AbleBodies

Thankful Father

I am thankful for so much in life, from my health and family to my job and friends. But there is one person I am thankful for that I want to focus on: my father, Roberto Garcia.

Below is a list of reasons why I am thankful for my dad.

1. His generosity toward others, putting others before himself.
2. His simple way of living yet rich in family.
3. His quiet nature and ability to listen to others.
4. His passion for something: ranching.
5. His work ethic.
6. His gentle manner.
7. His leading by example.
8. His patience.
9. His time with me.
10. His life.

On Wednesday, Nov. 7, 2007, my dad’s life ended after an almost three-year struggle with colon cancer. His loss created such a void in my life. Gone was the man who was a quiet force, who I respected as a man and more as a father. While our time together was cut short, I treasure those thirty-seven years of memories and love. I am thankful for my dad.

- Roel -

"Dear Mama"

In August 2007 my wife, Dawn, and I found out we were going to have a baby. We were overjoyed, as we wanted a child. The happiness was short-lived as a month later we experienced a miscarriage. A radical shift in emotion took place. A tremendous loss.
This time of year is emotional for that reason. This year that child would be six years old.

After a sad evening a week ago, I composed this letter. The letter is from that unborn child to his/her mother, my wife. It was difficult for me to write it and I had to stop many times before I completed it. The letter was written with much love.

Dear Mama,

I know you often think about me, especially around this time of year when you first found out about me. It makes me smile even now seven years later. And it warms my heart that after all this time I hold a place in your own caring heart.

I wasn’t around long but it was enough to make an impact on you. During that short time, I felt loved, a love that only a mother could provide. A loving mother.
During that short time I experienced a lifetime of love and I am grateful for that time with you. Some kids have decades and decades with their mother and feel only coldness or regret. You, mama, gave me warmth, love and affection. Thanks you for that.

When you first learned of me, you were ecstatic. You wanted me for such a long time. Then one day, there I was, small and insignificant in the scheme of things, but already a huge part of your life. I felt that right away and I knew you'd make a wonderful mother. Others should be so lucky.

I can’t explain why I had to leave so soon. I know it caused you and still causes you grief and you mourn for your loss. I mourn, too. I was looking forward to growing up with you as my mom in my life. For whatever reason, it wasn’t to be. I wish I knew why, but I don’t. I know you had many questions, too, that went unanswered.
I want to thank you for being my mom even for that short period of time. I guess you’ll always be my mom and I’ll always be your child and knowing that makes me happy, still.

I just wanted to write you a short note letting you know that I’m OK. And you’ll always be in my heart as I know I’ll be in yours.

Love,
Me

- Roel -

Mind Games

“You’re grumpy.”

“Why are you so upset?”

“You haven’t smiled all day.”

“Why so serious?”

Yes, I can be grumpy.

Yes, I can get upset.

Maybe you just haven’t seen me smile all day.

Yes, I can be too serious, at times.

A very small sampling of the assumptions people make towards me, followed by the initial thought crossing my mind, which often stays there. Just like everyone else, I’m human, and enjoy talking to people. Unlike many people (although numbers are growing), I have Depression, A.D.D., Bipolar, and Generalized Anxiety. As much as I want to say these factors don’t play a role in everyday interactions, they do.

When someone approaches me with an assumption out of leftfield, I’m put in a defensive position. The chances of having an honest and good conversation are all but squashed when this small series of events happens. Since I can’t blow up at everyone, I realize that sometimes ignoring people is the best option. Although it’s not always easy, I am learning to take deep breaths and collect my thoughts before speaking. My mind is a roller coaster of emotions, changing with something as simple as a gust in the wind, but having other people tell me how I’m feeling without showing any concern makes it even more difficult.

