Lasting memories of Newtown and moving forward from the tragedy.

HOW DO WE MOVE FORWARD?

This year was a different Christmas for me. I always say that the holidays speed away, and like the sleep over parties I had as a teenager, are exciting to plan--and even more amazing to celebrate with friends late into the night. Then, once the  holidays are over, taking down the decorations and realizing there are no more excuses to eat luscious mounds of food,  makes me feel slightly depressed and  exhausted, coming off a sugar high.  Yet, this year, more than ever before,  I felt a little guilty and sad enjoying the celebrations when  my mind would occasionally  wander to some of those horrible thoughts, still prevalent in the wake of the Newtown tragedy.

 There have been many investigative stories already written and several of the facts are still getting sorted. Plus, so much of the horror continues to stream through  media outlets that I find myself changing the news channel , overwhelmed with all the emotions, and still some disbelief that this could have and did happen. My dad said he doesn't want to hear about it anymore because he can't "take it." Still, I want to share some lingering thoughts from a Mother's, (& Teacher) perspective.

Three prevalent thoughts linger in my mind:

1. What the children were thinking during the incident?

2. Why  there's no record by anyone of strange, bizarre or violent behaviors by the perpetrator.  And if there is, why don't we know about it?

3. How can we help these families and prevent other families from experiencing this same tragedy?

One of the gut wrenching thoughts I struggle with is what these little children were thinking when they witnessed these killings and the fear they felt whether harm would come to them,  probably wondering, "When is mommy coming; she'll protect me 'cause that's what mommies do."

One cold morning when I went to pick-up my then 3-year-old from nursery school, my car wouldn't start. My neighbors weren't home, so I frantically called my husband. Thankfully, he was local and hadn't gone into NYC that day. I rushed inside to call the school to advise my husband would be late getting there. The director told me my son would sit in the classroom with the teacher until my husband arrived.  I was anxious  thinking about my little boy sitting there wondering where I was.

When my husband finally arrived home, I raced to his car as I had been pacing back and forth outside on the street. My husband couldn't understand why I was so frantic. "I have him, what are you worried about, " he said, shaking his head.  I picked my son up from his car seat and kissed him repeatedly. "Sorry, mommy's car wasn't working," I tried to explain.

"I didn't know where you were mommy...all the other mommies were there. But the teacher stayed with me." I felt so badly, and even though I knew there were circumstances beyond my control and that it would be unrealistic to believe my son wouldn't have to acclimate to situations without me, in my heart,  I always want to be there when he needs me. Dr. Northrup, author and woman's advocate in health and wellness,  articulated this well when she said something about placenta cells remaining over 30 years within a mom , connecting her to her child. This is one of many pieces of information that supports why my husband-- and most men-- don't seem to  feel what their children need as many moms do.

So, when I read about the shooter's mom sheltering her son--and possibly masking his dangerous behaviors, I understood her protectiveness, but disagreed with it--and question what issues she had as well. When a child exhibits "disturbing" behaviors as was indicated by many witnesses as well as his mom who, according to news programs,  advised her friend, "Don't take your eyes off of him," when she left to run errands one day.

We have a duty to seek help, get the necessary interventions and/or alert authorities if we believe a person can harm someone. A major obstacle in this scenario is the stigma which is associated with mental health issues which  makes coming forward that much more difficult. We, as a society, need to educate ourselves and mandate interventions through our schools, at home and through our health care initiatives.

 As a Teacher,  I encountered one child who, although I only taught for one class, recognized there were social issues of concern. A colleague didn't want me to say anything because the mom was extremely antagonistic. The child wasn't following the rules in my class, so I had him stay in at lunch one day. The mom complained to the Principal, and added that when she saw me, "one of my skirts was too short" (her way of defending her son)?

I, in turn, shared my concerns about the child's behavior. The Principal moved the child out of my class, even though he said he concurred there was "something off." Hence, I am in total agreement with many of the crime and rehabilitation "experts" who I watched after the Newtown tragedy, when they said our society protects or hides these deviant behaviors rather than address the underlying issues through interventions. Regrettably, when  I recently saw some former students, it was sad for me to learn that the boy in question here  is now in prison.  My message:  report, document and address these mental & criminal issues before they address us.

