Ring out the old....

Hope everyone had a great Christmas! Elin sure did. Without wishing to cast the inevitable curse that comes with grandiose statements, I've got to say I think it was her best yet! Aside from a bug she was always bound to get, which thankfully disappeared well before Christmas, Elin has been the happiest, healthiest and most relaxed we've ever seen her. That is ALL we ever want for Christmas.

Its surprising, looking back through my posts, how many Christmases didn't work out so well for Elin. I have just realised that three years on the run we had a stint in hospital over Christmas and in other years, she was either coming down with a bug or getting over a bug on the big day itself. One Christmas Eve, a seizure landed her on Children's Ward. Another year she had to stay at home with me whilst Paul did our annual London Christmas visit because she was too ill to travel.

The reason this is surprising to me, is that I don't really remember them. They haven't stuck in my memory as you would presume they would have. As we enter a new decade, I thought it would be nice to reminisce about my ghosts of Christmas past before I sat down to write my Christmas blog post and the only imagery I could conjure up in my minds eye was joyful. I remembered Elin laughing at the wrapping paper on her presents, Christmas balloons, her school concerts, visits from family, cuddles with friends by the Christmas tree, outings to shows and concerts, meeting Father Christmas, I even remember her various gorgeous outfits over the years! But until I really, really focused and checked back through this online diary of mine, the bad times (of which there have been many it seems!) were strangely mute in my memory. 

This is going to sound as trite and glib as anything, but it has made me remember that truly, life and feelings and struggles and bad times are fluid, which is a reminder I really need sometimes.  I'm not trivialising these issues. I have been beyond miserable during these times. I still have really, really, hard moments and struggle to keep my anxieties and emotions in check, which I am not good at admitting or dealing with (but I'm working on that!) Sometimes,  I make lemonade from my lemons and sometimes the only thing I can do is chop them up and put them in a massive gin and tonic!! Unending positivity just isn't always possible.  However, when I look back on the important times of our life with Elin, like Christmas, I can STILL only really remember the good things. Despite the absolute agony of the bad times. I love the human brain for doing that, against all the odds and even when you are pre-disposed to overwhelming worry and anxiety,  it still tries its best to filter out the overwhelmingly painful stuff. Maybe it's partly our determination as a family to focus on the positive, although as I've said god knows that is not always possible, or maybe it's because we know that ultimately, as long as we have Elin happy and healthy and by our sides then the rest of the pain we experience will be muffled, if we can allow it to be.

I know this is not specific to us. I know that when it boils down to it, nobody really cares about presents or turkey or Christmas trees. All any of us want is our health and for the health of the people we love and to get to spend another Christmas with them. I am unbelievably lucky to have some utterly amazing friends and family surrounding me, none of whom I could navigate this journey without. On new Year's Eve this year I will be wishing for a healthy 2020 for everyone we know and love, everyone who cares so much about us and everyone we care so much for in return. It is after all the ONLY thing that will ever really matter. 

Happy New Year folks. Dina Caroll said it way better than I could:

"Ring out the old

Bring in the new

A midnight wish to share with you.

If you're with me, next year will be

The perfect year"

See you in 2020 everyone!!

A magic celebration

I’ve blogged many times about how much I love Autumn. Part of the reason for that is because it contains Halloween. I have always loved Halloween, I’m not even sure why. Maybe it sprang from a childhood obsession with “The Worst Witch” (books and film equally) or maybe it’s because the decade I grew up in, the 1980’s, was when Halloween really started to take off as a ‘thing’ in this country and anything that came from America and was mentioned in my "Babysitter's Club" and "Judy Blume" books was by default, exciting.  By 'taking off as a thing' I don’t mean fancy costumes readily available in every supermarket, extravagant decorations everywhere you go and picking your own pumpkins in those stunningly instagrammable fields that every garden centre now boasts at this time of year. I mean making your own witches costume from a heavy duty bin bag, begging your Dad to whittle you a broomstick from a tree branch and getting a buzz from coming home in the dark after dancing up a sweat to “Thriller” and “Ghostbusters” at the Halloween disco in the school hall.  There is something tremendously nostalgic about Halloween for me and that’s before you factor in my morbid fascination with anything supernatural . Maybe I also love it because it coincides with the clocks changing, the advent of Winter and dark, cold nights, coal fires and an overall sense of cosiness the Scandinavians wholeheartedly embrace as a way of life called  ‘Hygge’ (perhaps I can blame my scandi paternal bloodline-my maiden name is Erlandson- for my adoration of Autumn and Winter?)

Like anything I adore, or get excited about, I want to share it with Elin. Like anything I want to share with Elin, I can’t. Not in the conventional sense of ways I see other parents enjoying with their children in any case. Trick or treat is meaningless to Elin. So is “The Worst Witch” and all the other things that make Halloween meaningful to me.

