sagaciously is...

This is from the archives - from the old blog. But it's related to the fundraiser I'm about to post about, and so you'll understand his condition, and what the fundraiser is about - my son, Hammy:

I've hesitated to write about Hammy (not his real name), because frankly I doubted that I could do him justice. My son is so many things, that it's hard to even begin to describe him.

He is pure, uncomplicated, unsullied and unadulterated joy. He's more intelligent than I ever imagined he'd be. His kisses are only slightly sweeter than his bear hugs, and he's affectionate with just about everyone he comes across, even in passing. His simple smile, wave and friendly "hey, how you doing?" tends to light up the room wherever he goes, inspiring even the most hard-hearted, grizzled geezers in Publix, to beam back "Hey little man, how are you?". Women fawn over him, gushing "oooo, he's so cute!" at his batting eyelashes, and curly hair.

And my son, Hammy, has Rubinstein-Taybi syndrome. The quick & dirty is this: he's got developmental delays. The un-pc version is that he's moderately retarded, and the pc version is that he's handicapable. Whatever. I told a parent of another child who has delays - I don't really care how they classify my son, if it gets him the help he needs.

And I could tell y'all how hard it's been - oh it's been hard, but that wouldn't capture all that Hammy is either. I cried for 3 days straight when he was finally diagnosed at 2 years old. I've cried many times after that - thru MRI's, CAT-Scans, GI studies and 8-hour specialist visits, thru heart & lung monitors and the probable possiblity of SIDS, thru X-Rays, a 1/2 dozen pneumonias, 3 surgeries, and a broken arm. I cried because I thought he'd never walk, never talk, and never play t-ball. And I cried when he finally ran (never did toddle) and said "mama" instead of babbling. And he's only 9 yrs old. I (in my arrogant sorrow), questioned God's motives, and asked why we - he and I had to be punished, us both being innocents.

LMAO - I can laugh about that now.

See, my son saved my life. Figuratively, because I got my life together to make things better for both of us. Otherwise, my hot (and much narrower) a$$ would probably still be in the club 2-3X/week. Literally, because were it not for him, his father and I probably would've killed each other. Or I would've killed myself.

So, how do I capture Hammy? People ask me how's he doing, and I say fine (that's the answer they're looking for) but what I really want to say is "He's doing great. He's starting to form full sentences, he can count to 30, he can get himself 75% dressed without my assistance, he's been tracing his hands and drawing circles and squares (on walls - but it's so hard for me to punish him since I'm so happy that he's drawing) and while he can't tie his shoes, spell and isnt fully potty-trained, I'm really, REALLY proud of him". But I know they won't get that.

But I can tell you the most beautiful bedtime prayer I ever heard.

I put Hammy in the bed one night recently, tucked him in, turned off the light, and started to pick up his toys in the dark. And as I picked up the toys in the dark, I heard him softly say: "Good night, sun. Good night, sky. Good night, moon. Good night, stars. Good night, outside. Good night, blue. Good night, mommy"

Good night, Hammy. I love you.

"I love you too, Mommy"