 Another, separate and distinct variable which comes into play in the Newtown case is the perpetrator was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome, which is under the umbrella of Autism, often characterized by a lack of social skills and often accompanied by  a high intelligence, especially in a particular subject or interest.  An obvious example is Dustin Hoffman's character portrayal in Rainman. As a Teacher and Educational Advocate , I can attest to the fact that  because a child is on the Autistic Spectrum, doesn't mean he has more criminal tendencies than "typical" children. Criminal behaviors don't discriminate as they exist in all types of people and must be dealt with whether they exist in isolation --or are coupled with other disabilities/ illnesses.

My final recurring thought is there's no way to bring these little children, or the adults who were trying to protect them, back; so what can we do to change the world in the future to honor these precious lives that were cut so short? I believe we must pay tribute to the families as much as we can.  I met a mom in the supermarket recently, and I agreed with her when she  said, "If I lost my child, there's absolutely nothing anyone could say to make me feel better." I agree, there are no words. Prayers, prayers and more prayers is what I would ask to help families cope with such an enormous loss.

My small way of paying homage to the children this year was to decorate with some new lights in children's colors of purple and pink, along with a 2nd, smaller tree. For many years, I've been saying I wanted to get a baby, 2nd tree to decorate in addition to our larger, family tree. 

 

  A few days before Christmas, I found one small tree left at the nursery, all by its lonesome. Like the toys disregarded in the  "Land of Misfit Toys," I had to rescue it. No one purchased  it because it was extremely flawed, lots of  wayward branches, irregularly shaped. My husband said I shouldn't get it  because it's "crooked,"  like the leaning tower of Pisa.

I often listen to my husband's input, but not when it comes to shopping:  I  hugged my tree, watered  & decorated it the best I could. It's BEAUTIFUL and representative of a group of families who could have collapsed, but like the tree, these wounded victims are still standing--crooked bearing so much pain on their shoulders--or as I'd rather envision them--carrying their children piggyback style. The lights are the children's inner glow, a legacy and brightness that's eternal.

Every Christmas, I'm going to do something to remember these children and the Badger family (The three girls and their grandparents who died in a Ct. fire Christmas 2011). 

I hope three takeaways from this post are:

1. Hold these children in your heart and honor them in some way, whether through prayer, ceremony or your thoughts and deeds towards others.

 2. If you know of a child (or mom/dad) who has sociopathic (where your think they could truly harm someone) and/or criminal tendencies, share your information with the proper authorities so it's on record; this includes your schools, especially if you're in a position where, like a Teacher, you have insight into certain disturbing behaviors.

3.  Remember how blessed we are to have our children, which, at times, means, "don't sweat the small stuff" so much.  Yes, it's important to guide our children, teach them values and sometimes be the rule enforcer. But, sometimes, we, as moms, need to pick & choose our battles, especially with teenagers. The other day, I was making lunch  for school and I opened the aluminum foil to find one of my kids had unraveled the roll so that I couldn't open the foil without it continuing to tear.  So, I started getting aggravated and was about to call them downstairs. Then I  giggled remembering I always messed this up --and sometimes still do. Not a big deal, so I simply unraveled the entire roll and started over.

Motherhood is  like the roll of aluminum foil: some days are shiny and smooth and unravel  effortlessly; other days, we just can't seem to grasp onto whatever it is we're trying to do. When everything seems to be falling apart and slipping through our hands,  remember what we tell our kids, "Take a deep breath and start over again."

Life really is precious; the time you spend with your children and loved ones is of greatest value!

Any Summer Memories Left. Here's a Yankee Clipper from MommyBest!

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     Now that the Fall is racing by and everyone is settling into the "school in session" season, I'm reflecting upon what started out as an awesome Summer 2012--going into NYC for dining, mom play dates with friends, beach time and yes, I even went fishing for the 2nd time in my life. So when I had an accident in NYC only a few weeks into the summer, I was not a happy camper. 

