cramped southern church on some steaming hot Sunday morning in July.

I know these two men almost as much as I do my own brothers. We have laughed together, loved together, fought together (and I might add each other). Their families are my family and mine theirs. Without sounding morose I also know without a shadow of a doubt that should I leave this Earth before them their collective hands will be four of the last that touch my casket before I am placed into the ground.

I know their hopes, their dreams, their strengths and weaknesses, their positives and negatives. We climbed literal mountains together and camped in some of the darkest most frightening valleys a man could encounter. Inevitably that means we have shared tears together – some joyful and now…some filled with such sorrow that one would eagerly embrace death as an alternative to the endless salty drizzle that falls from one’s cheek.

Over the most recent years David in particular has taught me that exceptional parenting does not corner the market when it comes to suffering and tragedy. I have begun blog posts about his plight many times over the past three years only to decide that then was not a good time or that other circumstances within in our own journey took precedence. Actually I have written about him on several occasions – all of which are reminders to me what a very special father he is. I hear all kinds of accolades about my parenting skills because of Ben. All I do is shake my head and think about Dave.

Although tragedy comes in many different variations it has one common denominator. It is not unlike a bunch of electrically charged ions floating around in the upper atmosphere lining up in such a way that they strike the ground with such speed and power that the landscape is permanently changed. Why it happened, how it happened, even what happened are questions that first come to mind. When those are not easily answered we survey the changed landscape and face more difficult questions like how do we move on or can we move on or…do I even want to move on.

Over the next few days I will be examining this most recent tragedy to occur within my inner circle of friends. I will look over these questions and search for answers. So far in the beginnings of this examination I have found a reason to finally reveal how David became a single father in his mid-40s due to his ex-wife’s drug addictions. And this “test” will take place as I help my friend, my blood brother, my family, and myself say goodbye to his oldest child, his 18-year-old daughter Jessie from a most likely alcohol & drug overdose.

Fear Part 2

I could probably write about a dozen blog entries to explain how I reached rock bottom in August of 1995. Just about everything you can imagine that would stress an individual to the max occurred between my Dad's death and my first trip to a psychiatrist. Joan and I got married. We bankrupted my Dad's business for a number of reasons. Mom and I started our own business which eventually swallowed up all of my savings. Joan and I began trying to have a baby with very little luck. In fact our first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage.

My break down happened at our office. Joan and my mom knew something was wrong but neither one knew how dark things were becoming inside. I couldn't sleep nights. I threw up what very little food I was eating. At the beginning of that summer I drank at night to self-medicate. By the this time I couldn't even do that. My emotions were absolutely out of control.

That afternoon I told my mother that if I had to continue living the way I was then I was going to kill myself. Neither one of us knew what to do. Her first inclination was to take me to see our priest, Father Henry.

Most Episcopal churches have a small prayer chapel that stays open 24 hours a day. Since I was an out-of-control emotional mess mom led me there while she went to find Henry. I still remember looking up at a crucifix and thinking why the hell won't you do something? Do you want me to die?

The strange thing is that after Henry had sat and listened to me for a few minutes he asked what I was afraid of. I can still hear the words rolling off my tongue like it was yesterday. "Henry, I'm afraid of dying like my daddy."

Within the hour I was sitting in a psychiatrist's office finally getting the help I needed. While Joan, my Mom, and Father Henry sat in the waiting room I listened to this guy read out of a few of the many tomes neatly shelved about the room. What was inside of my brain at the moment was the antithesis of this guy's organization skills. After wading through the gobble-de-gook I realized he was describing my condition to a tee. A severe depression brought on by Panic Anxiety Disorder.

He prescribed an anti-depressant, Zoloft, and Klonopin, an anti-seizure/muscle relaxant "to take the edge off" until the Zoloft kicked in. I also began counseling to deal with the nitty gritty, the core of my desire to off myself: fear.

My journey of the past 13 years has been long and arduous at times. A lot of work has been invested to keep me from getting so easily knocked down by the big white elephant that still remains in a room close by. During the last year that our business was failing I became so agoraphobic that I wouldn't leave the house.

Looking back I can see what a gift it was to lose our business given these economic times. As I admitted yesterday I have my worries but neither me, my Mom, or Joan no longer have to worry about the livelihoods of 40 to 50 employees. I love my job which has been part of the healing process. And then there's Ben - the biggest reason why my joy for life returned. If Jessie was the engine that revved my heart back to normal then Ben is the throttle that sent it rolling back down the highway.

I still take my meds. I still enjoy visiting the planet Klonopin via the Effexor Express these days. I'd like to think my summer camp visit to Hell back in '95 was not just an experience in suffering. There was a purpose and in the end I was saved. Due to the love of my famaily and a friend I finally had hope which had been lost. And with the discovery of hope my faith was restored.

Despite the conditions in which all of us are living these days, please do not give up your hope - nor your love and faith in your family, friends, and God.
______________________________________________________________
Ironically I found this article last night that discusses a corelation between depression and creative individuals. It's interesting to get to know my fellow artists and crafters because nearly all of them have had a moment in time like the one I experienced. Maybe not to the same depth but it still happened.

A Different Way of Seeing

After opening the booth and chatting with friends Sunday morning I sat down in the back of my booth to cool off from the abnormal hot humid conditions. I had a couple of fans running so I was relaxed sipping on my usual breakfast of Diet Coke.

I soon noticed two ladies that had stopped at the front of the booth. Like usual customers they were looking over the paintings and quietly talking with each other. Had I not been exposed to the device the lady on the left was holding I would've assumed she was just another typical admirer of art, in particular colorful paintings.

The woman was holding a long pole that resembled a golfer's driver. In fact what she was actually toting is called a Hoover cane (sometimes called a long cane). For the first time while traveling for art shows I had a blind person who for some reason was staring at my artwork.

