Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Away For Work

He is two. I am away for work. I feel immense guilt.

Ordinarily I don't do guilt. It's not productive. I am action oriented. If something feels bad I stop doing it. It's a life lesson I learned when I got  emotionally healthy.

I make plenty of mistakes. I acknowledge them and try to do things differently. In this case, I didn't make a mistake. It was simply a coincidence that the primary project for this year for our division was in the test phase and my wee boy's birthday fell right in the middle of the week.

I knew. I knew there was nothing that I could do the moment I looked at the calendar when I found out three months ago. My heart sank. I would not be there. I felt the guilt then. I feel it more today.

Every year when my boys have a birthday I snuggle them to sleep telling them the story of their birth. I quietly whisper in their ears each moment and how my heart filled up with love when I heard the first bubbly first cries. The experiences were different but that moment was the same with both boys. An explosion of love and emotion was overwhelming and awesomely powerful.

My mother told me the story of my birth each year as well. I still recall the story with a smile. The small intimate details that I appreciated with a deeper understanding once I became a mother are so close to my heart.

So now I am whispering his birth story to him even though he cannot hear me. I hope my words reach him. Not to ease my guilt, but because my love for him is so deep.

His story of how he entered this world is his own. It is his and mine and only we share it. He was born from my body. I was his home. I can only hope he still thinks of me this way even as he grows up.

Emerson I love you. You are forceful and quiet. You are full of energy and bring me peace. A smile that warms a room and everyone in it. You are angry and happy. A paradox. A yin and yang in one body. You bring balance to us all. I am so grateful for you.

So many people love you. I love you, your father and your brother love you. Gigi and Poppie love you. They are there with you when I cannot be. Singing to you. Holding you when I can only dream of it.

We will celebrate when I return. Not just with party hats, noise makers, cake and pizza but with your story. The story of how we planned for you. How much we wanted you and when you arrived how much I cherish you.

I will whisper it all in your ear when I get back. You will smile sleepily at me with your paci in your mouth and rub your eyes knowing how much I love you and how much joy you have brought to my life. Holding you my little two-fer no longer my little oner.

Time does go to quickly, but this week I hope it does because each minute that passes I am closer to being back with you. Still my heart is with you today and every day no matter how close no matter how far. Even when I am away for work. Across miles, across states, across oceans. No matter what.

Happy birthday wee one. Happy birthday to my beautiful boy! Two...Two!!!

Sunday, January 17, 2016


In the new year I set some intentions for myself. I am not the resolution type but I am goal oriented. Usually my goals are career focused, but this time I set some expectations for myself on a personal note.

I would build a framily. This is my new word. Friends who become family.

Our family has been redefined. Family by blood and adoption has fallen away through death and struggle and deep rifts. I needed a group of people that were there for me and for us especially since our lives have been in some form of crisis for years.

Freely I gave of my spirit. I opened myself up to people. Not just in my overly social way of my youth but truly welcoming people into my heart and into our home.

At church we became friendly with the twins moms Jen and Laura. Holly and Ray were in my fellowship group where already we knew each other in a way that went deep. Stephanie came to drive Rolston and Emerson and we all became fast friends. Leah was Ava's mom from school but also attended church. Libby was my fellowship group leader. Cheryl was our mentor. So many people to share with and to grow together in love in large and small ways.

Then there are old new friends who welcomed us into their family events when we moved closer to them. It filled a void left by the death of Rolston's parents. Caring for our children like their own. Inviting me into the kitchen to help with the meals. Embracing us in every way.

Gathering with families who have children also struggling with speech. It's a bond we share. Not having to ask questions or make excuses and just knowing we are doing the best we can and that some days are so frustrating and isolating. Nothing a little lasagna, salad, garlic bread and wine can't handle.

My framily has grown exponentially. I suddenly felt a deep sense of comfort knowing that our children would grow up together. It's how I have felt with Monica for many years. She will always be the sister I never had and the godmother to our children.

Maintaining old longstanding deeply meaningful friendships with Andy, Akbar, Zakiyyah and Allison and Adam while rekindling others that have waned. It's all been a journey of self discovery. I learned what I value and what I don't. What really matters and what does not.

Letting go of family was difficult because it was emotional and lonely at first. In that void I have found enrichment I never expected. Pain carves out the spaces where joy can enter. A therapist told me that once. There is so much truth in it.