      My girlfriend and I went into NYC for a day of fun when I injured my foot, leg and neck, in an accident, and--even worse than calling my family from the hospital to tell them this news--was explaining to my younger son I wasn't going to be able to take him and his friends to Lake Compounce the next day as I had promised. When I called Dylan from the hospital to share the details of my injuries--there was a long silence after he realized I wouldn't be able to go to the park the following day. His brother and his friends had just gone the week before so he wanted his just dos. My girlfriend was with me at the hospital, and the one salvation we had after the 7 hours at Lennox Hill was laughing many times that my son was more upset about Lake Compounce than my injuries : )

     So what could make the summer even worse? The day after my accident, our younger son flipped his bike over and broke his clavicle in a "jagged split," according to the orthopedic who gave him a 6-8wk minimum recovery time. His entire back was skinned from the fall, and he couldn't find a comfortable position to sit much less sleep for weeks. One mom who has become a good friend of mine and our sons are also friends put it really well when she offered healing wishes adding, "How cruel for an active teenage boy to break his clavicle in the summer." No baseball, no sports at all--not even swimming."

     Once Dylan was able to sit comfortably, we started going out for walks, having a few friends over--although it was quite challenging to create activities that would be nearly as fun as water slides, kickball and just plain summer craziness. We started doing day trips and going away for a few nights at a time. After four weeks into his healing, the doctor said he could start swimming before moving around to more challenging activities. And, of course, Dylan went with my husband, who was one of the coaches, to all the baseball games to support his team from the bench.

     Dylan loves the Yankees! So, I wanted to take him to a special game. Since my older son had another event to go to and was active all summer--and especially since my husband is a Red Sox Fan ( Can you imagine our summer dinner conversations? The constant  jabbing and rival team trash talking), I wanted the game to be an activity for just the two of us.

     We had an awesome time last year when we took the Yankee shuttle to see one of the ALCS game. I was able to buy the tickets last minute from a friend who lives in the city (Larry : )

Everyone has a favorite player.

    

Gearing-up for the game!

     There was an electricity in the air from the moment we boarded the packed subway car. Even though the chill in the air felt more like football weather, there was no mistaking that this was a baseball night to remember--A Yankee night for sure. The fans were jovially bouncing around, already spewing their victory chants against the Texas Rangers.

     Walking into the winding trail from train stop into the stadium, the smell of chestnuts roasting filled the air and it was cold enough to blow smoke rings. It was jammed and the fans were jamming.

     What a great start with the Yankees winning the first few innings. We were screaming and stomping our feet along with all the other fans. Then, one decision changed the direction of the game: A.J. Burnett intentionally walked a player, which was then followed by a home run, slammed by Bengie Molina. The game ended with a 10-3 loss for the Yankees.

     Yes, we still had an amazing time, especially on the train rides there and back, listening to all the jokes and banter. But the ending was disappointing.

      So, after a rough summer recovery, I also wanted to recover that Yankee loss and replace it with an ever bigger, more spectacular win. I found a Red Sox verses Yankees Sunday Night game, got tickets and surprised my son.  I admit I asked the man upstairs for some intervention because I wanted to have a winning memory.

     I'm sure most moms can relate to supporting their kid's interests. Before I had my boys, I had no interest in baseball. But after becoming my boys' number one fan in all the sports they play, I also became a fan of their baseball team (not my husband's team lol).

     Like wounded warriors, my son, with a broken clavicle, and me, limping along,  worked our way to what has become our favorite  seats: high behind home plate. We love to sit there because there's an awning to shield us in case it rains, is windy or too sunny. However, on this occasion, climbing high after filling our hands with sodas and treats, along with our injuries, caused much chaos trying to work our way to our seats. Other fans graciously tried to help us through the maze. Dylan and I were laughing so hard trying to maneuver our way up the stairs that we had to stop several times.

     The game was amazing as the Yankees scored and the Red Sox didn't. We didn't want any surprises this time and began to have confidence that this game would be a winner. Highlights from the game included Hiroki Kuroda pitching a scoreless game and Ichiro Suzuki scoring two home runs, ending in a 4-0 victory. Now, that's what I'm talking about!

     This time the trip home was even sweeter...until we arrived at the train station where screaming fans waited by the schedule board, looking for the number of which departure track we should board to get home. Only minutes before the train was scheduled to leave was the track number posted. Needless to say it was mayhem trying to keep my son's shoulder shielded as I clung to him down the stairs. We squeezed into a seat while many others weren't so lucky.