I approached the two ladies and introduced myself. My curiosity was obviously piqued. The woman on the left began asking me questions about my work. "Can you describe what you do?" "What style is it?" "Can you please tell me the process?" It was easy to discern that she was quite interested and excited.

Honestly I don't know how long me, Christine Farnsworth, and her friend Karen Miller conversed. I just know it was way too short. Christine's story was fascinating! And our journeys, while very different were also quite similar. It is the typical conundrum of families living in the world of special needs.

Like most blind people Christine can actually "see" some things. It was so very moving as she touched my face to show me what so very little she can actually distinguish. Ironically she can perceive more distant images better than closer objects like my huge nose which was only two feet away.

This painting was hanging on the back wall of my booth and the one that caught her attention. It is fairly large (3' x 4') so Christine was able to describe it to me and Karen after studying it for a few moments! To say I was blown away is an understatement.

"I see green near the front." Yes, that is the dune grass. "Then there is orange or brown" That is the the sand. "I can see the tree and purple to the right." That is the ocean. "So the blue is the sky." I was stunned. Obviously this was a great opportunity to tell her about Ben.

Through our discourse I discovered that her blindness came about due to a genetic disorder. Christine had gradually lost her sight around the time she turned 40. Her mother was 13 when she became blind. She also knows that her daughter carries the same mutated gene. Most likely she will also lose her sight one day.

But here's the nitty gritty; the place where our paths converge like a living breathing letter Y. If there was any bitterness associated with that lovely woman then she should be on stage. Truly I met a very happy fulfilled delightful humorous woman Sunday morning. Our philosophies are essentially the same. When you are faced with a horribly tragic circumstance in life you have two choices: let bitterness bury you or make lemonade out of a lemon.

As our conversation was winding down I told her how I wished I could afford to give her a painting. She and Karen were very humble in saying that wasn't necessary. I was about to insist they take a print when an incredible idea hit me "like a two-ton heavy thing" (a tip of the hat to Queensryche).

For some reason I had brought along ALL the canvas panels that Ben has completed that Dad has not worked on. Honestly I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was an attempt to keep a connection with Ben while he was sick and I was far away? I really don't know.

I ran to the back of the booth and grabbed them. They were in no particular order but I asked Christine to pick one out. The painting lying on top was untouched by me. The entire panel was covered in thick acrylic paint. Ben's finger prints and messy drippings created an incredible texture. The dominating color was red and I told her how much Ben loved that color.

I sifted through some of the others but my new friend kept telling me she wanted the first one. Once again the hair on the back of my neck stood up as she ran her hand across the surface of the painting. "This one," she announced. I signed it for Ben. We all hugged for a second and third time before my new friends walked away.

Despite the crappy week, the pure mental and physical exhaustion of the previous 7 or 8 days that two-ton heavy thing once again let me know I was where I was supposed to be. Have I mentioned before how much I love my job?

Final note: this experience has led our family to an important decision about what to do with Ben's paintings. Please return over the next few days so we can share our new vision about them.

Unanswered Prayers Part 2

(Part 1 can be read here)

A few minutes later I was sitting alone on a pew in our church's sanctuary. I hadn't thought of Cathy in years. Why all of the sudden the day before Easter nearly seven years after our divorce did her name come out of my mouth? Long ago I had moved on with my life embracing the bachelorhood I missed out on by marrying at such a young age.

Several days later I talked with Mother Anne about what happened. In my mind it was quite obvious who I was supposed to be dealing with and it wasn't my ex-wife. She laughed at that remark. "God knows more about what you need to heal your heart than you do - otherwise you wouldn't have needed His help." So I asked her what do I do now? Anne replied, "I think you'll know when it's time."

I hung up the phone and looked at the crumbled sticky note. Cathy had given me the number at which she could be reached just in case I thought of a contractor. After jotting it down I almost threw it in the trash. Instead the memory of Holy Saturday began to burn brighter somewhere from the back of the storeroom in my brain. I picked the phone back up and nervously dialed the numbers. "Cathy...umm...what are you doing tonight?"

A few hours later I was pacing the floors of the home where she once had lived. I was probably more nervous that night than our first date in the summer of 1979. And since I hadn't laid eyes on her in over seven years I was just hoping that by some chance she'd look a little older or uglier or world worn...so unattractive that I'd be on my knees after she left thanking the good Lord He'd spared me from her hideousness.

The doorbell rung. I opened the door. Out of my mouth came the greeting while my arms extended a welcoming hug. In my mind the thought was, "shit - just thank you, God - she looks even better than I had remembered."

We grabbed a couple of beers and I showed her around the house. There had been some changes and she liked them for the most part. At least she said so. Our chit chat during the first hour brought us to the present. Family, friends, jobs, and relationships filled the first part of our conversation. She was living in Chicago by way of Dallas. Her big news was that she had recently discovered her birth mother, a search she had just begun about the time we split. And she was still involved with Mr. Marriage Breaker (you can tell I was really over things, can't you).

I told her about spending a couple of years in Jackyl and she even got a chance to laugh at my hair in the band photo. I told her how I sort of did exactly what my father wanted me to do after college which was fall in line and work in the family business. She told me how amazing my paintings were and how talented I was. I think I believed her.

Finally we reached one of those awkward silent moments when you're catching your breath knowing the conversation is about to shift. I remember the next moment like it happened an hour ago. We were both sitting face to face on the floor of our...my bonus room. This would be the moment the countdown began...five...four...three...

"Cathy, I have something I need to tell you. Honestly I didn't think I'd ever have this opportunity but here you are. I don't want this to sound condescending because this is for me - not you. It's just something that came out of counseling a while back. Cathy...I forgive you."

We have ignition.

