One morning you wake up and have it all. The next day the sun rises again and it’s gone.

Still reflecting on his passing when a friend’s voice drifted across my thoughts. Although she sat next to me we were a million miles apart mentally. She mentioned some birthday card with a big old clock on the front and inside the only words were, “Every moment counts.” Despite all the words we exchanged yesterday, those are the only ones I can recall. Every moment counts.

How do we live each day? How do we love?

A few days ago my father-in-law passed away after a painful and heroic battle with lung cancer. He never complained once. He never felt sorry for himself. He never gave up his fight to live even when his body didn’t agree. His life, and death, is a pure example of determination and optimism.

Despite so many life altering and tragic obstacles that would have debilitated most of us, he chose to consistently see the bright side of life and the people around him. I think of that so often.

My kids were lucky to have him in their lives. When Hope transitioned he stayed the same grandfather he’d always been- loving, playful, fun. Even though he was a pretty conservative guy with a traditional history he kept showing his love for my daughter and my son equally. Kept showing everyone how proud he was of them. I was always so touched by him. I loved him dearly.

Unknowingly he filled an aching void in my heart created when my father passed away when I was a child. He comforted me in a way that I could never quite say thank you enough. I am a better person for knowing and loving my father-in-law and having the chance to call him Dad, if only for a short time.

If there was a ever a handbook for successful living, Oh, The Places You’ll Go is it. It’s inspiring, realistic, supportive, logical, brave, cautionary and compassionate.

Whenever I find myself in one of those slumps where I can’t seem to catch a breath or think a clear thought, Dr. Seuss’s words fill my brain with a sing-song like compliment. Clearly, they speak to me.

I found myself like that tonight. So many life changing decisions to be made. Anger at the base of my throat itching to be released. Worry strapping an anchor to my heart as if the storm was coming in and it needed a safe harbor. Sadness watering the corners of my eyelids as I blink repeatedly. “Do you dare stay out? Do you dare go in?”

At lunch this afternoon some friends and I had a discussion about living stealth. “Think of how hard it is for an adult,” a friend commented. I nodded in agreement (and I do agree), but almost immediately my words snapped my head backwards with a force, “If it were just me living stealth I could know enough to choose when to walk away, when to stand up for myself and when to run. My 6 year old doesn’t have that option.” My voice cracked a little as if the weight of my emotions was lurking somewhere behind it.

Parenting a child who has any special needs of any kind means that you go the extra mile. You research a little more. Read a few (dozen) more books. Join a group or five to keep talking and learning. Learn to breathe with your heart outside of your body at all times. Abandon the construct in your mind of what you thought life would look like. Dismantle your ego day after day. Expand your capacity to love greater than you thought humanly possible. Swell with pride at your child’s smile knowing that nothing matters more than giving this child every chance at a good life.

“And remember that life is a great balancing act.” Yes, it is. So here’s a recap of the best pep talk in history- from me to you.

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look ‘em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you’ll head straight out of town.

It’s opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along.
You’ll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU’LL GO!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’ t
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so
but, sadly, it’s true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump,
you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both you elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a sting of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That’s not for you!

Somehow you’ll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.
Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times
you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win
’cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you’ll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life’s
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU’LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So…
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,
you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

Dr. Seuss

Instead of going on the attack, I tried something new. I took a moment to find out where this anger is coming from. Feeling left out, I guess. Both my feeling of being left high & dry and the fear that because my daughter is trans that she’ll be left out just the same. Maybe the fear that they really don’t accept us. That they wouldn’t really go to bat for us if they can’t handle a simple birthday party. Abandonment has a special hold on me at times and floods my judgment with instant panic. So breathe, Jen, breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t just about me or my child. Maybe this person needs some extra time and can’t say so. Maybe some of the people at the party disagree with Hope’s transition or simply can’t understand. It wasn’t long ago that these friends finally came around to even seeing us and now a big party could feel a little daunting. Perhaps this is her way of protecting Hope? Can I be a little patient? Can I be big enough to put the shoe on the other foot and see from a different perspective? If my child came to me with the same issue, how would I suggest they handle it? Can I practice what I preach?

Sure, I want things to go on like normal because that’s how life feels. Still, I have to honor where people are at and what they can and can’t accept at this time. Truth be told, I know in my heart that attending the party isn’t in the cards for us. No matter what excuse is used or how it is communicated, it isn’t meant to be- plain and simple.

Then I heard my name called- Grasshopper. It never flowed. It just kind of haphazardly leapt from the mouth. Who ever wanted to hug a grasshopper anyway? Better yet, who wanted to look like one! Grasshopper? Images of long, slimy creatures with sharp, beady eyes invaded my mind and I could never make sense of it. Why? “You had such long arms and legs when you were little Jenny.” my mom ALWAYS recalls. Really??!!? Figuring on that logic I could have easily been a Stringbean. Same image, better sound. No one ever wanted to squish a stringbean. The same notwithstanding for my little nickname.