     As people were scrambling, a dad yelled, "Could someone please move over so my son can sit down. He has a broken foot?" At that time, someone else yelled, "There's a few guys throwing up in the back of the train." The train didn't move for about 40 minutes--and still the boy with a broken foot was standing. I looked across from us, and there was an open seat between a woman and a young man who was in & out of his drunken stupor. His head kept falling on to the shoulder of the woman (who he didn't know) next to him. And she wasn't happy about it.

     Again, the dad pleaded for someone to let his injured son sit down. So, as an advocate for children and having an injured son too, I stood-up and said, "let this boy sit down NOW!" The woman sitting next to the drunken boy moved over and let the young man sit down. He made an immediate friend when the inebriated boy now snuggled up to him. We were all laughing, and I asked him if I could take his picture for my blog, which I included.

Good sport!

   Just another Yankee Clipper ride with me and my boy by my side!

Always a beautiful ride down the Hudson!

   

My visit to Good Morning America and how I ended-up in the hospital.

One of two posts:

     So, I’m walking on the NYC streets, feeling good about getting into the city early enough to be part of the studio audience, standing  outside the Good Morning America Show, which starts at 7am. Even though we arrived early by 6:30, there are already several rows of people, mostly tourists holding their place in the front rows, in the eye of the camera. Soon the crowd is going wild, but I have no idea why, so I ask a mom and daughter standing next to me what all the hoopla is about; she points to Sam Champion at the window as he’s going over the weather. Naturally, my girlfriend and I join in the clamor.

   After Champion leaves, we all just wait idly as the Robin gets her make-up freshened and the show gets ready to air. Robin looks absolutely stunning in a tangerine, fitted silk dress. I have no idea how far back into the audience the camera will get, but I have inkling that my spot in the back row is equivalent to being in Siberia. Soon one of the cast members comes out and the crowd goes wild. I don’t know who this TV personality is, nor do the spectators around me. But the women in the front row know who he is and go crazy. He hugs a few of them for photo shoots and even kisses a woman who is waving her hand like a fan to calm her frenzy. Honestly, I found him annoying because he was playing so much to the crowds and cameaa snapping. By many measures, he's an attractive guy, just not my type--with perfect hair and pasted smile.

     I love the morning shows and realized that I haven’t promoted my book for moms in this venue. Since I’m not a famous TV personality, it’s been one of the most challenging tasks to get MommyBest in the forefront of big shows, especially when I have undertaken other professional endeavors to make a living. Sometimes, it’s very discouraging when mediocre stories written by stars become best sellers when beautifully, well written prose gets lost on the shelves because the authors are “unknown.” Only other writers will understand and feel this disappointment.

     The camera light turns on again, and the crowd goes wild; my friend and I hold my book, MommyBest: 13 Inspirational Lessons…up in the air for the camera to share to millions of views around the world—if the camera ever makes it to us. Suddenly a policewoman nudges me and asks, “What is it that you’re holding in the air?” I got a little worried that I may be doing something wrong, as I did go to Catholic school a few years and, like a little girl, still worry anytime someone in “authority” questions me. So, I shared my book with her and the main reason my friend and I came: to share my book with Robin and America. Since I don’t have a platform as Bethany or any of the supposed "Real Housewives" do, I wanted to reach out to a few of the talk shows to share my book. I even had a note to Robin. The policewoman,” Katie,” smiles at me, and like an angel, asked the security guard to give Robin my book & note. He, along with the producer who came out, promised me they would give it to her. I hope they did:)

      I had an awesome conversation with Katie. I learned she was originally from Brooklyn, now working in Harlem and that she didn’t have any kids of her own, but had a niece. How great of her to do that for me, especially since I found out that the camera wasn’t recording the back row. Katie was helping many of the viewers in finding where to stand, along with fielding many questions from lost tourists. She is one of New York's finest.

     Eventually, Robin did come outside. But she too only got to chat with the front row, so my friend and I decided we didn’t want to stand for another hour and would leave the show early to later come back for the backstage tour I signed us up for. Before leaving I asked one of the staff what time the tour began and he said there were no tours that day due to additional tapings for other shows. He invited us to come to Good Afternoon America. But my friend and I were heading to some other sights; first among them was the Museum for Motherhood. I wanted to share my book with them as well. 

