Where the yellow bricks end ...

letter to Oz:

well, hi,

I am the mother of a boy
who is thinking about college
and I was wondering
if, maybe, I might also
try something
that I found out about
only tonight
and it seems perfect for me.
so you think,
maybe,
you could grant me a "Gap Year?"

oh, is that right?
too long?
howabout 6 months?
oh, is that right?
well, can you check again
and just get back to me
with about when I might
be able to have a "gap"
thank you for listening
I've always believed in you,
Oz.

Un-learn the Un-important

a friend once said
about walking in the woods -
that the woods help us
un-learn the un-important.
i so loved that
and still do

un-learning the un-important
seems way harder than learning the important
my predawn lesson
in my new buddha-in-training book
was about un-learning the vicious cycle
of confirming that we exist

well, it was too much trouble for me to "learn"
before i un-learn this lesson
so i'm writing down a thought

for me, i don't think about existing,
as much as mattering.
so i was thinking about times for me,
that are helpful.

the trail near my house seems helpful.
maybe the woods help me feel alive and well
and matter-able
without seeking any attention.
attention from the trees?
"Oooh, Annick came back?"
'tis good for me trees don't talk
cuz then the trail might not be as magical.

hubby says it may have to do with
expecting nothing from the trees,
that they wouldn't give freely.

and that sounds right, too.
and sweet.

Lesson from the radio

from a radio show ..

if you can have either power
flight or invisibility
which would you choose?

most chose invisibility
wishing to see... (i thought)
moments speaking to
"what do folks really think of me"

the ones choosing flight
seem to choose it for speed

for me,
i don't know for sure
i am curious
what folks think of me
sometimes, i experiment with invisibility
little unknown people at university
can do this ya know

but one thing i do know
if i could fly -
a quick arrival time?
not so critical.
would love
flapping above
seeing far
above wires-
above chatter-
above shoulds
surrounded by open-ness
wonderful,
just wonderful
flying would be

the show finished with the thought:
who do we want to be -
the "me" who i wish i could be?
the "me" who i am afraid i already am?
who else?

maybe that's where
we insert
"i'm still learning"
we all have storylines...
and Carey says "it's all good"
and Kelly said "dang it all"
and Barry looks out windows
and Kathy said something
and annick says "isn't that funny?"
we are .. what we are
tomorrow is a new day
i knew what it was yesterday
...confused still
but learning
always learning

and still smiling

What If... and just like that, everything changed

Reflection Paper
Intro to Special Ed: EDSP470, Dr. Tori Page-Voth
July 27, 2010
What if I found myself a paraplegic as a result of a car accident?
Annick Abrams