She smiled and replied, "I forgive you too." Now that was not something I was prepared to hear.

Blastoff!

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

You can imagine the passion and emotion that erupted for the next hour. Her forgiving me? As Larry the Cable Guy would say, "Now that pissed me off right there, I don't care who you are." In my mind she should've still been wearing a big old scarlet "A" across her chest no matter how good her rack looked.

We weren't yelling or screaming but we weren't negotiating at the G8 Summit meeting either. After awhile the emotions finally wore us down. For the first time in probably...ever, we were actually listening to each other.

When we split I knew Cathy was unhappy (duh) but I didn't know how much I was making her unhappy. I had a direction in life. I had found an avenue in painting to make me excited about my future. And my selective memory didn't allow me to remember how many times I neglected our marriage in building my relationships within the art department at Furman.

It wasn't jealousy or envy either. Joan will tell you to this day that I am high maintenance. And I mean HIGH. The personality quirk that goes along with that is I'm a terrible listener. It's is something I have to work on everyday in every relationship I've ever had. My personality was overbearing for someone like me, just a kid wanting to find out who he or she was.

That's not to say she didn't recognize her part either. I mean she did have the affair. But I have to admit that her still being involved with the guy told me something.

By the time we were all smiles again it was time for her to leave. I walked her to the door. Just before walking to her car she turned around and said, "I wish we'd met later on in life - maybe a few years after school - like maybe now."

Before I could even think I replied, "I don't know, Cathy. If I met you for the first time right now I don't think I would like you very much." That was the first time I saw tears that night.

Way to go, Bennie. You still hadn't changed that much. Let's just twist that dagger again - one more for the road so to speak.

The Cross Roads

Having the benefit of hindsight I can truly say that summer evening almost 16 years ago was an important step for me. I didn't realize just how much I had been spinning my wheels since our marriage breakup. Within a few weeks I would have my first date with Joan. The eerie part is that on our second date I pretty much told Joan I knew we were going to get married. Maybe that's what Cathy saw in Matt - the guy she had the affair with and her future husband - a soul mate.

I have thought about Cathy occasionally over the past 16 years but had avoided trying to contact her. Through the grapevine I knew she had married and had a few kids. Beyond that I really didn't know...until a few days ago.

As I've said previously the internet is a great tool for getting in touch with old friends and neighbors. Even ex-spouses. She and I have been exchanging e-mails, catching up with each other's lives. What is amazing is learning how that summer meeting in 1992 must've been a turning point for her as well.

She and Matt married about a month before Joan and I. They have three handsome boys who were born in various parts of the world. I'm assuming because of Matt's job they have lived and traveled all over the globe. She has scuba-dived at The Great Barrier Reef, searched for The Northern Lights in Sweden, and visited King Tut's tomb. Essentially Cathy has the heart of an adventurer, something I never ever saw when we were married. And at the time I don't think Cathy knew it either.

Peace

I said something extremely rotten to Cathy the last time I saw her. Maybe it was true, maybe not. All I can say is that these days I like what I'm finding out about her, her family, and her path in life. It's just another example of how sometimes things seem out of our control and truly they are.

Those times hurt. They are extremely painful. And in the end we each have a choice. Will we let those hard times destroy us or will we rise above it and wait for the ultimate blessing? The second is the choice our family made when Ben was born. We have received blessing after blessing since.

In 1985 a marriage between two kids ended. From it, two fascinating journeys began. Eventually two amazing families were born. And that my friends is how true Love grows.

Unanswered Prayers - Part 1

I feel safe in guessing that most everyone reading this blog who is 25 years or younger recognizes the title as a song title as well. Garth Brooks had a huge hit with it way back in 1980 something. I forget the year which is not important. What I do remember is that verse that cites a "reunion" of two high school sweethearts at a football game. After their meeting the protagonist snuggles with his wife and which leads to him to the words of the chorus: sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers.

Via this blog I've had several opportunities to reunite with many people who are a part of my past. It has been a treasure to look back and see how these folks have helped me chart my life's course, some in ways that were intended and some that were not. Without a doubt in each case it was never my intention to lose touch with them. Life happens. Couples get married and their lives begin to revolve around their own families. Jobs have carried some away to distant places. Or that phone call I plan on making gets put on the back-burner until it's completely forgotten.

Through the internet I'm rediscovering old friends, teachers, and loved ones. We can correspond at ease knowing that our separation just "happened." That would be the excuse for all of them with the exception of one. And who could blame me? She just happens to be my first wife. My ex-wife.

Life in a Vacuum
When you are young it is easy to make mistakes and quickly recover from them. It was 25 years ago last month that Cathy and I were married. I wouldn't turn 21 for another 2 & a half months and since she was a year younger, I would have to illegally buy her adult beverages if she wanted a beer or wine.

As a teenager Cathy endured a traumatic family tragedy. The details are unnecessary and honestly it's none of my business to discuss it because it happened before I even knew her. Plus I still respect her privacy too much. Perhaps one day she'll talk about it on her own blog. But because of the situation I always attributed her quiet shy demeanor to her past misfortune.

Because she had so very few family members around my family became hers. She became the daughter my mom had always secretly wanted. Those couple of years before our marriage she was a fixture at all of my family's holiday gatherings. My grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousin all accepted her as a part of our own. It was a given that we were supposed to get married one day. And so we were.

My parents set us up in a small farmhouse in town. I went to work for my dad while she found a job as an administrative assistant. Life was good... or so I thought.

Betrayal
Eventually Cathy found a better job that gave her the ability to climb the company ladder just a bit more. I had started back to Furman so my schedule got pretty tight. Her office staff would often congregate after work together which suited me fine. I used the evenings to study and occasionally joined her friends for a cold one.