      Once we arrived at the museum on the East Side, I realize it’s closed on Mondays. Knowing I probably should have checked ahead of time, I sighed as I left my business card under the door. Disappointed but not defeated my friend and I decided to get breakfast; as I crossed the street, within an instant my life changed before my eyes. Suddenly, I was on the ground, barely able to life my head or body, both in pain from being slammed to the ground. Cars were coming towards me, so my survival instincts kicked in, and I mustered all my strength and painfully got up from a deep hole in the ground, to limp a few steps to the nearby phone poll. I hugged the pole as the entire world began to spin and go dark. I felt as if I was going to vomit.  For the first time, I felt like those characters in movies before they black out into oblivion.

     “Call 911,” I whimpered to my friend. “I need an ambulance.” For an instant, I felt like I might die as the world was spinning out of control. I was clinging to a phone pole as tight as pantyhose adhere to a woman's leg. And I thought about my family and tears streamed down my face. Then, as ridiculous as this sounds, I remembered what a mess my bedroom was and that my entire house was in disarray—and that I didn’t want anyone to go through my things when they’re so disorganized.  My mind raced as I thought about how disappointed my younger son would be because I was supposed to take him and his friend to Lake Compounce the next day, and now wouldn’t be able to honor my promise.

     The ambulance came and my mind was in a fog. I thought of a great headline. “A mom fell flat on her face in Manhattan today.” I have fallen many times in so many aspects of my life, but this time I  literally fell to my feet. I so wanted to start the day over again. It was only a little after 9am, still early morning, but the day would last an eternity once I arrived at the hospital.

Visiting my hometown, Pearl River, on the Fourth of July

     I went back to my hometown for fireworks on July 4^th to share a little bit of what my experience as a teenager was on this celebration of Independence, something my now 14 & 15 year-old  boys constantly tell me I don’t give them enough of.       

     One of our family traditions has become eating dinner out someplace we’ve never eaten before in the tri-state area prior to viewing a fireworks celebration on the Hudson River watching from NY or NJ or, if we stay local, in Westchester at places like the Kensico Dam in Valhalla. 

     For this year’s holiday, we found a diner in Tarrytown open and tried some Greek dishes before traveling over the TZ Bridge during an awesome light celebration orchestrated by Mother Nature herself. Lightning danced across the sky and burst into some thunderous echoes. I wasn’t sure if the show was still on, but we continued into Pearl River, parking at Pearl River Lanes, a place I am all too familiar with as one of our haunts during my teenage years. The owners didn’t like my friends and I (& our boyfriends) hanging out there smooching most of the night. I honestly think I bowled there only once out of the hundreds of times I loitered.

      As I walked amongst swarms of mostly teenagers who filled the streets--chatting away--I was transported back to the times my girlfriends and I were those young, vibrant girls ready to conquer the world and never imagining becoming our parents age or sharing stories of “when I was a kid, I used to…..” Yet, here I was now; alongside my younger self as if no time had passed with the knowledge that decades had gone by. I felt like joining in with the young girls giggling and wondering if any of the boys they liked were going to be at the fireworks. I tried to be inconspicuous as I eavesdropped, but when I turned to look at my girlfriend to add my thoughts, I instead saw my two sons stoically maneuvering alongside my husband through the crowds while engaging in their own teenage banter.

     So, I was in one of those solo moments when no one but myself would truly understand the mixed emotions I felt. At first, I wondered why I felt all these intense feelings when I have been back to Pearl River on so many visits with my children throughout their baby through toddler and now into teenage years. And I realized that it was for a few reasons: I have always visited my parent’s home for celebrations, and when we went to any town events such as the St. Patrick’s Day parade, my children were younger so I was focused on making sure they were safe and enjoying themselves. Hence, it was truly a family experience. Additionally, I didn’t move to Pearl River until I was in 6^th grade, so my memories are connected to those challenging, middle to high school years, which I associate with so much on a visceral level and with keen recognition.