And just like that, everything changed. It’s hard to know if it helped that I was always worrying that my luck would one day end. I think it did help. Sometimes, before the accident, I would catch myself aware of my good fortune. Maybe I’d be enjoying myself with a good friend, marveling at the insight of one of my kids, feeling the intense love from my husband, Lowell, or freely cracking up at someone’s (often my own) silliness and it would hit - “ My luck is gonna run out.” And then, just like that, it did. Maybe you saw it from a scene in Driver’s Ed class? But then again, it was also in my life. I can remember reaching to pick up the fallen water bottle so that it wouldn’t slip under the pedals and then… impact.
What do I remember first? There’s so much talking around me. I am in the hospital; my head is spinning and I can’t think straight. I just can’t think. Where’s Lowell? Is that him yelling outside? What‘s going on? I hear the words “amputate,” and then, “if we don’t go in soon, we may be talking about both.” Could they seriously be talking about me? I don’t even feel anything. I’m trying to get their attention but no one is listening to me, I don’t even think I hear my words coming out. So Strange. What is going on?
At the end of this quick, intense and blurry period, I was left with my right leg paralyzed and my left leg cut off just above the knee. Grace was granted me with the sensation and ability in my bottom. Am I lucky ? How aware I instantly became of “ability” being millimeters away from “disability.” How much time did I spend in the rehab place? I am not sure. I had my favorite therapists and the ones I dreaded. I suppose they got me ready for the “next step;” it sounds a little funny, but it’s the right direction, I suppose.
How would it affect relationships?
Somehow, even before the accident, I always knew that my husband would never leave my side. Truly, it was always a comfort. There were plenty of times, in our eighteen years together, when I wanted an exit pass. I would joke with a friend on the phone, “That’s it! I’m on I-95. I’m done. I’m leaving.” Maybe it was too stressful? Maybe life with Lowell was too heavy? But I always knew, if the worst would ever happen to me, Lowell would be there to clean my bottom. And that knowledge was a comfort then and that comfort is pushing me along now. At first, Lowell made sure that I was never alone. Who did he call first? I don’t know or care. What did I know? I knew that I didn’t want to chat and I didn’t want to die. Maybe part of me did die, I think, but then I got special permission to bring some parts back? Was I still lucky? Hands to move a wheelchair, arms to hoist myself onto a seat, fingers to type and a bottom to enjoy some basic functions and some sensational ones…yeah, I think I was lucky still.
The kids were not all sure what to do with their new mom in a chair. AG, 16 years old, who takes life in its stride … also took this change in stride. If he was saddened or devastated, I couldn’t tell and he wouldn’t say. I suppose it helped me move on to see AG moving on. Yonatan, 14 years old, is the one who gave me the most grief and heartache before the accident, was now very delicate with me. He was the one, when he was only 3 years old and I got the Chicken Pox, was so concerned for me that he needed to constantly check “the really big one, mommy…mom, let me check it now, is it still there? Are you ok, mommy?” Maybe all the while, his recent difficulty with me stemmed from a deep caring which must be unnerving for a 14 year old boy. Maybe. For now, he talks to me quietly like I may break if he speaks too loud. He asks constantly what I want to eat or drink and fusses greatly to arrange the area so that food and drink aren’t splayed all over the place. My Yehuda is 11 years old and he is greatly saddened by the accident. I guess I could have predicted it by the way Yehuda has always rejoiced for me so much. I’m not surprised that when we are on the other side of compassion, he feels just as strongly. I don’t know if I’m as devastated as I may look. My littlest one, Menachem is 5 years old and he is very scared right now, mostly about the missing part of my leg. He wants to hear over and over what happened to it. He doesn’t understand why the doctors couldn’t put it back on. My family will stick together. This is not going to break us apart.
And now my friends: I guess I really have friends. They’re glad that I didn’t die and so am I. We’re on the phone constantly since most of them are at work, but I get visits when they can. For now, my friends and other women in the community are making us dinner each night and they said that I should just count on it for awhile and not worry about cooking. Our community is made up of many religious families and they are used to jumping in when needed, for good occasions like a mom having a new baby or a challenging occasion like a mom suddenly needing a wheelchair. My friends have taking over my carpools and are helping out with errands for now. It’s hard to believe it was just months ago, that I was doing the same. My friends are taking the time, when they can, to help me figure out my new routine in the house. Of course, my OT is working with me on the same things, but it’s great to do lunches with a friend at night like we used to do while chatting on the phone. Now, Nathalie helps me reach and cut and bag stuff, while crying with me in between.
How would it affect physical environment