I noticed Cathy's personality changing. She was becoming more outgoing, choosing to do a lot of things we used to do together on her own. I was honestly pleased by this because I had just made the transition into the fine arts program at school and was spending more time out at Furman. We began discussions about trying to have a baby and in fact she went off the pill in the fall of 1984.

Condensing a long story into a short one, we began having trouble. Our relationship started unraveling. Cathy had suddenly become cold and distant. She was spending way too much time away from the house including one girls night out that she didn't come home. This was long before cell phones so I had no idea where she was. The next morning I watched as one of her girlfriends pulled into the driveway and parked. I could see them talking and it seemed like another hour before she entered the door. Cue the biggest fight we'd ever had.

In early April of 1985 I flew to Detroit for a recording session with my songwriting partner. While I was there it seemed Cathy would call to check on me just about the time I would normally call her. When she picked me up at the airport after my return flight I knew something wasn't right.

Later that night she told me she wanted to move out. I left for awhile and went to my parents - we were all just devastated - I didn't want her to leave. In the middle of the night I went back to the house and begged her not to go. When I got home from classes the next day her stuff was gone. We exchanged phone calls at work the next couple of days with the hope that I could get her to come home so we could work things out.

A few days later I got our monthly phone bill. While I was in Detroit she was calling me from another number and I knew whose it was: a co-worker at her office who was divorcing his wife. Against the advice of my parents and attorney I confronted her a few days later. Sitting in our den Cathy admitted to the affair. It was as if she wanted me to catch her so she could take the fastest train out of town. We were divorced July 18th, 1985 exactly one month after our second anniversary.

Forgiveness
In August of 1992 I got a phone call at my office. It was Cathy. She was in town to visit relatives and asked if I knew a particular contractor to do work on a relative's home. We made small talk for a few minutes, said farewell, and hung up.

For the past year I had been attending an Episcopal church but more importantly, I had been in a train-wreck of a relationship more off than on with a young lady the previous 5 or 6 years. Earlier in 1992 I went through counseling with my priest and after a few sessions she told me that to break free, I needed to forgive this girl for what she had done to me.

Holy Week in an Anglican church is an incredible time. To say the least it is very emotional and quite moving to participate in services to commemorate the seven days of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem until his resurrection. One of the rites some choose to participate in is a reconciliation service. The best way to describe it is that it's quite similar to confession for a Catholic. Essentially it is an opportunity to reflect upon something, someone, some event that is preventing you from a closer relationship with God, and most of the time from moving on with life.

I'll never forget as Mother Anne prayed with me that Saturday morning. It was excruciatingly emotional and most of it is still a blur, literally. I had my entire focus on this ex-girlfriend and wanted to be free of the mess we had made of each other. Mother Anne finally asked, "Who is it that you need to forgive and who is it that needs to forgive you? I looked up at her with hot tears streaming down my cheeks and replied, "Cathy."

Come back for part 2 tomorrow. I think you'll discover a different end than you might expect.

Artwork by Starry-Eyed Kid.

Summer Breeze

I have a ton of stuff still to accomplish before I leave Monday yet here I am blogging. It is nice to catch up on things happening in your lives. In fact blogging has been one of the most therapeutic activities that I've done since becoming a parent of an exceptional child. And it's not just the special needs blogs that have helped put things in perspective.

From every blog that I've ever read there is something that I've taken from it that reminds me that we're all human. There are victories, failures, sorrows, tears, laughter, joy, grief, and lifetimes of memories that remind me that we're all in this together. So the Blogosphere is a good place for the most part. The majority of us won't or even can't in some cases make a quick judgment about each other based on race, gender, wealth, special needs, or sexual preference. When we are reading a blog we are actually looking into someone else's soul - the essence of who they are. That is an extremely unusual thing in this day and age unless you are a celebrity and have actually written a truthful memoir. Ironically this occurs via devices (computer & internet) that many believe have further alienated humans.

As I was thinking about this a little earlier, one of those afternoon thundershowers passed by. For the most part the day has been absolutely beautiful. Hot but easy on the eyes. The skies became gray for about ten minutes while we enjoyed a brief downpour. Typically the air temperature dropped dramatically and the breeze through my open office window was incredibly refreshing. And here I am just a few moments removed from the storm thinking how inviting our pool is now that the thermometer once again reads 90 degrees.

Such is that essence of life. We encountered the beginning of what will most certainly be a severe thunderstorm for a community east of here. Although I enjoyed my respite from the heat I realize that there are folks elsewhere who might not find the eventual wind, thunder, and lightening so pleasant. And I truly sympathize with them and hope they remain safe. for every peaceful situation there is an equally turbulent one.

Just like that cool breeze I want to be a peace-giver for those needing a break from the turmoil. That is my gift as an artist. That is my calling in life.

There is a Reason

Despite being behind in my preparation for this weekend's show (as usual) at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina I had a chance to visit with my mom today and catch up on things going on with her. It is very unusual for us to have not talked in a couple of weeks, even by phone. Generally speaking we touch base with each other several times a week.

I truly admire my mother for a variety of reasons. Throughout my life my friends and those of my brothers always labeled her as a "cool mom." I honestly can't think of a specific reason for that except my mother has always been a terrific listener and full of energy. She treated her young house guests with respect and still managed to keep the poise of a wiser adult without making our friends feel juvenile.

Earlier this week I told you about the summer of '78. One of the memories from that time in my life was playing tennis with my mom. My mother was a marvelous tennis player and played competitively back then. So dad built a tennis court for her and my brothers in the mid-seventies.

Many a summer evening was spent on on that court. There was either a singles match between her and me or one of my brothers, or doubles with a couple of my friends. I distinctly recall having Steve Below and Jonathan Tierney wanting my mother on their side rather than me. And yes, I will admit it. My mom usually beat me in singles.