There’s an ongoing battle inside my head, and there is no difference when someone makes an assumption about me. One side (the head) tells me, “I don’t want to prove you wrong”, while another side (the heart) tells me, “watch me prove you wrong.”  The “head” part has no problem if I’m losing, as long as the other person is winning. The “heart” part tells me that I deserve to win, to be heard, while forgetting the other person’s feelings. However, etched deep within me is a passion for caring about others. Here is where I go back and forth, and back and forth, on what comes next. It’d be easy to ignore the other person’s feelings and carry on, with no regret. My mind is anything but simple, and I worry about the other person, even though they seem to not care. Many variables are taken into consideration: the other person/people, the subject matter, and my mood are at the forefront. A random person telling me my shirt is ugly doesn’t hold the same weight as a close friend telling me they don’t like that I seem uneasy. Despite the truth, both instances add to the already vicious cycle inside of my head. In battles of head vs. heart, I struggle.

Everyone rides their own roller coaster of emotions on a daily basis. Instead of assuming we know the story of each other, how about having a genuine conversation with someone? How about finding out why they’re the way they are? How about surveying the field and treating others as teammates rather than rivals?

-Brandon

"That's What Friends Are For"

 

Roel with his high school friend Lamar Salinas-Niemczycki during her visit to Holland in mid-August of this year. The friends had not seen each other since high school, twenty-six years ago.

As I write this blog, I am reminded of the biggest hit of 1986, “That’s What Friends Are For.” Take a listen to it. It might be cheesy but check out the lyrics. Man, they hit home when it comes to describing friends and friendships.

Friends are important to me and they are tightly meshed in my life. I become friends with people for different reasons but the bottom line is these folks do/did something to my heart that endeared themselves to me and I hold them in high regard.

I write this a few weeks after a special visit from a dear friend from Minnesota, Lamar Salinas-Niemczycki. Lamar and her husband Chris spent a weekend in Holland, with me showing them the town and spending quality time together.

Lamar is a high school friend, who I hadn’t seen since my junior year at San Diego High School. Twenty-six years ago. We reconnected in 2009 via Facebook and rekindled our friendship over the past five years.

But what makes Lamar a special friend enmeshed into my life? Lamar is more than just a friend from the past.  When I met her in 1986, I was dealing with my sudden vision loss that occurred four months prior. While most people back then did one of two things—either ignore me because this vision loss thing was too weird or they poked fun at me because they didn’t understand it—Lamar took a different route and befriended me. And in some ways protected me. She was tough.

For that act of kindness and that bond of friendship I am eternally grateful. She did it because that’s who she is. I love my friend for that. Thank you, Lamar.

Fast forward twenty-six years and we reunite. It was a seamless reunion, continuing where we left off the last time we saw each other in person.

And that’s what friends are for. And that’s what friends are like.

Through the years, friends like Lamar have played a vital role in my life. Friends were there to help me through the awkward ending to high school. My buddies and I cruised around on Friday and Saturday nights, jamming to metal music, getting into trouble and making the best out of life at the time. We formed unforgettable memories.

Even during tough times when I withdrew because of internal issues, friends still helped to keep me going. They were a presence and by being there it was enough

And what of moving across country to an unknown place, leaving everything and everyone behind in Texas? Truly scary. But I must say that Michigan folks are good people. Over the years I have made some tremendous friends in the Mitten State. These folks helped a stranger fit into a new world. Again, that’s what friends are for.

My friends bring me everything from a connection to the past and my hometown to a love for writing and just the randomness of life. Each friend is different and I like that about my friends. Each one was and is special to me in his or her own way. It’s all in the connection I made with that person.

Friends—and you know who you are—I love you all. 

- Roel - 

A Road To Acceptance: In My Corner

Even though I felt alone and hopeless during my struggles, various resources were brought to my attention. I am human, and I still sometimes feel alone; the difference between then and now is I am 100% hopeful and I use my resources to my advantage.

The Trevor Project- This is the leading national organization in providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention in LGBTQ youth.  They have trained staff who will talk to you and remind you that your life is important and that you’re not alone.
www.thetrevorproject.com

Human Rights Campaign- The largest LGBTQ civil rights organization nationwide. This organization has an unlimited number of resources available to anyone. Their mission is to ensure that everyone is ensured of basic equal rights, and can be open and honest and safe at home, work and the community.
www.hrc.org.