     By the time we reached Central Avenue, there were more people than I’ve ever seen at this event during my childhood, and there were so many teenagers. It truly looked like a picture perfect town to raise children with all the quaint shops and family fanfare. So, I understood why an associate who I befriended while teaching shared her long-held dream of moving to Pearl River to raise her family, which she is currently doing. Yes, she is of Irish descent and was wooed, in part, by the grand St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I must confess that when she shared this dream with me many years ago, I confided that I had spent enough time in Pearl River that, several years after college, I yearned to start a new life somewhere else. Still, there is a part of my heart and my soul that will always belong to PR.

     As I watched the lights explode into the night sky, my 15-year-old looked over at me as if he sensed some of my ambivalence and asked, “Mom, is it weird for you to be here, the place where you grew-up?” “Yes, it is. So much is familiar, and yet unfamiliar, if that makes sense.” I told my kids how I used to go to what we called the “Center,” a youth recreational facility that we basically partied at or went to after we partied (21 years old of course lol). The times hanging out at Franklin School with friends and boyfriends. My kids laughed and actually shared how they were going to always visit where they grew-up with their kids and I smiled.

     As the celebration continued, so many memories flooded my mind, and of course, they were the ones that were filled with explosive emotions of happy times with my best friends who I will always be grateful to Pearl River for meetingJ. Celebrating in Washington for our Senior Trip, our proms and late night escapades are cemented in my mind, along with some of the sad times I experienced leaving my friends in the Bronx. My twin sister and I had a challenging time acclimating to PR with some of the “mean” girls who didn’t accept us at first because we are identical twins. Additionally, a few of the older girls were extremely mean to me when I dated an upperclassmen, so they would actually ask him on dates etc. while I was with him. It was very hurtful, but I knew even at that young age, that this was their issue, not mine. Later on, like anyone or anything that is “different,” we found ourselves and developed lasting friendships with those who cherished us as we cherished them. 

      I even fell in love for the first time living in PR and there’s a whirlwind of elation and heartache that I, like everyone else in this life, experienced as part of growing-up 

     Now, as my own children are of this age, I know they will be living all of these wondrous and challenging moments too, and it makes me both joyful and sad. Even though I'm  a parent, I still feel like a kid at times,  and now I have to let my children grow-up too.

     I realize life is like the fireworks display, isn’t it? Where there once were bright, vivid colorful, fiery images mere seconds ago, there are now only  remnants of specs of light trickling down, beyond our grasp; like time passing, they slip through our hands. But if we close our eyes, we can still see, feel and celebrate the beauty we experienced and set the painful moments sailing into the sky.

Tribute on Mother's Day. How did you feel when you first held your baby?

    An excerpt from The Journey toward Motherhood, from the book, MommyBest...

 Since I was absolutely positive I would be having a girl, it was the biggest surprise of my life when I gave birth to a son.

     The instant I held him, I felt a bond like no other—a bond that reached into the depths of my soul, beyond expression, beyond comprehension.  I realized along with a baby, a mother had been born-- a parent was in the making.

     As I looked into my son’s innocent eyes, I knew I had always been destined to become a mother, even though I hadn’t been ready to acknowledge this while I was achieving all the goals I was determined to accomplish.  I was too scared of losing my own identity and too busy proving I was someone “more” and something “else.”

      Although I had taken a different road than the one my mother followed toward motherhood, I realized we both arrived at our destinations on time-- the time that was right for each of us.  We are two women, similar in some ways and different in others, somewhat products of the eras that we grew--up in, somewhat products of our unique personas. 

     Now, as I listen to my music, my heart soars as I dream dreams for my son:

 Who will he become?  What will he enjoy doing?  Which paths will he follow? How shall I guide him?  How will he guide me?

     As his mother, I am embarking upon an amazing journey-- like no other journey I’ve been on-- one toward true self-discovery!  I begin this journey with a deep love, gratitude and respect for one who has traveled through the precarious terrain and rough waters of motherhood before me, my own mother.  I understand her sacrifice and love –and now perceive her as a woman of greatness for all she has given to her children.

     I also recognize I am becoming more of an independent person by pursuing my dreams-as my son has helped me to find a new voice in my writing. I must bring to him the best person I can be first, and then I’ll be the best Mommy to him-- when my choices reflect who I am at any given moment in my life.  No matter which direction my path turns, I am a mother.  I am Derek’s Mom—now and forever!