Now my life is so full. My husband and my sons already bring me so much happiness. My parents are forever loving and supportive. My ever expanding framily. My incredible circle of diverse, wonderful, amazing and crazy friends surround me always.

If I were to tell my children anything it would be to open your heart and focus on people you love because when you do truly special things can happen. It is sometimes so hard to believe this phenomenal experience I am having now was all set in motion by a simple intention. 

Another Seizure

On Monday, November 2, 2015 we drove 9 hours to Charlotte, NC. It was a very long day. I was preparing for a big event for work. I was anxious but we settled in at the hotel and the boys were playing. I poured myself a glass of wine and logged on to my computer to check on any last minute updates.

Then I looked over at my husband standing next to the bed with a strange expression on his face. I knew instantly. He was having another seizure. I called his name twice and said aloud, "Oh my god you are having a seizure." That was when he grimaced baring his teeth and his left arm began to shake. I went to him and placed him on the ground rolling him onto his right side. Blood dripped from his mouth as his body convulsed. His left arm up by his ear.

I was unprepared but prepared. I have done this before but never when I was away from home with my children in a hotel room. Brenton asked of daddy was ok I said yes he is having a seizure. Emerson came over to see what was happening. I moved him back and picked up the phone.

I said simply when the front desk answered that my husband was having a seizure and I needed an ambulance. Just as he was coming to the hotel staff knocked on the door. Rolston was very combative. I tried to have him sit and rest and he was irrational and angry and in pain. I heard a woman on a walkie talkie say that they needed them to hurry because I could not handle him alone. They took the boys from the room.

Once the medics arrived Rolston was coming around and he was in agony. It was his shoulder. He was sweating and the pain was so bad he could not sit still. The medics could not give him anything for the pain. It was clear we needed to go to the hospital.

My mother was in Spain. I called my father. I said Rolston had another seizure. He asked if I needed him to come and I simply said yes. That was all I could muster. He said he would be there as soon as he could.

The ambulance is not equipped to take more than one person. Quickly I called for the car and began throwing food and toys and diapers into a bag. We would follow the ambulance to CMC the trauma hospital.

In the pouring rain, I pulled my scared children out of their carseats and walked to the waiting room. They were not equipped for people from out of town with children. We were not allowed back to see him.

I contacted my lifeline, Katy a long time colleague and friend, who lived in Charlotte. She was there in minutes bringing toys and snacks and calmly sat with my boys so I could go to Rolston.

Behind another curtain in another city I found him. This time not so much himself because of the pain from his shoulder. I helped him get a bit more comfortable while we waited for the doctor.

After what seemed like hours the doctor told us the shoulder injury was severe. Very severe. We would need ortho to tell us if surgery was needed. Hours later after tears and anger and confusion and anxiety. Surgery was the only option.

It was after midnight when I finally got the boys back to the hotel bleary eyed and exhausted. I looked at my still full glass of wine and asked myself why this was happening. Before I could even contemplate drinking the glass or the bottle my sweet Brenton asked if Daddy was alright. I simply said yes and told him it was time for bed. We were all restless but managed to finally go to sleep.

In the morning, Rolston called to say he was headed to surgery. I took the boys to breakfast and my father arrived. He was exactly what I needed. The boys were thrilled to see him and I was too.

The next few days were a blur of hotel and hospital. Rolston came through surgery so well. The fears I had melted away. He was in a wonderful hospital. The doctors were great. He was now on anti seizure meds. Everyone at home and at work was pulling for us. We were surrounded by loving support.

On our final day in Charlotte before heading home we actually had the family day we planned. Rolston on his pain meds and in his sling he had his beard trimmed. Brenton had his hair cut and Emerson had his very first haircut. We made it to lunch and Imagine On.

Out of some terrible times we made a wonderful memory watching our sweet boy in his barber chair booster with his paci in his mouth. He was better than good. Calm as could be with the clipper after a rough week. He was inspiring without realizing. Resilient.

This time I vowed it would be better. I would not let this rule my life. Of course there would be an adjustment but it would not control us. We would be ok.

The drive home was rough. It was pouring rain with no visibility at times Brenton threw up and had an accident. Rolston was unable to help but he was miraculously alright and not in any pain.

After 10 hours we made it. We made it! Safe and sound. We were home to face our new normal after another seizure.