To Write Love On Her Arms- A non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide. This organization exists to encourage, inform, inspire, and also to invest directly into treatment and recovery.
www.twloha.com

Anxiety and Depression Association of America- Their mission is to promote the prevention, treatment, and cure of anxiety, OCD, PTSD, depression, and related disorders through education, practice, and research.
www.adaa.org

The people in my corner- Without a doubt, these are the people who kept me grounded, and continue to do so. Without running the risk of leaving someone out, I constantly remind those who care about me that I wouldn’t be here without them. It’s in my nature to sometimes feel like a marionette, as I am constantly observing. The difference now is I pull most of the strings.

Collectively, these groups provided me with motivation, hope, inspiration, support, and knowledge that I am important. The world can be a dark and scary road to travel alone. With my mind in the right place, a strong supporting cast, and a plethora of resources available, I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

You are never alone. You are never hopeless. Despite feelings, emotions, and people telling you’re not good enough, that you’re hopeless and alone, know that you’re not. Be bigger and better than your doubters and see the light with me.                                                                                                                     

 

Some of the friends I made during my sophomore year at GVSU. We engaged in our fair share of shenanigans.

         

GVSU Dodgeball after winning their second consecutive National Championship! The practices, games, travel, and camaraderie would become a big part of my routine.

 

I got my degree in Creative Writing and I couldn't be more excited! It's even better I got to celebrate with great company!        

                            

Some of the wristbands from my hospitalizations. Sometimes they are difficult to look at because of the times they remind me of. They also attest to my hope, courage, determination, and strength.

    

During my hospitalizations, there was a schedule patients had to follow; I loved being on a schedule. This is a collage I made during one of those stays. Every morning, I look at it to remind myself I can be Superman.

We're singin' in the imaginary rain! This was taken during sophomore year, after we ate. Despite all the changes I have been through, Luke has always been there to offer his full support.

A Road To Acceptance: Establishing Normal

I went through a roller coaster of emotions and opportunities the next four years. You could say many of my struggles were the same as other young adults: self-discovery, purpose, interests, and switching majors. I knew I wasn’t the only one battling anxiety, nerves, stress, lack of focus, doubt, confidence, and sexual identity.  My doctors provided me with ways to counter these negative feelings, along with many valuable lessons. Among the most important lessons was my battle being life long, and learning how to throw counter punches. Having people in my corner made my fight much more manageable. Apart from offering support, advice, and encouragement, they picked me up when I was down and out. There were plenty of times when I was down for the count, and didn’t think I could drag myself to my feet. Those in my corner wouldn’t let me stay down:

- Being hospitalized multiple times, for various reasons
- Staying at a mental institution
- Struggling with the meaning of life
- Suicidal thoughts and actions
- A seizure, knocking me unconscious
- Not being able to drive my car for 6 months
- Multiple car accidents, some resulting in trauma

I felt I was making friends with the medical staff for all the wrong reasons. Apart from going to my check-ups and scheduled appointments, these hospitalizations were the result of me being an out of control ball of emotions, experiencing severe depression. Most of the time, I knew I was doing wrong, but was unable to be stronger than my mind. The only way to keep me safe was keeping me away from others, in a cage. These visits served as reminders about my lifelong fight. Not being able to drive for 6 months was a result of my seizure, and increased my dependency on others, more so than usual. Not included are the many times I agitated my loved ones, the few people who were in my corner, ready and willing to help me. Despite this, every time I looked behind me, there they were; I will never know how to repay them. How did I manage to drag myself up? The company I was able to spend my collegiate years with, and these achievements:

- Getting a job as an Intramural Official, and keeping it through Graduation
- Joining the Club Dodgeball team, eventually becoming back-to-back-to back National Champions
- Joining an on-campus Depression Group
- Sharing my first kiss with Luke
- Meeting new friends, who accepted my struggles, and who helped guide me
- Coming out to my mother. Surprise! She already knew and loved me the same
- Accepting I’m gay
- Asking Luke to be my boyfriend. He said yes!
- Receiving my Bachelors Degree in Creative Writing
- Going to my doctors when I felt “different”