My house is not the best for a wheelchair, but it is also not the worst. On my main floor, we have our kitchen, dining room, powder room and laundry room and outside porch. I couldn’t fit in through the front door so we needed to get a completely new front door. Lowell was able to take care of major adjustments while I was in rehab. There are certain things we just can’t take care of now and that means more work for my kids and Lowell. Our laundry room is really a very small alley; I can’t get in and even if I could get through the door, I’d be stuck. Until we could afford to redo the porch, I am not able to arrive at our washer and dryer. So that means that the boys are taking care of their washing and drying and I play the role of laundry reminder and at times, the folder. As for my bedroom, I just can’t handle emotionally, nor financially, moving my bedroom downstairs. I guess I always thought that we would do that when we got really really old. I want to try and keep my bedroom upstairs.
We’ve built in knobs below the banister so that I can hold on and pull myself up each step, one knob per step. I have stronger arms now and I am able to scoot on my bottom a bit. It takes me time and energy and that is an adjustment; there are no actions that I do now that are random and careless. Is that something to look forward to? The freedom of carelessness?
How would it affect recreational activities?
I have to say, my “recreational activities” before the accident were not very exciting. I’m afraid that I will have even fewer options for fun, but maybe that will help me focus on being more creative. My most simple pleasure was quiet time alone in the early morning. Now, it takes me focused time just to leave my bed, arrive at the bathroom, use the toilet and wash up. It used to be, before the accident, I would be out the door by 6am for my morning run. I wasn’t a hard-core runner; I would just do 2 ½ - 3 miles, but I loved it. My favorite runs were when I would leave my MP3 at home and run on the Northwest Trail, which has an entrance down my block. I would smile as I would hop over the tree roots as I would imagine, “Oh, look at me, I must look like gazelle,” smiling because I was so silly to think this. How will I get this feeling of joy in movement without my legs? Almost every morning, I had alone time. Maybe I should still go outside, but now I’d have to wake Lowell to help me get downstairs first. Physical therapy is my exercise for a while, I guess. I miss terribly my time out in the fresh air, my legs moving me along my neighborhood, sometimes walking, sometimes running and sometimes a little dancing when I thought no one was looking. Is it the fresh air that I miss? I don’t think so. I think it’s the freedom that I miss - the casual, lazy unappreciated freedom.
Is that one of the biggest changes in my life - the inability to be lazy? There’s no more “just reach for the brush, just step outside, just get in the car, just boil some pasta.” For now, every activity requires effort. I know with time, I will soon be able to be lazier, one can only hope. When walking is not an issue, so many actions can fall under the category of “whenever.” I used to be able to exit my bed “whenever,” but now I have to be careful to not leave relieving myself to the last minute as I simply would not make it. I cannot be impulsive and just “get out of the house for a minute.” It used to be cool with my family if I had wanted some time with a girlfriend or by myself and just left, but now I need to plan. I have to have a certain car for my wheelchair to fit and be with a friend that can help me maneuver in and out of the car. I hope soon I will be able to go in and out of a car by myself but for now, I need help.
Another activity that I love is being outdoors at my house to pull out the weeds and clip dead flowers and plant and move new ones. I can still do it, I guess, but differently. I need my arms to move my body on the ground. I almost feel “planted,” so to speak, on the earth. I can go to the movies, but I can’t drive there. I’ll need to sit with the chair off on the side by the front, but I hate the front. I wonder if I can hop up the stairs with very steady crutches. I have to remember to ask about that. I’d like to figure out how to use one of those special carts for shopping so I can go shopping on my own, but not alone yet. Maybe one day, I will go get my hair or nails done, but I’ll need to find out how accommodating my places are. I know I’ll figure out how to manage. Just because life is different, it doesn’t mean life is over.
How would it affect career
I always thought that I would teach. I started school for a master’s in Special Education. I’ve taken a leave of absence to get adjusted to my new life. I hope to go back to school in the fall. I am only at the beginning of what I hope to be a fascinating career path. I can picture rolling into class and looking out to the kids. I’ll be wearing a happy face to see them and I will keep my eye on the prize for all of us. I can only think that I will not meet with adversity in a field that advocates for individuals with disabilities.
How would it affect faith and view of life?
So, here’s the challenge that I’ve all been waiting for? Is this what I’ve been training for? Ok, Annick, handle it well. Before the accident, My 94 year old grandma would say when she’d listen to me worrying about all the many “big” things in my life, “Annick, what you want is a life of little worries like these because when you get one big worry, nothing else matters.” Of course, she said this in Yiddish which sounded even wiser, and also of course, she was right. The truth is that I somehow always sensed the randomness of fortune. I deeply thought it’s only a thin veil that keeps one man alive and well, while another man sick and deteriorating. Accidents happen. I could blame myself for reaching for the bottle, but then what? What comes after the blame is named? I prefer to think how lucky I am that I didn’t crash into anyone! For reaching for the bottle, I could have killed someone…could have. I prefer to think how lucky I am. I am unsure if I would be able to breathe again had I been the driver who killed someone. I still believe in God. I still believe God wants us to make good choices and I do imagine He is sad when we make stupid choices. Maybe there’s a balance somewhere. Maybe I was supposed to die but was spared; it’s a better way to live.