I've learned over the years just how strong a woman she is. Sandy Waddell is truly the matriarch of our family. We lost our dad, her husband of 32 years, just a few days before his 52nd birthday. She was my business partner for eleven years in the construction industry, a male-dominated profession. But mom was tough. She held her ground and fought for her employees. Ultimately it was her fairness and determination to do the right thing that made us sell the business.

Her life has not always been easy. In fact things have sometimes been very difficult since my dad's passing 15 years ago. But my mom's sense of humor is still the same dark hilarious nature that it always has been. The true fact is that my mom has been the rock that Joan and I have needed since Ben's birth. She adores her second grandson just as much as any of her other grandkids. Just like me and my brothers while growing up she loves them all equally.

But I'd like to believe that Ben is something extra special to her. A special unexpected gift. And today she shared something with me that solidified that thought. I'm not a Bible thumper and I am certainly of the opinion that God meets everyone in different sorts of ways using a variety of religions. I don't want to use this blog as a way of preaching but I sometimes gotta share things that make my life's vision clearer and perhaps help another parent or family understand exceptional living.

This is what mom ran across recently and it was something she really wanted me to hear. I think it is definitely worthy of being blogged so that our friends around the world can perhaps gain insight into why certain things happen in our lives. From the New Testament...

John 9 (NLT)

Jesus Heals a Man Born Blind

1 As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. 2 “Rabbi,” his disciples asked him, “why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents’ sins?” 3 “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.

How Then Shall We Live?

After posting my thoughts on Friday I wondered how I could follow it up without being trivial or providing some kind of positive follow up. I left out many things that haunt me (and Joan). Dreams that are so vivid that you awake in the morning and run downstairs to make sure Ben is breathing. Guilt that you live with because our exceptional child is alive when another has passed on. Hours spent wondering how our child will be cared for after we are gone should Ben survive that length of time.

I received an e-mail from another old friend this weekend that gave us much solace. Let me first say that you will need tissues handy when you watch the following video. The peace we have received from this "lecture" is remarkable. I think it is a fitting epilogue to my previous entry.

Windows of the Soul

My apologies for delaying the details of my trip to the coast of Georgia. I truly underestimated (once again) the physical toll doing a one-day show takes from a 45-year-old body, particularly when the show is the first one of the year. All that muscle and leanness I gained from those last 5 weeks of last year's schedule is now turned to fat and lard. I was wiped out yesterday once I got home. I felt even worse today.

As usual when one "feels the burn" and looks at that physical toll as a positive aspect of the work experience, they will also consider their entire effort as a gainful experience. If you are wondering now if I'm making some kind of an effort to put a positive spin on the weekend, don't worry. Everything turned out awesome! Not only did I have my best sales total since my trip to Tybee Island last November but I found a spiritual reassurance that I am doing what I am supposed to with my life's profession.

All of that anxiety I carried with me to begin the trip was eased during those first few moments of unloading my gear. It was quite obvious that I've become a part of "the Savannah gang" that routinely attend these events. From the Savannah Waterfront Association folks to those artists who've become a part of my extended family, they all made me feel welcome and that I was meant to be there.

The weather was glorious (73 degrees with very light winds - I should've worn shorts and my Crocs). By mid-afternoon the crowd had swelled to the largest I had seen in the few trips I've made down there. I think all of us that had the pleasure of hanging out on the riverfront Saturday had a taste of the warm days soon to arrive.

Saturday's highlight was meeting Derek, a handsome 19-year-old young man from Michigan, and his family. Oh by the way, Derek has cerebral palsy. Even though Derek was just flat out exhausted he graciously accepted our Telly Turtle book and in return I got a huge smile that reminded me so much of Ben's!

As I chatted with Derek's mom & dad we couldn't help but feel the kinship between us. While I was telling them a little about Ben a stunningly beautiful young lady walked up and took Derek's hand. It turns out it was his 21-year-old sister. I found out about her connection with Derek and what an amazing future she has before her. Later that evening I shared with Joan how I couldn't help but see a vision of us ten years from now.

By the time I returned to the camper exhaustion was quickly constructing cobwebs between my ears. I poured a glass of wine to unwind just a little more and thought about how much I have changed since the last trip to Savannah just three months ago. While I would agree that rest has been a factor in gaining back my confidence I can also say that the key ingredient is the way I am looking at life these days.

My confirmation came in the form of a book my mother encouraged me to read...oh...perhaps a year ago at this time? For some reason I was compelled to pack Windows of the Soul by Ken Gire. I don't know why. My artist friends will tell you that I'm not one of those to read in the booth when things are slow. Also when you're camping by yourself, the prospect of building a campfire to relax next to beats sitting in a small pop-up camper anytime. That is in fact how I enjoyed my Friday evening.

Despite those cobwebs creeping across that empty space in my cranium I still had a half-full glass of wine. There's no sense in wasting a gift from the grapes so I plucked the book from my luggage and began reading. About an hour later I picked my jaw up from off the table and went to bed. Trust me. My jaw was not there from yawning.

Even running out of gas on the way home couldn't bring me down. How could it? I was able to coast to the bottom of an exit ramp leading to two truck stops.

My blog friends I tell you that this is going to be a great year for our family. I don't know about how that might relate to personal sales figures or financial gain. In all honesty I really don't care. I can only say that me, Joan, Jessie, and Ben have a joy happening within us that we've not experienced in a long, long time and that is what it is all about.

And thanks for the book, Mom.

Don't Hit the Pause Button

Things are going fairly well for our family at the moment. We're in debt above our eyeballs and unless we hit the lottery or either one of the two Bens becomes the next Jonathan Greene we'll remain that way. Our house is a wreck. Gutters need to be replaced, carpenter bees have made our wooden windows neighborhood gossip catchers, and then there's that warped vinyl siding issue above the garage.