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Dancing and Singing

Certainly children have their moments where they can drive their parents absolutely crazy, but for certain there are two ways to stop the world and make those same frustrated parents stop in their track and smile.  It’s when those same children who have just torn up the house or who have hit their sibling with a block or wet their pants inches from the potty start dancing and singing.  When all else fails in our house and we have all had enough we put on the music and dance it out.  Nothing warms my heart more than to see my toddler drop it like it’s hot.

Right now Emerson’s favorite song is Thunderstruck by AC/DC.  In the car I put it on repeat and watch him as he just jams.  It started innocently when I heard it on Planes Fire and Rescue and decided to add it to my playlist for my workouts.  Bam it was like dance mania for Emerson.  He puts his whole body into it.  If he is in his car seat he uses his feet to push against the seat and bounce.  Then he shakes his head and moves his arms.  If I wasn’t driving I would capture it on video.  Sometimes at red lights I just stare at him and smile as I give it a good effort and car dance along with him.  Sometimes I play the air drums. His second favorite is Baba O’Reilly.

Brenton started singing recently.  His favorite is “Happy Birthday” or anything he has seen on Umizoomi including the theme song.  There is nothing like the sweet sound of my speech delayed song singing happy birthday to me in tune with all the words.  I didn’t even mind when he blew out all my candles.  He can use my birthday wish any time because in truth as mothers we spend those on them anyway.

Night time is my favorite time.  Usually during dinner prep we have spontaneous dance parties.  Brenton will just hit the button and we all break out and move.  We laugh at Emerson who likes to wiggle the most.  Then we all try to mimic him and he think that is hilarious and just giggles that happy toddler giggle. Then he will take all the crackers out of the cabinet and throw them around…or the Tupperware or really whatever he can get his hand on.  Then he says uh oh.  It’s not an uh oh when you do it on purpose, but he will learn that soon enough.

The other great thing about night time is story time and lullabies.  Singing a song my mother sang to me, singing a song I love and singing a song they love I lure them into dreamland.  We start with Twinkle Twinkle little star.  The song they love.  Then I sing Danny Boy replacing their names with Danny’s.  The song I love.  Finally rounding out the set with “For Baby”.  The song my mother sang to me.

I'll walk in the rain by your side

I'll cling to the warmth of your tiny hand

I'll do anything to help you understand

I'll love you more than anybody can

And the wind will whisper your name to me

Little birds will sing along in time

The leaves will bow down when you walk by

And morning bells will chime

I'll be there when you're feeling down

To kiss away the tears if you cry

I'll share with you all the happiness I've found

A reflection of the love in your eyes

And I'll sing you the songs of the rainbow

Whisper all the joy that is mine

The leaves will bow down when you walk by

And morning bells will chime

I'll walk in the rain by your side

I'll cling to the warmth of your tiny hand

I'll do anything to help you understand

I'll love you more than anybody can

The leaves will bow down when you walk by

And morning bells will chime

I hold the hope they will carry this on and sing it to their children someday.  As I listen to Brenton hum the tune as I sing to him, I remember the first time I cradled him in my arms and sang the words.  Crying as I sang thinking about the words and how much I meant them. I still mean them each time I sing to them.

The power of music is it tells the story of our lives.  I remember the songs throughout my life marking moments in time. Hearing the songs later snaps me back to that exact time.  I can hear the sounds smell the smells and feel the emotions. Watching my children sing and dance I know in the shared moments we will mark time in movement, lyrics, melody and harmony capturing moments while we keep singing and dancing.

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

That Day

5:50am on May 10 , 2015, Mother’s Day, I woke from sleep.  It was not to a child in my face nor a baby crying and not breakfast in bed.  My husband was moving with his back to me.  It looked like he was shaking.  Drowsy and thinking he was merely scratching due to an eczema outbreak I mumbled “Rolston stop scratching”, but the shaking continued.

I said his name a few more times before I realized something was not right.  As I looked over his shoulder I saw it clearly.  He was having a seizure.  I knew instantly. It was when time slowed down and I said his name over and over telling him he would be ok and touched his face unsure of what to do except to hold onto him and speak into his ear.

Brenton was in bed with us.  He was asking if Daddy was ok and I kept saying yes.  Reassuring two of my favorite guys was now my responsibility in that moment. It was all instinct but I remember it vividly in retrospect.

When the shaking stopped he did not come around. Knowing he needed help I could not give I attempted to call 911.  My hands at first could not swipe the screen to make the keypad come up.  The password I implemented to stop my toddler from texting and calling was effectively stopping me from the same.  With erratic breathing on the verge of tears and shaking I told the operator my husband had a seizure.  She asked for my address and said they would send someone.  I was told to unlock the door.