The camaraderie I formed with each of my circles of friends made me feel welcome, loved, and appreciated. It was a night and day of difference between this time period and my freshman year.  A large part of me accepting my identity was coming to grips with being gay. I knew I felt differently about boys my whole life, but sexual identity isn’t simply about rules of attraction. I was ashamed and embarrassed to share with Luke; I told him through a silly game. Once I finally accepted being gay, I had nothing more to hide: I had accepted my mental health illnesses and was completely honest with myself. I use my past as a reminder that it always gets better. I use my past to remind me that my wings get tattered, but I still know how to fly.

A Road To Acceptance: Fighting Forward

My freshman year of college did it’s best to break me, but my ever present determination wouldn’t allow me to shatter. The silver lining during my freshman year was becoming aware of recurring symptoms I had my whole life. First and foremost: I was, and still am, a person of strict routine. If my routine breaks, my equilibrium becomes unbalanced: riding a bike without a helmet. Additionally, my focus and concentration lacked, which I attributed to lessons being boring; this happens when taking General Education classes. I wasn’t yet able to give myself credit for making it out of my freshman year alive.

Fortunately, I had a check-up with my doctor shortly after school ended. When she asked me how I was feeling, I decided to stop hiding. Despite the numbers saying I was normal, I felt anything but. I told her the symptoms I’d been feeling. I told her I needed help before something I regret happens. I finally took ownership of my health, and my mindset took a 180 degree turn. She set up appointments with doctors who would become lifesavers.

Prior to meeting my Nurse Practioner, I took a series of tests to help diagnose me. My legs jittered as I anxiously waited for my name to be called. My mother kept asking me if I was okay, only raising my nerves. My name was finally called, and I walked as confidently as I could towards the door. Thankfully, the NP was very welcoming. After telling her about myself, she told me my results: Generalized Anxiety Disorder, A.D.D., and Bipolar. Hearing them aloud brought a sense of failure, but something absent before: hope. The words meant nothing because it changed nothing, yet it changed everything. I’d been living with the symptoms, but was too afraid to seek care. My NP reassured me I would be taken care of, and prescribed a low dosage of medications to begin balancing chemicals in my body. I took them as I was instructed. This became a big part of my morning and night routine for years to come.

I walked into the same waiting room the next day, to see my new Psychologist. I was still nervous, despite the familiar setting. I knew I had to be open and honest, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to help me. I felt it was a recording of the day before. He asked a question, waited for my response, and jotted down what I said; my every move was being examined. I was doing my best to answer questions, but there wasn’t depth to the answers. The trust wasn’t yet established. I needed to provide more than basic answers to fully grasp the gravity of what I was living with.

Over the next 4 years, I saw the same NP and the same Psychologist; my confidence and trust grew over time. More importantly, we became friends. While some of the questions were repetitive, they were necessary; my life was at stake. Every time my medication changed, I had to see my NP a week later to check my levels. I had to get my blood drawn every 3 months. When I didn’t know what to talk about, I nervously waited for a prompt, and responded accordingly. Seeing them became part of my new routine, helping keep my equilibrium balanced; they were my helmet. During this time, we found I had an underactive thyroid: more medication to counter the side effects.

I’m forever indebted to both of them, as well as the support staff I came to know. I know without their help, I wouldn’t be here. I felt my wings spreading and was ready to fly!

 

A Road To Acceptance: Troublesome Times

When I was younger, I felt like a marionette; strings being pulled in every direction. Rather than being myself, I imitated what I liked in others. Like any younger brother, I imitated my older brother, Adam. He was into sports, and so was I. He got a haircut, and I got the same haircut. He wore certain clothes, and I followed suit. Despite our similar appearance and interests, I steered clear of the trouble he got into; my mind was always different.