Oh yeah. The garage. The place where we used to actually keep two vehicles. It is now full. Of stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff like hunting and fishing equipment I never use anymore. Stuff like a treadmill that doesn't work. Stuff like all the crap I stuff into my van when I'm heading to an art show. I know I don't have to explain "stuff." You got it. We've got it. Everybody's got it.

And then there's the yard. Oh. My. God. I used to have a green thumb. More than likely it's lying under the poison ivy out by the pool...which is filled once again with leaves deteriorating at the bottom of it since we neglected to cover the thing up once again this past fall.

Did I mention that Saturday is my first art show of the year? First Saturday on Savannah's waterfront on March 1st. That my friends is why I haven't been visiting your blogs very often the past two weeks. I'm trying to welcome the new year of selling art with some new ideas. Tomorrow will officially kick off the annual Meltdown Extravaganza Due to Little Amount of Time to Prepare for the Show Even Though I Had the Last Three Months to Do So.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because my friend Casey of Moosh in Indy was brave enough to talk about her experience with depression. She really went into detail last fall (November I think) about her battle. And indeed it is a battle. Winter is very tough on me and Joan. We crave those long sunny days of summer when we can sit outside at 9PM and still see the sun shine.

Neither one of us were like this when we got married. We both are now aware of the many things that made us ill. In fact our family business that we "sold" a few years back was the root that became a weed that Round Up could never kill. Just ask my mom. The woman who is my best friend caught the illness as well. My mother, who can make you smile in the darkest of darknesses, has suffered from the "D word."

We are all fortunate to have survived . Unless you've been through that experience (and I pray you haven't) you'll never know how dark things can be. For the first time last weekend I shared with Jessie my experience during the summer of 1995. Early August of that year I seriously considered suicide because I could no longer live how I was living. I wanted Jessie to know that if she ever felt that empty inside there is a way to restore the joy she is feeling right now.

I still have a story to share sometime down the road. I want to share it because hopefully someone reading it will know where and how to find help. And Casey, thank you for being brave enough to share your story. It makes all of us better people to know that a smiling face doesn't mean there's a beautiful place in one's heart.

For the record I despise Casey's perfect teeth.

A Different View

First let me say that the weather was awful here today. We got the tail end of those terrible storms that made their way across the Southeast last night that left so much destruction in their wake. Because of the weather the debut of our first Ben & Bennie painting will have to wait until tomorrow.

As mentioned last night Ben is definitely feeling rotten. There is no doubt in my mind that he would be in the hospital right now had he not gained so much strength within the past couple of years. Thankfully he has been able to rest comfortably most of the afternoon. It's easy to see how much he wants to have a normal day but the energy is just not there.

Which sort of leads me to some of the thoughts that occurred to me while caring for my son today. Exceptional child or not there are very few things worse than having a sick child and I'm not talking special needs issues, genetic disorders, or anything as critical as those are. I'm talking fever, runny nose, aches, coughing so much they can't sleep, and not even wanting to be touched because they feel so bad. Our family is just like yours in that respect.

Seeing Jessie (obviously now) go through this viral crap last week made a huge impression upon me. It is so unusual for any eleven-year-old to get home from school, lie on the couch, and then sleep for three hours. To see such an energetic child curl into the fetal position at the wrong time certainly makes an impression on a parent's heart.

I know that most of you reading this know exactly what I'm talking about because I've been reading your blogs. Many of you have sick children. Many of you are going through difficult circumstances. Many of you are suffering just like our child.

I can only say that my thoughts turned to the Almighty this afternoon as I thought about these things. All I can say is that I truly believe God loves us more than I could ever love either of my children and that is not easy for me to say. So however you need to do it, I encourage you turn to Him for your comfort and strength as you face your difficult times. Just like Ben you may not want your Father's touch. It hurts but this father understands that Ben will soon reach up for my hugs and caresses.

I'm no spiritual guru or expert. You can easily see that if you peruse the archives here. But I told a dear friend of mine just yesterday that things have been so much better once I quit yelling at God and began trying to listen for a change.

New Again



I shall return to this video again one day. Probably when Ben is once again sick and has to endure hourly "sticks" to check his blood. Or perhaps when I learn of another family whose child is born "different" than other children. Or maybe when we are flat broke after I've returned from a disappointing art show and I'm wondering how we are going to pay the bills. Or in the worst case I can imagine, hearing about a mother who has lost her child.

For those who think they are without hope I can honestly point toward the place you can find it.

Calling All Angels

Special note: if you have not yet read yesterday's blog entry please do so before you read the following.

Before I posted yesterday's entry I had told Ben's nurse, Lisa, what I intended to write about. After talking about it a little while she asked if she could send the entry to a friend of hers just to see what he thought. I was like, "sure! Maybe we'll get a new reader out of the inquiry." Well we got far more than we thought. Read on.

E-Mail from Lisa this morning:
Bennie, I sent a copy of yesterday's blog over to my friend, Tony. He is a very wise Christian. I trust that anything he says about Bible stuff is actually in the Bible!!! He doesn't make stuff up for any reason, he's the most honest person I've ever met! So, here it is:

Lisa,
At last night's prayer meeting Pastor Mark mentioned that spiritual men sometimes cry. While I have a very compassionate heart, my background and maybe even my years of police work has hardened me somewhat. There are many times when my heart cries, but very rarely does any tears come. However, early this morning, around 4:00AM the Lord woke me us as he has done many times before wanting to talk. I have grown to love these times for many reasons. They tend to nourish me and calm my spirit. After a couple of hours of quality time with God, I went to the office early. Upon reading your email, I noticed actual tears dripping from my face. What a joyful way to start a day - Thanks!

