What You Learn at the Bus Stop

Up until about 10:30am this morning I hadn't made a clear cut plan for getting Joshua picked up from a half day of school (Awesome. Barely 3 weeks in to school and we already hit a half day). But I finally had to just bail out of work and be there for the bus drop off.

I got to the bus stop early but was soon flocked by the usual group of neighborhood mamas. I don't know any of them well at all, but I'm working on that. As we were chatting, a man with some visible mental issues came walking by and was just staring at us. One of the mom's smiled and waved and asked him how he was doing. He stopped for a minute and then kept walking. That particular mom adopted two boys- one with special needs- as a single parent.

We all went back to chatting when I realized a mom on the other side of me was standing there starting to cry. Of all the mom's she's one of the one's I know the most but understand the least about.

This particular mama has two beautiful sons that Joshua met in the park by our house one day. Actually he met them multiple days before I finally managed to head outside at the same time they were there with their mama. As she saw me walking that day she hugged me while speaking in half English and half something that was almost Spanish but wasn't- turned out it was Portugese. She was from Brazil.

Anybody that knows me is aware that me and physical contact don't get along so I was already in a "WHAT THE HELL DO I DO" state as she started speaking. Finally though I realized she was telling me her sons don't speak, that they are autistic and that they are never able to play with other children but that they have been playing with Joshua at the park nearly every day for several weeks. She was teary eyed and gushing how happy it was making her to watch her sons play with others. I... I didn't know what to even say. I was very proud of my boy who never, ever sees anything wrong with other human beings.

But back to the bus stop. So my neighbor friend begins to cry at the sight of this man who was passing by us because she fears it's may be the lonely fate for her sons if she can't help them. She wants to go back to Brazil to be with her family but can't because there are no programs that even compare to what she is able to get here in the U.S.. But she is unhappy and homesick and sad.

I sometimes wallow in a tiny bit of loneliness as a single mom. The other day I was standing on a stool in the middle of the kitchen table still in my most decent work clothes trying to change a light bulb I couldn't reach but the boys were doing a project and it would be great to have light (they are so demanding...!). I was hating to be me at that minute. The next time I have one of those pangs of rapid fire self doubt, I hope I remember the bus stop.

-Sheryl

Days to Remember

Everytime holidays intended to memorialize something roll around, I tend to feel a bit disconnected because I wasn't there. I wasn't at Pearl Harbor. I'm not a Veteran.

I wasn't in New York on 9/11. But I had been in Seattle. I saw the second plane hit the World Trade Center live on the news because I was sitting there on my Pacific coast time waiting for my jeans to dry in the dryer. That was my worry for the morning- having clean jeans for work.

Katie Couric inaccurately reported on the morning of September 11th that an Airbus 767 had just crashed into the second tower of the World Trade Center. I thought "What a dumb bunny. It's either a Boeing 767 or an Airbus plane." I imagine I felt all official because I could tell airplane models apart now that I was at Boeing, much the way I barely had known a Toyota from a Chevrolet before working at General Motors and could now tell the make and model of a car from its headlights in many cases.

I definitely know I had zero comprehension of the impact as I was waiting for the clothes dryer to shut off. I got to work, and at the time, it was the Boeing Everett wide-body airplane factory. The one that makes the Boeing 767's. The path I would take to my desk literally required passing beneath an airplane wing which made me flinch that morning.

By the time I got up the elevator people were chattering about it and talking about crazy stuff like there were a bunch of other planes involved and that the White House had been a target. It was sounding like a bunch of overblown chatter.

But I got to my desk and could barely access the internet. Somebody said it was because it was jammed with activity. I still was a little perplexed. I called Alan. And as my resident current and historical events walking encyclopedia, he spouted off words I had never heard like Osama Bin Laden and 'terrorist cells'.

I hung up. My manager came by shortly after and asked our group to stay in the area and be prepared in the event of an evacuation (the building occupies 30,000 employees.... we cause our own traffic jams at shift change on a normal day when people aren't hurrying anywhere except out of the parking lot to go home).

The insanity that hit the East coast that morning never met the West thankfully. I walked back under that airplane wing to leave on my way home that evening and realized I was now connected to a day that nobody understood. As I've tried to explain the event to my sons I can sense the same disconnect that I know I showed with Pearl Harbor Day or Veteran's Day or Memorial Day. I hope they grow up to be respectful of what has happened and what has been done to prevent any other such event, but mostly, I hope they never, ever are connected to their own day of memorium. I hope my sons live a life where they honor what has happened before their time to give them a life free of terror, disaster and needless loss.

-Sheryl