Coincidentally or not, I became very irritable, anxious, and more fatigued than I had before once Adam left for college. While the teenage years are used for self-discovery, I was becoming increasingly frustrated because my daily activities were being interfered with. I knew Adam wasn't there to imitate, and I quickly had to find myself. I felt extremely rushed, which only multiplied my problems.

The following year of self-discovery added to my anxiety and worry: not sleeping well, low self-esteem, and feeling unimportant. I was excited to embark on my freshman year at Grand Valley, and hoped the forthcoming changes would remedy my symptoms. Despite my optimistic approach, nothing could have prepared me for my freshman year at GVSU.

I lived with 3 other roommates in what was a study hall a few months before; everything was thrown together. This seemed especially fitting, a sign for the personal struggles I was encountering. I tried being friendly with them, but the efforts weren’t reciprocated. I didn’t feel welcome. Lucky for me (I thought), there were plenty of others I knew from high school. Unlucky for me, they weren’t in my classes. I wasn’t a socialite by any means, so making new friends didn’t come easy. Unconsciously, I decided I didn’t need friends and could skip class if I desired. I figured if people didn’t care about me, then I didn’t have to care about them. For the first time in my life, sports were an afterthought. I lost interest in everything. I was failing classes for the first time. I was surrounded by others, but none of them seemed to care about what was tearing me apart inside: isolation.  

 

I was lost and incomplete.

 

Suicide seemed logical. Suicide was an easy way out of all the torment and pain. Would anyone even notice if I was gone, forever? A slit of the wrists here and there, and here and there. Drowning myself in a tub, gasping for breath only when I realized I might be hurting someone else. Stabbing myself with a pin again and again, over and over. Looking at a gun, wondering if that’s the final scene. Staring at a bridge on a highway, contemplating taking the plunge.

No! My story didn’t end here. If I stayed weak, it would have. If I refused to acknowledge my mental health, it would have.

My parents, especially my mother, noticed changes. My mother knew something wasn’t right as I talked to her on the phone every day. I withheld as much information as I could, but when suicide was mentioned, they sought help because I was too stubborn to do so. My initial appointment began with my parents and I sitting with the doctor. My answers were short and I found it humorous. Eventually, it was just me and the doctor. If I gave an answer, they were shorter. Otherwise, I stared at the wall; I owed nothing to this stranger.

My troubles existed, but they weren’t accepted. Others advised me to seek help, yet I refused. I was the one who had to learn to spread my wings and fly.

 

Parents & Education

No one accomplishes anything on his or her own. With any achievement there’s always a second or third party who chips in a little or a lot.

It’s safe to say that my parents played a huge role in helping me attain my college degrees. They unselfishly weaved their way into my life to during that decade-long journey. Yes, I took the long route to earn my bachelor’s and master’s degrees.

My mother and father played different roles when it came to my college life. My mom stuck with the academic side of things while my dad provided the transportation to and from college. We worked together for these achievements.

Roel's mom, Gracie Garcia

Even though I had readers at school, my mom would read texts and books for me. It was unfeasible for me to always be available when she had time to read, so we improvised. I had an old-fashioned handheld cassette recorder and she would record herself reading the material. Mom learned many different subjects ranging from history to geology and psychology to English. Majoring in English and history meant lots of big textbooks and novels. I recall her reading Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. She didn’t like the book much. But she endured all the reading she did to help me.

Mom spent many hours in her bedroom with the door closed recording on those clunky cassette tapes. For years afterward I had bundles of those tapes lying around my room. Sometimes when I used to still make a mixed tape, I would pop in a cassette tape and press PLAY on the player. On occasion I’d hear my mom’s voice reading something or other for me.

Then there is my dad who, unlike my mom, disliked reading and therefore helping me by reading school material would have been difficult. But dad played his own crucial role in helping me earn my degrees.

Roel's dad, Roberto Garcia.

Dad used to work for the King Ranch, a large ranch in South Texas. Let’s just say it’s big enough of a ranch to have its own airport. My dad happened to work at the airport.