Hanging up the first thing I did was call Monica.  She is my person, my best friend and the boys godmother.  I said, “Rolston had a seizure, I need you to come.  I don’t know what to do.”  She heard the tears behind my words and said “No tears you have to be strong for the boys.  I am on my way.”

I went to unlock the door and came back to Brenton who had taken off his pajamas at some point in the night, so I grabbed the closest pair and waited for the paramedics for what seemed like an eternity.  Looking back it was about 5 minutes.  Rolston still had not come around, but I put him comfortably on his side.

There were two paramedics, one young man and one woman who was probably slightly older than I am.  She assessed Rolston and I told her what happened.  She did not tell me he was ok, but she worked on him.  The young man spoke into his radio and took notes on a pad.  Brenton sat on my lap.  I heard the cries of the baby and went to get him together.  We all came back and sat together on the couch in our bedroom holding onto one another as the paramedics tried to get Rolston to come around. As more and more paramedics arrived they asked more questions and were trying to determine how to get Rolston down the stairs.

Finally as if he knew I needed him to respond, the woman said again Rolston, Rolston and with a jolt upright he sat up and said “What, what?” He looked so frightened and she said plainly, “Your wife thinks you had a seizure.”  He glared at me clearly upset and confused and I said simply, “You did” with tears in my eyes.

You see I thought he was going to die or that he would never come back around.  I was thinking about what my life would be like without the love of my life.  What my boys would do without their father.  I am a worrier by nature and even if he is late coming home I tend to go to the worst case scenario.  So you see in this moment of real crisis I was strong and completely petrified all at once.

For the first time since I woke at 5:50 that morning to my husband having an unprovoked seizure in our bed with my oldest son at my side, I did not take a real breath. The moment he said what my body relaxed a bit and I took one deep cleansing breath.  Not knowing that all was well or what caused the seizure I was comforted knowing he was awake.

I got him a t-shirt at the paramedics request and they got him up and on the stretcher to take him down the stairs.  Later he would tell me he has no memory of any of these events.  The only thing he does remember is Brenton looking out of our bedroom window and the paramedic was waving to him and right before they put him in the ambulance the paramedic said your son is waving to you, he waved back to him with a big smile.  He has no recollection of the ride in the ambulance.  That whole day is a blur for him except that one moment is very clear to him.

I watched him wave from downstairs out the living room window. I was waiting for my parents to answer the phone.  I needed them to come.  Rolston had a seizure.  I kept it together and my mother told me they would come as fast as they could which meant about 9 hours or so. 

I took another breath.  The ambulance was gone.  He was safe.  Soon I would go to him.

Looking around, I wondered what to do. I could not simply wait wringing my hands. Instead I went with routine.  Baby gets a bottle and sits in his walker.  Brenton lies in bed and they watch Team Umizoomi while I take a shower.  When I was dressed and ready my savior arrived and I could not hug her knowing the tears would come and they would not stop.  Instead with a knowing glance I thanked her.  I had to go.

I was calm and drove carefully.  It was about 5 minutes to the hospital and when I arrived I gave the information and just as I was almost done it happened….the adrenaline wore off.  I told the receptionist and she said as she slid the tissues toward me you can go see him.  He is right through the doors and on the right in bed 5.

Crying I walked through the doors not asking where to go or for any kind of permission.  I slid back the curtain not knowing what to expect.  It was dim but he was there.  Himself.  He said hi and so did I.  I went and sat by him and took his hand.  Relief washed over me again.

A doctor told us he seemed to be fine now.  He said the words I will never forget, “Everyone in life is entitled to one seizure.”  What?  I had no idea.  Later as we told people about the events of that day we heard stories about all kinds of people who had a seizure or even a few and then they stopped and never happened again.

After notifying everyone in our circle about the events and that Rolston seemed fine, but was at the hospital, I went back to the house.  Somewhere I did not realize that my wonderful friend had to celebrate her son’s birthday let alone Mother’s day with her family.  She said she was sorry.  I looked at Brenton and started to laugh.  Puzzled Monica asked what is it and I said, “those are Emerson’s pajamas.”  And we both laughed.  She hugged me and asked if there was anything I needed.  I told her to go have a wonderful day with her family and thanked her.

For the next day and a half we spent waiting and talking to doctors and back and forth with the children or without them.  I ran back and forth making sure everyone was ok.  They were.  I wasn’t.  I didn’t know it yet, but I wasn’t and I am still not even almost 3 months later.