Long after my father passed away in 1981 my mother would lovingly reminisce about my hideous nickname and I would shudder. Why did he do that? Was I that unlovable? This was my mindset until last week. I am not kidding. Last week. I was thinking about my dad and went looking for an image of a grasshopper for my office. Literally I could not find a single picture that wasn’t visually repulsive. I even entertained the idea of painting a prettier version of one, but still couldn’t find an acceptable image. Then I tried a different search engine and found a clip of Kung Fu on YouTube where the Master meets his new protege. It caught my attention.

I watched a but of the 70′s classic with my mouth hanging open. The young kid was called Grasshopper by his Master? Did I know this? In the clip the child feels sorry for the Master who can’t see; however, Master Po quickly shows him that he is not at a disadvantage. His hearing and his reflexes are extremely sharp.

Master Po: Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?

Caine: Old Man, how is it that you hear these things?

Master Po: Young Man, how is it that you do not?

I sat back in my chair bewildered with the implications. This aired right at the same time I got my nickname… did he see me as his apprentice? His student of life? Was he trying to symbolize the mentor relationship we had outside of being my parent? Looking back we were always together. My mom and my sister were like two peas in a pod so when the four of us split to do something or go somewhere it was a given that I was by my father’s side. And I was constantly watching him. Trying all those years to earn his love and acceptance.

I thought I had that horrible nickname because he didn’t embrace me and yet, I’ve come to realize the opposite was true. How did I miss that? I was so stuck in my old, rigid, self loathing mindset that I couldn’t entertain any other possibility. I remember him saying that when I grew up I could become a lawyer and he would get his law degree too and we could have a firm together- father and daughter. Mentor and understudy. It was there in so many ways all these years. Only after I started to give a little love to myself could I remove my blinders and see that I was loved all along.

This season felt surrounded by acceptance. I have to admit I didn’t know what to expect when we decided to spend Christmas on the East Coast with my in-laws instead of celebrating with my family in the Midwest. At first it felt like we were hiding away from the members of my family that still don’t understand or accept Hope’s gender transition, but my feelings changed when I saw how excited my kids were about the switch.

Our family on the East Coast embraced Hope despite their rigid cultural background and even more strict gender roles. Still, they open their arms wide to accept us for exactly who we are- imperfect, fragile, different.

It felt like entering a witness protection program being there even though I noticed some signs of our past life here and there. One day I caught Hope running her finger along the top of a beautiful 8 x 10 picture frame that displayed a photo of her when she was a little boy. I stopped in the doorway wondering if she would ask for the picture to be taken down like she has at my mother’s house. She stopped, stared for a while and then just gracefully dropped her finger to her side and skipped away. I wiped the tears that trailed down my cheek and slid along my neck.

Only once during our visit did we sit in the same room as these pictures and ironically the subject of conversation turned to the long line of family members that have the same name. The tradition of their family is for the first born boy to have his grandfather’s name so that the family name is preserved throughout history. I watched my father-in-law’s face as he talked about the names so proud and yet so soft. It seemed like any other conversation and then drifted into another and another. No one mentioned the fact that Hope is actually her grandfather’s namesake, legally reflecting his name on her birth certificate, but I felt it hover above us and then drift off like a candle that had been blown out.

Even after we returned home, I longed for the security we have there. The feeling I have searched for my entire life. This year I didn’t get a single wrapped gift, but I did get the best present I have ever received.

Struggling not to lose that warm, snuggly feeling that assures me that I WILL fall back asleep, I soothe my worried mind by telling myself that my choices brought me to this beautiful place in my life so they must have all been part of a larger destiny, a grand plan. Telling myself over and over again that I needn’t beat myself up did not make me any less sleepy. If anything, it made me more focused.

As I settled back in my bed, shifting into the “sure thing” sleeping position, I thought about the last scene in the movie Harold & Maude where that fantastic song by Cat Stevens plays in the background. Maude takes her sleeping pills, as planned and says goodbye on her birthday. Trouble, oh trouble set me free, I have seen your face and it’s too much for me today… Harold realizes what she has done and calls for help… I’m beat, I’m torn, Shattered and tossed and worn, too shocking to see, too shocking to see… Harold is faced with the truth and decides his next step… Trouble, oh trouble move from me, I have paid my debt so won’t you leave me in my misery… his black Jaguar flies off a cliff and he’s left standing.

I’m letting my burden sail just like that car speeding off the edge. Letting it go. Saying goodbye and dancing away.

Although Will is two years younger, he has incredible patience and empathy in this world. Like me, he wears his heart on his sleeve even though it seems an unlikely attribute upon a first meeting. He is this little man, husky voice and playful spirit. What strikes me most about Will is that his type of love is old school- loyal, courageous, selfless and gentle. This tiny person is an emotional giant. Still, he is four. It’s easy to forget that sometimes since he asks for very little and gives so much.