The airport was located ten miles from the city of Kingsville, which is where I attended college at Texas A&M University-Kingsville. So the proximity of the airport and my dad’s work made it quite accessible to get a lift to and from school.

You might be asking at this point, why didn’t you stay in the dorms? I started to and did for my first year of school. But transition was difficult and anxieties got in the way. Eventually I got booted from school for a semester and when I dug my way out of the academic hole I created, I just never went back to the dorm life.

So for years, semester after semester, week after week, I would wake up around 7 a.m., to get a ride with my dad. I would wait at the airport for a few hours and then dad would take a break from his work and drive the ten miles to town to drop me off. Then he would pick me up in the afternoon and we’d drive home together. When I enrolled in night classes, dad would wait at the airport, eat his dinner there, and then pick me up around 9 p.m., when class let out.

My parents sacrificed much for me. Mom read material she probably didn’t enjoy and dad spent many hours on that stretch of highway, State Highway 141 and staying late at work when he could have been home early.

While a student earns a diploma and has his or her name embossed on it, my diploma should also contain the names Graciela Garcia and Roberto Garcia. Both deserve those degrees as much as I do. Thanks Mom and Dad.

Guest Blog - A Mother's Perspective

I do savor those too few spring mornings when there are no after school activities, no physical therapy, mornings when he rides his bike to school (they told us he’d never ride a bike).  Those mornings when I can sneak a few extra moments to read the news, straighten up, or just take my time getting ready for work.  The spatter of rain drops on the back porch tells me this is not one of those mornings.  Guess I’m going have to drive you today, I mumble.

You’re wearing THOSE shoes?  I say, almost grinning as I notice he’s put on the Nike slides we bought for after sports. (the sports he wasn't supposed to play)   He seldom wore them before the surgery to correct the contracture because his heel didn’t touch the ground and they kept falling off, tripping him.  “Yeah” he grunts in typical teenage fashion, “They’re my lazy shoes”. 

He’s unusually chatty today which is especially strange because he normally sleeps the entire mile from home to the high school.  I take advantage of it.   Soooo….I say, as we pull out of the garage, have you been preparing for the AP exam in class?  Yep, all month, he says. 

I can’t hide my excitement, I'm almost giddy; after all he’s only a freshman and used to be a special education student due to physical impairments.   In second grade he had some issues in school we had evaluated because we were concerned there were cognitive impairments too.  Tests revealed a high level of intelligence was the real issue. He needed more challenging work.  Not a bad problem to have after all.

When he was diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy “CP” as we call it, at 19 months, it was like someone punched us in the stomach.  It made us sick, dizzy.  What did it mean?  What will he become?  Will he live independently?   They told us they didn’t know what it would mean, what he would be capable of. But it seemed they set us up for some very low expectations, why assume the worst?  The truth is, no parent can ever know what their child will become.  Parents of children with or without disabilities are all in the same boat here.  The best thing you can do for your child is to let them raise to the level of their own capabilities, no matter what they are.  Don't burden them with your own doubts or insecurities, or the labels others may put on them.    I am not saying it’s easy, especially for parents of children with special needs.  You have to learn a whole new language and culture.  But that’s our job as parents, to do whatever it takes to help our kids succeed, to be their champion.  We spent countless hours driving back and forth to a city 30 miles away for clinic visits, doctor’s visits, PT, OT, Botox shots, eye doctors, leg braces, what the heck is an I.E.P.?, blah, blah, blah.

We drive on and continue chatting about visiting colleges this summer and next fall, Chicago, East Coast schools, IVY LEAGUE, DARE I SAY IT?  I’m surprised to learn he really doesn’t want to go to State.   “I only like their football team, he says”.  

As we pull up quite short of the front door, he jumps out and says, “I’ll get out here Mom”.

I linger, watching him walk almost all the way in, one leg just a little skinnier than the other, limping slightly but with confidence, and I am so proud to be his Mom.