I want to stay with feeling lucky.

Feeding the Right Wolf

Feeding the Right Wolf

A Native American grandpa sits with his grandson
“Why do people do bad things, grandpa?”
I like to think of this way: inside each of us there are two wolves. There’s a mean, hateful wolf and also a loving, compassionate wolf. And maybe they fight inside us.
“Well, how do we know who wins?”
The one who wins is the one we choose to feed, son.

For me, the image works well. I can sense sometimes when I’m feeding the wrong wolf and when I can switch gears, and find the more loving one to feed … “ahhh, much better.” But what I realized this morning is this: if I have two wolves inside then so does everyone else. And if mine need feeding then so does everyone else’s. If I think about it, I can find a plenty of times when I’ve fed someone else's hateful wolf. Of course, it’s not so peaceful to think that I am the cause of someone’s hateful words. But for me, it’s helpful to think that if I look carefully, I may be able to figure out how to feed their compassionate wolf and help switch our dance. It’s so satisfying when I can find that loving place and touch it. Either that or run and hide when I see them approaching .. either one.

Mitch Alboom helps me think

Reaching for Some Understanding…
maybe you read it ages ago
but I just discovered a gem of a book,
and then, another
I so loved "Have a Little Faith" by Mitch Alboom
that I also had to read "Tuesdays with Morrie"
so much wisdom in those pages
author is honest and real, not gushy
not an emotional guy, but so drawn
to the 2 men in his path who loved life
and loved to give to others
and these men loved Mitch Alboom,
a good writer, phew on that!

maybe these men are annick's Ubermentch's,
maybe meeting people where they are
always open to learn
maybe it's compassion, (for me)
that helps one transcend
transcend expectation and disappointment
Morrie says:
"love each other or perish!"
he was always changing until he died

the Rabbi Albert Lewis, in
“Have a little Faith,” says
'more than the actual fear
of dying, people fear
being forgotten,'
"a second death," he calls it.
I believe that
I think I fear that too
"but death only ends a life, not a relationship"
loving your own life is not enough
loving the people around you
will keep you alive forever
I'd like to think Zlata chose a way that worked for her
or that if she was taken without word from god,
she had comfort knowing she would not die
"a second death" of disappearing from the world
a nice story maybe you know
but new for me:
a little wave is so excited to be a wave
he bounces up and down
in the big ocean
"oh what fun, to be a wave like me"
as he nears the shore
he sees that the waves crash
and disappear on the shore
"oh no, look what will happen to me!"
another wave behind him, hears his cry and says
"don't worry little wave, you're not just a wave
you're part of a very big ocean, you'll never disappear"

well, maybe
"it is what it is, and it is all good?"
it's so strange, that sentiment ...
but I find myself wanting to believe it
“Gam Zu L’tovah?”
but how?
maybe the good stuff is that our loves are never truly gone?
there's always something to learn?
maybe staying the same is dying too soon?
maybe always learning is always living?

I will never forget Zlata
it was not always smooth
but I will always learn
from the way she met people “where they were,”
and from the way, she noticed "stuff"
and then moved on
a great woman was taken from the earth
but not from our hearts

love,
Annick