Waking in the night is still a regular occurrence.  Flashbacks and bad dreams.  Anxiety. And that it will happen again. Those are all very real for me.  I worry they are real for Brenton who had his own experience.

We let his teachers know.  He did not speak to them about it.  His GiGi walked him through it and he still talks to her.  He asks if daddy had another seizure at least once a week and sometimes even daily. He talks about the giants walking up the stairs.  It took a while for us to determine they are the EMTs. He hyper focuses about ambulances and asks about doctors. I do what I can to comfort and reassure him, but worry he has scars or worse open wounds from that day.  

For Rolston, it as if it didn’t happen so he requires no reassurance or comfort.  He is convinced he is fine.  He is convinced it was a one-time occurrence.

I wish I could be as certain, but I am not.  Yesterday we met with the new neurologist at UPENN.  You see UPENN is where we go if there is a problem.  They are the best in the area.  The oldest neurology department in the country.  I told the story of that day again.  It was as if it was yesterday.  I recalled the details of the position of his arms as he shook, the clenched jaw, the noise he made, the eyes rolled back and the drooling. When the shaking stopped I explained the timeline, the 25 minutes it took for him to come around and the fog that persists surrounding the events that followed for him as I instead remember it all so clearly.

It could be the left frontal lobe based on the position of his arms.  But they cannot be certain.  It could be a one-time occurrence.  But they cannot be certain. They are certain he cannot drive for 6 months.  They are certain that the EEG was normal.  They are certain they want to do another where he is sleeping since the seizure occurred out of sleep.

She felt comfortable with a 60% chance it would not happen again.  But all I heard is 40% that it would.  She is comfortable with no medication.  She is comfortable with a follow up in a few months.  Call her or email her anytime she said.  She meant it.

Oh how I wish it all made me feel better.  I should be so grateful that it is not worse and truthfully I am so very grateful.  I take myself back to the moment when I was convinced he was leaving us and feel so thankful he feels wonderful and that it is behind him.  I just wish I could forget that day like he has.  Brenton and I, the witnesses, that we could erase that day.

That day changed me.  That day shook me.  That day haunts me.  May 10, 2015 was that day.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Everyone Get Away From Me!

There are days when everything feels wrong and I just want to scream "Everyone get away from me!" Today was one of those days. Since Emerson is sleeping and Brenton has been sent to his room for bad behavior I can say the day is essentially over. Mostly I can breathe a sigh of relief because I am sitting outside in the quiet by the pool with the setting sun and an alcoholic beverage.

My life is not difficult or complicated. We are all healthy and are very comfortable. Still as anyone who has young children knows I have days I might consider stabbing myself in the leg just so that I could spend a couple hours away from everyone.

It might be because Brenton currently only listens to me when I yell at him. Or it could be that for the twentieth time I have asked Emerson to stop eating a stick or a rock or a stick and a rock. It even perhaps could be that my husband has disappeared at the quintessential moment when everything is in full meltdown to take a half hour trip to the bathroom. I mean I have never unless something is wrong taken a 30 minute shit. Regardless there could be a slew of reasons why a knife to the thigh seems like a good idea.

My mother is visiting and she is so wonderful. She reminds me that this is hard and that it is ok that this is hard. Raising young children is relentless. They climb on you they put their spit all over you and they need you all the time. She tells me calmly that it does get easier in some ways and harder in others. It is helpful even though I am not sure I thanked her for making me feel better.

Today was just rough. From my attempt to clean Brenton's car seat the day was off to a bad start. The kids were fussy and it was just too hot and humid and I had forgotten how carseats are clearly manufactured by Satan himself.

It was a bad idea but it needed to be done. As a result Rolston and I yelled at each other and I crumbled in a heap because I could not get the buckle through the hole. It was like putting together IKEA furniture. A recipe for disaster and pain and suffering for all around me.

I wish I could say I was good at dealing with frustration but I am not. I wish I could say I don't yell at my kids or my husband when I am frustrated but I cant. The truth is I am difficult and occasionally I make things even more difficult when I reach a certain point.

After the carseat I should have called it a day but the boys were determined to keep the misery going as long as possible. More whining until nap time and then I fled with my mother to Target. It really was that or a knife to my own leg. 