Now to the answers. God does send our loved ones to us. Children like Ben are more receptive to seeing and talking with them. And he needs them more and as such, they are dispatched to him frequently. Yes, Angels are the prime method that God uses, but there are times when "Saints" are used for such purposes. While I can tell you that I have had more than my fair share of "Angel Interventions" I have also a number of times when I felt that saints were close by.

God's word tells us that the saints can see us. I'm not sure of the exacts and I don't think anyone else is. It's one of those mysteries that we will learn the extent of when we are in heaven and have "perfect knowledge" as promised. For now, I can absolutely assure you that God is not at rest. He uses all methods to meet his purposes and Ben's ancestors are certainly among the list of resources he would use to calm Ben's spirit.

Samuel was an especially talented prophet. So much so that King Saul (the first king of Israel) counted on his advice before going into any battles. After Samuel died, Saul went into battle and asked the witches of Endor to raise Samuel for his advice one more time. Which they did (to Samuel's displeasure). Samuel did return to tell Saul that his battle would be lost and both he and his son would be killed that day. So, there is evidence that the dead can return. But........ Saul was very wrong in using sorcery to return Samuel to this world.

One point of this story is not to count on sorcery for consulting. God wants 100% of our trust to be in him. And he has a higher level of anger for anyone who does not use faith in him to plan their lives. Ben is receptive to things we are not and wow what a blessing that is. He has a deeper relationship than we can ever have. While I have never met him, the Lord touched my heart this morning with some visions about him. Ben is seeing things we can not.

I have prayed to see these things and I have not as yet seen the things he sees. They are his comfort. But, they are also sent to comfort his family and loved ones. Not through seeing them, but through the knowledge that Ben is getting special attention.

This story alone must be spread. It sends hope to the hopeless. Don't try to understand or dissect this phenomena. Instead thank God for it. Who Ben is seeing is not clear. It could be Angels which I am sure he sees often. Or it could be a sainted ancestor. But, it also could be the face of Jesus himself. Actually, I believe it is a combination of all three at different times.

Ben's dad also had a blessing. He knew what was happening and he was so close that the breath of Christ himself breathed on him. Wow! This will happen again I assure you. Please pass my words to this family and also my prayers. While they have some stressful times, these kind of moments are so very valuable.

Ben's story must be told. Christ has others who need his touch. Channels that Ben makes available are the best ways to reach the hurting. His story (stories) need to permeate the culture of the hopeless. Quoting the exacts of how and where these kind of things happen in God's word is not important. Instead, the important thing is to understand the ways our Lord works through our lives. None of us can say specifically how saints and Angels are used. But we can say that with Christ all things are possible. His smiling down on Ben in the dark that night is easy for me to see. And I bet he called a few Saints to visit with him.

Chances are what Ben was seeing (and conversing with) was a lot of people. That's the way our Lord works. He uses all resources! Also that night Ben's family was also visited. What their eyes did not see, their hearts felt. Even those who were asleep were touched. You simply can't get that close to Christ without it rubbing off on even those in the deepest of sleeps!

Angels never leave Ben. There is one or more assigned to all of us for our entire lives. Nor does the Holy Spirit ever leave him. Be assured of that. But there are many hurting souls who don't have the Holy Spirit. That is a tragedy and Ben and his families story is a step in reaching those. God bless you for sharing this with me. Today, I may have lost some sleep, but my heart is beating stronger than ever!

Tony S.

Now, I want to say that besides the fact that we were blown away by this response we (Joan and I) also see this as verification of what has been suspected by us since Ben's earliest days. We also know there are frequent readers here that have differing religious views than our family. Despite that fact our hope is that you embrace this information as a comforting thought particularly, for those who are raising an exceptional child.

I don't think a family can raise an exceptional loved one without acknowledging a Higher Power; a Supreme Being with a master plan. Whether you choose to ignore It, be angry with It, or come to terms with It is another matter. Joan and myself have had our own faith demolished to its foundation. Those that have read the blog since the beginning know that we both had become quite agnostic at one point. And regardless of the situation at hand we know that we will once again someday question God and His motives.

All I can say is that for now, a little boy who can barely speak and express himself, who cannot stand or even sit up on his own, who has faced greater challenges in 8 years than I will in my entire life time, who stares at the ceiling at night and talks to it has convinced his mother and dad beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is in control. No teacher, preacher, priest, rabbi, imam or anyone else for that matter has ever been able to do that. Absolutely amazing!

Calling All Angels by Train

He Talks to Angels

After nearly eight years of parenting an exceptional child I'm still amazed at how much I don't know about my child. It is a double-edged sword. I'd really like to say that most of the mysteries Ben still guards are like presents waiting under the Christmas Tree: when the moment is right, the paper and packaging come off revealing a shiny new ability that we can celebrate and rejoice.

The reality is that we walk on eggshells in regards to his curiosities hoping not to awaken the next big bad dragon that awaits underneath the darkness of the unknown. And although it is true that much of what we do know about Ben fits somewhere in the middle of those two poles it often seems that there is more bad than good that can happen at any given moment. Panic and anxiety reign supreme in our world.

One thing I have come to believe is that God gives these kids special gifts that we may never know exists. There is an occasional hint but human nature convinces us that it's all wishful thinking, and too bad. The opportunity to discover a new way to connect with this special child is lost. Since I'm the one most convinced of the reward Ben gains from painting I'm used to kicking human nature in the privates. This overgrown child is all about learning what special gifts and talents await under that tree!

And so this evening I bravely but convincingly reveal one of those gifts Ben has. I'm also suspect that it is a gift that most special needs children have and perhaps something that all children once had. Afterwards you can go ahead and call me crazy. But as you consider what I'm about to type keep in mind that most folks were once convinced that the world was flat just because somebody said so.

