I wrote this many years ago. It's heavily influenced by a book called The Good Fairies of New York by my most favourite author Martin Millar. I was lucky enough to meet him recently at one of his readings in London and yes he does look like Iggy Pop ;-)
The Healing Good Fairy Poem
When a good fairies heart is broken
She'll fold her wings and bow her head
No bitter words or anger spoken
Her gentle heart she'll mend instead
She'll tumble down and spin a while
And take to drink till darkness fades
But soon she'll find the heart to smile
And dance in light and summer shades
She'll steal the shadows with her smile
And with flaming iris burn
Deep into your soul once more
Keeping darkness from return
Thursday 18 October 2012
Wednesday 3 October 2012
Welcome to Munich - Aftershocks
The world around me was determined to stay the same. Unchanged and busy getting on with the detail of daily routine. I slotted back in but felt like an imposter walking around in my old shoes.
Two years later little man was diagnosed with High Functioning Autism and I was handed a red, see through, plastic folder full of information and in it was The Holland Poem. I didn't notice it, I didn't get the chance to read it. Before I knew it I was quitting my job to help support little man in the classroom and taking my local education authority to tribunal for failing to meet his special educational needs and to get him into specialist provision. Bye bye old life of mine and hello to endless nights of no sleep because little man just didn't see the point. I fought on bolstered by fifty thousand cigarettes and a recycling plant full of red wine and I won.
Since then I've met and tried to support other parents with the same issues. They'd all been given The Holland Poem. "But I've gone to Beirut" said one Mum and I knew how she felt. Whilst I was in Munich I was sad that I wasn't in Kefalonia and I wished I was. In Munich I was terrified for my little man and just wanted him to be healthy and well. I found untapped reserves of strength and resourcefulness. I was deeply touched by strangers who reached out to help with immense love and caring.
The Holland Poem is all about finding acceptance. Health and education professionals are big on acceptance. There's a feeling that comes across if you challenge or question what they say, that you're only doing it because you haven't reached acceptance yet, that you're fighting diagnosis rather than the system and you just know that they're about to shove that poem into your hands again.
So what do you accept? I accept the looks from other parents who don't understand because for every one of them there's a parent who does and who will be alongside you. I accept my sons difference, his quirkiness, his perspective, his jaw dropping honesty, his determination and his destruction. But I don't accept that this place, this Holland is a place where I have to battle for an education for him and for therapies that will help him develop and cope. This place where there are unjust laws that make difficult lives just that little bit worse. So I'll put on my marching boots and I'll shout at the top of my voice in the hope that from over here in my Holland the rest of the world so determined not to change will hear and come and visit and maybe even stay a while now that truly would be acceptance
Two years later little man was diagnosed with High Functioning Autism and I was handed a red, see through, plastic folder full of information and in it was The Holland Poem. I didn't notice it, I didn't get the chance to read it. Before I knew it I was quitting my job to help support little man in the classroom and taking my local education authority to tribunal for failing to meet his special educational needs and to get him into specialist provision. Bye bye old life of mine and hello to endless nights of no sleep because little man just didn't see the point. I fought on bolstered by fifty thousand cigarettes and a recycling plant full of red wine and I won.
Since then I've met and tried to support other parents with the same issues. They'd all been given The Holland Poem. "But I've gone to Beirut" said one Mum and I knew how she felt. Whilst I was in Munich I was sad that I wasn't in Kefalonia and I wished I was. In Munich I was terrified for my little man and just wanted him to be healthy and well. I found untapped reserves of strength and resourcefulness. I was deeply touched by strangers who reached out to help with immense love and caring.
The Holland Poem is all about finding acceptance. Health and education professionals are big on acceptance. There's a feeling that comes across if you challenge or question what they say, that you're only doing it because you haven't reached acceptance yet, that you're fighting diagnosis rather than the system and you just know that they're about to shove that poem into your hands again.
So what do you accept? I accept the looks from other parents who don't understand because for every one of them there's a parent who does and who will be alongside you. I accept my sons difference, his quirkiness, his perspective, his jaw dropping honesty, his determination and his destruction. But I don't accept that this place, this Holland is a place where I have to battle for an education for him and for therapies that will help him develop and cope. This place where there are unjust laws that make difficult lives just that little bit worse. So I'll put on my marching boots and I'll shout at the top of my voice in the hope that from over here in my Holland the rest of the world so determined not to change will hear and come and visit and maybe even stay a while now that truly would be acceptance
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