Target is a bad idea when upset because retail therapy is so soothing. I managed to get out of there with only a few extra items and avoided buying a new rug. Then off to pick up the online yardsale find for Brenton and through the 5 dollar car wash so I could use the vacuum since the car set was still sitting on the floor in the family room. The farm stand for corn was next and then back home to the maniacs who were up from their naps already wrecking havoc.

I escaped to the pool and they followed me. It's easier in the pool. I can throw them. I can whirl them around and make them chase me. I can shoot them with water guns and splash them. It is cathartic.

But eventually they want to get out and run and have me push them on swings and eat rocks and sticks and ask ten thousand questions. So the feeling of frustration creeps back in. Then it's time to make dinner and set the table and make sure everyone is settled. My husband makes a dig at me and I am furious. Other days it wouldn't matter but today as Brenton is sneaking something he was told he couldn't have more than a few times and it was just too much.

He was sent to his room and I put his brother to bed and now here I sit decompressing and my mother just announced through the window that she went upstairs and now Brenton is crying. She offered to sit with him but he has had too much of what he wants today and must learn to work it out on his own.

Tomorrow will be a better day. Tomorrow I will not be so frustrated because I definitely won't attempt to do anything even marginally frustrating. I just hope it is a little easier and that I will not want to scream for eveyone to get away from me.

Friday, July 17, 2015

The Tough Stuff

On occasion I am bogged down by the tough stuff.  For the most part I am far more inclined to live in the moment as opposed to getting stuck in the muck, but when it happens it certainly does drag me down.  As the mother of bi-racial children I am acutely aware of certain realities.  The realities that exist for my boys and my husband that when they are not with me I do not face at all.  I often wonder where I fall.  What role I will play in shaping their views when it comes to race and racism.

I am often told by white friends and family that I am just far too sensitive.  I have even been told that history shows that racism is in the past.  That is not my experience and as the blonde hair and blue eyes look back at me when they say those words, I cannot fathom how they would even begin to formulate that opinion.  So I feel stuck because I cannot educate someone who has this belief that they are mistaken.

When those people who share my own blood do not stand up for my immediate family, I feel deeply betrayed.  The feeling washes over me and my blood runs cold when I see a post on social media about how privilege does not exist or a meme regarding the historical significance of the confederate flag should be acknowledged and protected, a “like” for Paula Deen or and all lives matter hash tag.  As a result I have excluded them from my life and the lives of my children.  You are not allowed to like a photo of my children, but not fundamentally support them in the most basic and human way.  To proclaim that their lives matter as much as your children’s is needed because right now it is clear that they do not.  There is a preponderance of evidence to the contrary and it is continuously ignored by so many.

It is not enough to say they would be angered if my children faced something that their child would never have to face and in the same breath say it won’t because I will raise them well.  What if they were questioned if the house they live in is actually their own, stopped on their bike for looking suspicious or walking around the neighborhood with two of their friends visiting.  This is what my husband faced as a child growing up in an affluent neighborhood.  When he tells people many shake their heads in disbelief rather than in disgust.  He was raised so well and he speaks so well.  How could this be? And yet some people readily dismiss this knowledge and opt for the fact that there had to be a reason aside from race that prompted the attention.

These are the excuses that I cannot stomach.  The lack of action as people are killed.  The articles and opinion pieces that rise up to pardon what is happening.  The use of different language to mask the guilt of the worst of the worst.  That it is playing a card to even bring it up as an issue.  The lack of acknowledgement that there is a problem at all.  The fundamental inability to be empathetic and to walk in someone else’s shoes. To see a black child as their own and yet I do because they are my own.  And this is where I am stuck.

Where does this leave me and for that matter where does this leave other white parents of bi-racial or black children? I am struggling deeply with the answer because we are not the typical “good” white people.  We do have a stake in this for the sake of those we love the most.  Yet we do not understand what it is to be black.  Is it up to us to change the world?  Do we take up the megaphones and stand in the front lines in the protests?  Do we try to educate those around us that a flag coming down does not equal justice for so many lives lost?

From what I read and the discussions I have had, the answers are no because we are allies for racial equity and justice.  I still do not know how to effectively be an ally.  I am struggling with the role and the fact that I have not been given any clear responsibilities.  I want to scream “Just tell me what to do and I will do it!”.  Within me there is an inherent need for leadership and direction.  I will wait for that guidance to come soon.  Until then I will continue to try to find ways to make a difference until hopefully someday “the talk” means the same thing to all parents and the definition of tough stuff is universal.