A couple of times, a few years ago, I tried to force my version of Halloween. It’s not until you are pushing a dystonic Elin through the cold damp streets trick or treating for things she can’t eat that you realise, with true horror, what you have always known. Elin’s experiences cannot be based on what you wish they could be, or what will make a cute photograph for the album. Her life experiences have to be based only on what is meaningful to her. Anything else is selfish, understandable-yes, well meaning- yes, but ultimately selfish. It’s a bitter pill to swallow (I still find watching other children experience common celebrations like Halloween in the regular way difficult. I don't expect that will ever go away) but since the very essence of parenting is sacrifice, it’s a no brainer. I am ashamed now, of the times over the years I may have forced experiences on her that she wasn’t going to enjoy, just so I could experience them as a Mum, but only time could bring this revelation to my door and only time could make me ready to accept it.  This epiphany is joining my list of 'things that have become easier to deal with' as the last eleven years have passed by.

Today, with Paul in London until tomorrow helping Elin’s big sister move into her new flat, Elin and I had an appropriately “Hygge” Halloween. We wrapped up and went for a crisp Autumnal walk before the sunshine disappeared. When we got home we blew up some light-up Halloween balloons to bat around (Elin finds balloons hilarious), we drew the curtains and played with our ghost-shaped fairy lights and glow in the dark glowsticks and bangles. We listened to Halloween music (thanks Amazon). We toasted marshmallows (Elin licked them and DEFINITELY enjoyed!), we cuddled up and watched the animated “Hotel Transylvania” together on the iPad and we read “Meg and Mog” before bed. It wasn’t what I had in mind when I imagined celebrating my love of Halloween with a pre-teen daughter.

But it was perfect.
As I flipped the calendar tonight I realised during all the naval gazing about Halloween today I had somehow managed to forget this now means we are in to November. This brings another celebration. Not for anyone else this time though, for us. The end of October marks four full years since Elin was admitted to hospital for anything.  Not one overnight stay since October 2015. Wow. I would have given my right arm for that when Elin was a baby. I never would have believed it was possible. So that, above the traditions and the costumes and the trick or treating and the pumpkin patches and what we do and don’t do, THAT, then, it turns out, is the true magic of our Halloween and we are so, so grateful for it.

Have a spooktacular time, folks.

xxxx

One love

I've had a bit of a blogging hiatus lately. I've been chewing a few things over I suppose. Elin, you'll be pleased to know, is fine. Since my last post we've had a wonderful holiday in Anglesey and Elin's dystonia has, if anything, calmed down again. In reading over my last piece I realise again how everything can shift in an instant in our world, how mole hills can suddenly turn into mountains with the passing of a few days, or, perhaps more crucially , vice-versa. It is becoming a strangely common pattern for me that following a period of wallowing or self-pity (see aforementioned previous post) something will happen to make me realise how misguided my upset was. Not invalid, but misguided. Four days after I wrote that post bemoaning the fact that Elin was growing up, she lost another one of her friends. He was 15, a warrior and taken far too soon. His family are all warriors too and always have been. There is nothing on this planet that makes you freeze and take stock of your blessings like the loss of a child like Elin from a family like ours. It feels personal, it hurts beyond words, you feel desperate. The special needs family is a small one and in being so is close, supportive and endlessly understanding. We don't even need to communicate with words, often a hug says a thousand things, a smile betrays a thousand conversations never had. How can you look into the eyes of someone you see much less than your own family, yet recognise their soul?  

We are bonded together as parents of children with similar conditions, in dealing with the initial horror of a life changed and then gradually coming to terms with our 'new normals'. We have all been through the same patterns. The obliteration of any kind of post-natal joy, the constant stress from the word go, the fights for help, the hospital stays, the helplessly watching your child suffer, the worry, the equipment, the medication, the home adaptions you never believed you'd have to have, the blessing of every birthday, the sorrow of what could have been. We know one another because we are each other.  In the realms of our exclusive little world, in the family of parents we have become, bound by sorrow and despair and great joy that no ordinary parent could ever understand, we are all one person, one child, one family. So when one is lost, then we are all at sea.
Two weeks ago, amazing, fierce, beautiful, funny, strong, miracle-warrior Josh was lost. But never, ever forgotten. 
Two weeks ago my perspective was found. 
Goodbye Josh, thank you for all you taught us and will continue to teach us. Thank you for your smile, for your spirit, for your attitude to life, for your cheekiness, for your love. 
Nobody who met you will ever forget you, squashy. The impact you had on those around you was extraordinary, as the huge numbers of people queueing to say goodbye to you (and beautiful words written by family, friends and teachers) at your funeral paid testament to. You achieved in your short life much more than most people could ever dream of, just by being you. Love is your legacy. What an amazing legacy to leave behind. 
Rest in peace, little man.
xxx