My autistic son Luke never ceases to amaze me. This fun photo of him sitting in his favorite rocking chair creates a look as if he does not have a care in the world.
I often think about the impact autism has on our medical and governmental communities including, but not limited to social workers, physical therapists, special ed teachers, speciality physicians , behavior therapists, and social security experts. As I focus on the twenty six years I have vested in my gorgeous son and his journey, I vastly underestimated how much would go into all that we have aspired for Luke. Looking back, it is hard to think about all those years, but know this it was an honor for me as Luke’s mom to give him my best and find all the resources I did.
My friend from Kitsap texted me last night inquiring about my New Year festivity’s. I texted her back a photo exactly what I was doing at 8pm. I was standing in line at McDonald’s! Such excitement with my autistic son Luke, but when I look into his eyes I know exactly this moment here is where I belong.
Recently I read from an old journal of mine. My diary depicted a smart gal with more positivity a person could muster. There was no facebook, twitter, youtube, amazon or even google. There was just a lonely gal writing.
Problems are mixed up. Some are easy to deal with. Others are not. The heavier the conflict, the more noticeable my frailties would come to light.
I was born on Maxwell Air Force Base in Alabama. We left when I was six months old. My parents weren’t from Alabama. When dad retired from the army, we moved back from Hawaii in the 70’s. Last week, I celebrated my 54th birthday here for the first time in 25 years. I wonder what has changed in all those years.
Nestled in the majestic low hills of the mountainous region of Seattle, my true devotion can be felt in the most purest sense of the word. While we all process through life’s many experiences, my personal belief system has matured in my hometown.
Arguing with my boyfriend many years ago was not the norm, but we did have a big disagreement. He kept saying to me experience matters. I was stubborn and wrong, and said, “No, it does not!” He was right.
A view of Nuremberg, Germany from inside its castle walls is where I am beginning this post. Hi Guys! I know long time no write ! I have been busy. I went on a long overdue trip. And I must say it is not fair to have family so far away. Time goes by so fast before you realize life led in my past is only found by tracing those steps backwards.
In a yearning desire to bring my happy and sentimental past to life again, my family traveled with me to my childhood world of Hawaii for my 50th birthday. Such nostalgia is easily brought back to my inner being as my sons experienced my old life. They too were “plunged” into instant gratification of a world they may have never known if not for my insistence to vacation there.
It is with wonder bringing dreams come true for me to be with my kids in Hawaii. Living in Hawaii for four years as a young person with my own parents was the epitome of pure joy. How can you describe something to someone else unless they experienced it themselves?
Immersing my life’s past to my children’s’ present time in Hawaii makes for a true experience now merged forever.
Showing a whole new world to them is like painting on canvas. The artist’s strokes begin with a lone girl enjoying the sand on the beach. As the artist’s rendition begins to evolve, two other figures are captured in the drawing. They are my own boys on each side of me laughing with love that comes through with each stroke of the artist’s handiwork.
This life can only get better as merging a past with its present brings on amazing memories into the future.
Actions speak louder than words. At least that is what my daddy used to say. He grew up dirt poor in rural Kentucky and farmed land with his own daddy. Parts of the land owned by my paternal ancestors stayed within our family for generations. In fact names also stayed in the family. Let me explain. My oldest son’s name is Luke William. My dad’s name was William Randall. My grandfather’s name was Willie. Willie’s daddy was William Farr. In fact the name William goes all the way back to William Whitnell who was a preacher. He was born in 1796 in North Carolina and fought as a young teenager in the War of 1812. His actions helped save our country and make it what it is today. The land he owned was his payment for his military service and is where this cemetery lies.
About two weeks ago, 10 men got together and cleaned our old family cemetery. It is with delight I saw cemetery stones I had never seen before. This blog post is dedicated to all you genealogy buffs out there. Keep on searching and at some point you just might find your gold mine. These people represent a part of me. Seeing these stones and this cemetery being cleaned up was one of the best gifts I could have ever imagined. There are so many folks I could thank for helping me to locate and clean this place up. I send you warm wishes with this blog! If you are interested in more photos you may go to my dedicated facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/DescendantsOfWhitnellJenkins
After Roy retired from the military, he became the Director of Veteran Affairs under Governor George Wallace of Alabama
My teenage son wrote the following post in honor of his grandpa by describing what this picture meant to him.
Roy and his cousin Melda meeting for the first time.
Today we are celebrating my step dad Roy’s 90th birthday. He was a WWII VET and a POW in STALAG 17. I shared briefly his story yesterday and so many of you commented and sent Roy birthday wishes that he asked me to thank each and every one of you for your kind words. Here is a link if you are interested in seeing that story and some of the most powerful comments and even poems I have ever seen: https://alesiablogs.wordpress.com/2013/01/17/the-letter/ .
Today I thought appropriate to put together a collage of photos of Roy.