At bedtime last night Joan brought Ben up to cuddle with her and Jessie until I was ready to turn in for the evening. As usual Joan's been slammed at work and quickly fell asleep. When I came to bed I walked Jessie to her room and tucked her in. That left me and Mr. Big Eyes to share whispers of love and affection while The Sandman did his thing. At some point I awoke and looked over at Ben.

Ben was staring straight at the ceiling studying something intently. I rolled over and looked myself. One idle ceiling fan, two air vents. Just like normal. I looked back at Ben but this time he was laughing. Good. The joke's on me. Ben got me to look. So I grinned, scratched his head, and buried my head in my pillow once again in such a way that I could keep an eye on him.

Over the next half hour or so Ben continued the same pattern. He would get real quiet and watch the ceiling. Every now and then he'd mouth some words which were inaudible to me and then begin to laugh hysterically. Occasionally he'd turn toward me or Joan as if to check if we were seeing what he was obviously seeing.

Now I must admit that this was not the first time we've noticed this behavior. In fact looking back, Joan and I both noticed even in the NICU days that Ben seemed to be curious about something "above him." We've guessed in the past that it was fascination with lights until he did it in a completely dark room like last night. The theory that it is a vision defect hasn't been completely ruled out but his ophthalmologist doesn't think so. Is it just a clever imagination? Since we've never seen Ben play any other "make believe" games I would say that it is unlikely.

So what is it? Does he have a guardian angel who watches him and comforts him when he's vulnerable to fear? Last night he had several substantial seizures after he fell asleep. As apposed to our previous experiences Ben had a look of complete peace about him after they were over. Perhaps his grandfather, or great-grandparents, or a new friend who has arrived at their final destination are visiting with him just to remind him that he's doing well. Dare say that it is the face of God smiling at him and enjoying his personality like we do each night?

I don't know which of these scenarios is the exact one but something...someone is there. So last night I strained my eyes even harder than before. I said a prayer asking that I could see what Ben could see. I wanted to know that kind of joy in the midst of suffering and seizure. And I heard my answer way down in the depths of my soul. "Bennie, you're still not ready yet."

Perspective

Any trained artist will tell you that perspective is a fundamental element of the creative process. Basically (and this is a very basic definition) it is how objects appear from one's eye in relation to distance and location. For instance, if were to do an architectural rendering I would make darn sure that every edge of any linear object (the eaves of roofs, window sills, tops of a door frame) would all intersect at some finite distant point. Being more or less an impressionist painter I "distort" perspective by twisting and turning the objects upon the canvas in such a way to give subjective meaning to the completed artwork.

And it is that fundamental element that sometimes only another artist can identify and speak volumes about to a fellow artisan. This generally occurs when a painter such as myself gets stuck in a rut, runs into a composition problem, or just needs a creative kick in the ass. We seek another trusted comrade who can reinterpret some of those fundamental elements so that we may move forward with our art.

Such was the case when I opened my e-mail this morning. My dear friend, Conni Togel, shared some thoughts with me in regards to A Work of Art. I received permission from her to reprint most of it here because I honestly believe all of us can benefit from her wisdom. so I'll let the teacher speak:

So sorry to hear about Ben’s health problem at the moment – give him an extra hug and then go have Joan give you an extra hug, right after you’ve given her and Jessie an extra hug.

Questioning God is not a bad thing - in fact, I tend to think God is intelligent enough to prefer inquiry to ignorance.

I cannot imagine quite what life is like for you, though your blog really does bring a lot of heartfelt info to the world about living with an exceptional child – btw: Ben seems to be exceptional, exceptional or not.

And THAT is where most likely your “why?” answer will be found: special people get special assignments (and special kids) - your situation is indeed a toughy, but through all of the medical things, and financial things, and the stress caused by the combination of all of the above, there is one thing that shines through and not only touches your heart, but now that you have your blog, also that of many others: Ben and the love his family has for him. If that ain’t a good reason for “why” then I don’t know what is. Because Ben. Enough said...

I’m sure you would have chosen a different life situation for Ben even if you would have had to give your life to make it happen – but how involved in Ben’s life and in your family would you have been if he had been “normal”? See, you might have missed just how exceptional Ben really is if he was just a normal kid next door. Jessie and Ben would have fought like cats and dogs over the remote control of the tv, he might have left his dirty socks stuck in the couch cushions, might have forgotten to put the toilet seat down, might have lived solely off of Cheetos and Mountain Dew, Joan might have turned into a nagging wife (not many women don’t after while of being married to a guy – and yes, any guy :o))) ), and you might have become a 9-5 suit in an office somewhere, ...probably not, from what I’ve been reading about you and your family, but you get the idea...

Instead, Ben came along – and gave “normal” a whole new spin. Not always a fun spin, but spinning around will always give you a chance for different viewpoints of things. And it gives others a chance to see you from different angles as well – not that bad of a thing, really.

So when you start asking God “why me?”, my guess would be: because God shines through Ben, and he wanted it to shine on you. Just enjoy the warmth, and see how the shadows make the colors brighter.

Enough preaching to the choir here – don’t know if this was any kind of help at all, but those were my thoughts about your post yesterday.

I'm looking forward to seeing Conni and her husband Peter on Thursday.


Ben Update: He is doing remarkably well. His doctor agreed with me that the shunt was definitely not the culprit and that Ben evidently was hit by the same stomach bug that has been filling up his office for the past week. He did not see the need for IV fluids and Nurse Jenny did an excellent job of increasing Ben's fluid intake throughout the day. Although the feeding pump is set at a slower rate of feeding than normal, Ben is now receiving his normal mix of nutrition.

He's been playing and laughing this afternoon. In fact we're having a hard time convincing him to rest. No seizures. No dry-heaves. Thanks for the prayers. Obviously they work.