I struggle with finding balance in life, I guess in almost every respect, but with regards to my children I worry about it the most. Hope’s personality lands her in the spotlight on most occasions so what about Will? Does he get what he needs? Does he know how much he is loved? I lay awake some nights wondering if he secretly longs for center stage. As I drift to sleep then I remind myself to show them the love in my heart and everything will be fine.

“I am yours, you are mine. Mommy loves you porcupine.” I whisper the line from one of our favorite books and the corners of his mouth turn upward as he smirks. His smile lights up a room, this child. His laughter lifts your spirit. Despite his good nature, he can be mischevious in a delightful curious-bordering-naughty way and you have to laugh. From the very beginning my mom said, “Will is his own man.” And that he is. He knows what he wants and how he feels. Simple as that.

Ever since he was a small child he’s been content with less. Typical of a second child, he is flexible and adjusts to change with a certain casualness that astounds me. For a time when he was small, I worked out of the home. He took it in stride. We’ve moved several times and he sees the good in what we have, not what we lost. How lucky I am that he goes with the flow, right? When I sit back and think of how understanding he has been with Hope’s transition my tears start to fall effortlessly. My heart aches.

When Hope transitioned Will lost his brother, the person who he counted on to “show him the ropes” about growing up as a boy. It was easy to look to his big brother for all the answers about what to do and how to do it. Within the span of one day that brother vanished and he was left with a sister. Where did that history go? This person looked the same, but almost everything about them was different. New name. New appearance. New sibling. Looking back I realize that I could have done more to prepare Will for the transition. I could have spent more time talking about what it means to have a sister. That it’s not so different from a brother if you think about it. But the names are all changed. Our language changes. It’s hard to know what to expect. There is a whole world of coulda-woulda-shoulda, but it is all hindsight.

I’ll always remember him sitting in therapy, reticent to speak. After a few moments he told us he missed his brother. Hope leaned in close and said “I am the same person Will.” She told him she loved him while she stared straight into his eyes. That gesture was all it took for Will to make his own transition of thought. From that moment on he never made a mistake about Hope’s new name, gender or pronoun. Never. I think if he wasn’t allowed to talk about his feelings back then he would have been stuck in that space of loss, unable to quite put his finger on what to do to make it better.

Some people say it’s easier because Will is so young he won’t remember his brother, but I hope that isn’t true. Rather than wish for something to be lost forever I hope that there is a greater understanding of where we all are on this journey. We aren’t hiding here. Nothing has to be perfect.

I’m sitting here writing while watching them play together beside the Christmas tree and I am inspired by their capacity to love. I am motivated by their generosity and their grace. And I am forever blessed with my two angels who bring the harmony that was always missing in my life.

Since Hope socially transitioned her gender this summer some family members have reached out and expressed their love and support. Some people in our extended family have stayed in the background defining Hope’s transition as “my mistake” and “my decision”. Rather than talk with me directly, they have chosen to gossip about my family like we were the topic of a catty talk show where loud women sit around and judge others. Needless to say, this changes holiday plans significantly.

After writing an article about sparing your holiday nightmare, I started to think about what that means for us. This year we opt to host a celebration in our new home. I know, how insane to have a holiday dinner only 5 days after moving in! Nevertheless, we can’t go backwards and do things like we have for years. Things have changed and I feel the need to create new traditions and celebrations to keep my family safe.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons we opted to move into a larger home, to have the ability to create the memories we long to cherish. A warm house filled with love and laughter. A big table filled with those we love and who genuinely love us. Sure, the table might be scarcely filled at first, but watch as the guest list grows year by year.

My fondest memory of the holidays is a solitary one. After the clanging of pots and pans invaded my dreams, I peered at the bedroom door of my youth to find the glow of the kitchen light creeping up the stairs. I’d close my eyes and savor the smell of Grandma’s bread baking in the oven. I didn’t call out. I didn’t get up. I didn’t help my mother. I just stayed there- safe and secure as the holiday dinner simmered in the hush of the early morning hours. Even though it only happened at Thanksgiving and Christmas, I waited for that moment all year like an addict. I never told anyone. Guess I didn’t want anything to change. As if my acknowledgement would affect the sequence and ruin my treasure forever.

It’s funny. I am not even sure when I experienced that moment in person for the last time. Still, I hold it dear to me like an expression of love. I guess what I crave more than anything is the feeling of security and the knowledge that I know what is happening next. The very thing that I’ll never experience in my parent’s home again.

There has to be a way to reach out & help these kids. Where do they go? How can we find them? Quick research shows that many are forced into prostitution or commit suicide. Is that any type of childhood? Who is caring for these innocent little children? Who is showing love to them? The sense of panic consumes me as I watch my child, safe in her bed. Snuggled tight in the safety of our home and our love.