A painful truth about being a parent of a child with FASD is the world often sees them at their worst.
A parent shared this, between tears, during a recent weekly virtual FASD caregivers group and I wanted to hug her because I felt her heartache.
I then thought about Mothers Day lunch with family a few days prior.
T was very excited then became disregulated, hyperactive and his impulsivity kicked in – and then said and did things without thinking through the effect, as is often the case with FASD.
One of my aunt told him that he is very rude.
On the drive home, T was still disregulated and mouthy with colourful language with us and another aunt.
So yes, I can relate to the mother who wishes the world saw the bigger picture.
We see T at his disregulated and challenging moments, but we also see him at his kindest, sweetest, caring, charming, thoughtful and brightest best.
It pains, annoys and irks me when people see him having a hard time, because negative impressions stick and it takes a special person to understand the unseen disability is what often drives the observed behaviour.
But I can also say that I’m learning to care less about what others think about T, because I know him for who he truly is.
This long weekend, T got invited to not one but two birthday parties; the first was for a friend’s son’s 18th birthday and the second was for T’s classmate.
I was nervous about a repeat Mothers Day outing.
So we spoke with T before each outing about our expectations and you know what, we had a wonderful fun weekend.
T’s classmate’s party was held at Sky Zone Trampoline Park and it could not have been a more perfect venue for an energetic child like T.
I loved watching him explore this truly awesome indoor adventure park for two hours and I enjoyed watching him just have fun.
FASD can come into the calm of your day like a wrecking ball.
But you gotta focus on the prize in front of you: an amazing kid that is simply trying to make positive connections with the world around him.
Keep the faith that you’ll find your way through the obstacles together – and it means sometimes letting him lead the way too.
That your beloved child will have moments to shine – and who the hell cares whether it’s just you or the entire world that sees them.
The first text message simply and sweetly said, “I love you.”
I was en route on my early hour-long commute to work and it was a welcomed surprise.
On in-office days, I often leave before T is up and when I do see him before I leave, I get sweet long hugs, which energize me for the day.
T has an old phone of ours, which runs on wifi. We only let him use it as home, not at school; only with us, no social media.
When he discovered emojis. 😆
I smiled when I received T’s text.
We kept each other company during my commute, as our subway system now has cell access.
We even did a video call, so he could see my commute, including the subway ride, which was a foreign world to him until then.
We said goodbye after a tour of my office.
Finding time for connection every day is important, especially in our busy lives.
For a child with FASD, it is important to help them regulate and feel good about themselves, because they spend so much of their day overloaded with demands, which often lead to crash and burns at the end of the day.
So our new routine is a welcomed change – and these small moments add up to a larger whole.
And let’s be real, not all moments with T during the day are pleasant, so I welcome these sweet moments with our little guy when I get them.
Many people tell us that this kid has a lovely sense of humour and I agree.
In 2015, the hubby and I finished our South America trip at Rio de Janeiro. It was our last solo trip before T unexpectedly came into our lives.
I revisited this special city last night when Madonna completed her Celebration Tour on Copacabana Beach to a record 2 million people.
We watched her show in January after Ma passed. It was cathartic, as motherhood was a central theme – opening with the never-performed “Nothing Really Matters,” a song about being a mother, and the show beautifully included her four youngest kids.
The most memorable moment during our visit to Rio was seeing Christ the Redeemer atop Corcovado Mountain.
It was raining hard. Half the tour group stayed in dry shelter and we ventured up.
The trip up Corcovado Mountain felt dreamy with fog.
At first, all we saw was fog. Then He emerged and the rain stopped. It was surreal and magical, a moment that reminds me about having faith.
Last summer, M had a near-death medical scare. She could’ve cancelled her tour but, after a 3-month delay, she set off to complete an 81-show tour that’s among my Top 3 of her tours.
When I think about the heavy rain that falls, I can stay in shelter or keep venturing to my destination.
Either approaches, to be clear, are ok.
There have been several moments during the last while when all I could do was stay in bed.
But there’s also something affirming about staying the course and having faith that things will work out, even if it’s not quite – and often rarely is – how you expect it to.
Beautiful Rio de Janeiro from atop Sugarloaf Mountain.
Eight years ago today, we got a call from Children’s Aid Society. We were matched with a child!
It was a Thursday evening and the hubby and I were shocked, because it had been seven years since we had started the adoption journey. We had given up hope we would be parents.
They shared T’s history and we learned he was prenatally exposed to alcohol and it was one of the things we said we would not take on.
But when we met his foster mother the next day and saw T’s photo, at age 1, we fell in love.
From that day on, it was like boarding a bullet train and our lives have been a roller coaster ride since.
Caring for a child with FASD is relentless. The speed, the chaos – they never slow down, even though you feel the wheels of the train falling off.
Most days come with challenges that most people could not understand nor bear.
But thanks to T, we’ve experienced the joys of parenting, many incredible memories, and love and grace.
So it was fitting that on this day today that T would be reunited with his foster family, who took amazing care of him for his first year of life.
It was his foster brother’s birthday and he invited T to his party.
The last time we saw them was four years ago, for T’s 5th birthday, a month before the world shut down for the pandemic.
T was very excited to see them, including during the hour-long drive to their town.
The party was held at a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu studio and there were parkour activities, nerf gun shootouts, pizza and cake.
I loved watching T reunite with his foster parents and brother, as if time had not passed. The bond was still there.
T’s foster brother is also neurodivergent and while his parents never quite said it, I expect it might also be FASD. But it’s not my place to ask and they will share when they want to.
His mother shared with us about their struggles and I wish we lived closer, so T and his foster brother could be companions.
But alas, the sweetness of life is to be savoured, and the party flew by and it was time to say bye.
T gave his foster parents and brother big hugs and off we went, driving home in the heavy rain.
There was a nice message on the wall of the Jiu Jitsu venue. It read, “Today’s challenges become tomorrow’s strengths.”
Just like T was meant to be in our lives, I was meant to see that message today – to remind me that the hardships we face today will bear sweet fruit for T tomorrow.
T’s latest obsession is the Titanic, quite the step up from Paw Patrol!
This was likely inspired from YouTube, as he spends lots of time watching videos about the Titanic and other famous shipwrecks.
He loves to draw pictures and pretend play with great imagination about the doomed voyage.
I’m amused at his growing knowledge and how he snapped at me for daring to confuse the Carpathia, the ship that rescued Titanic survivors, with the Britannic, a vessel that sank four years after the Titanic after hitting a mine.
So we leveraged his interest to get chapter books to practice his reading.
He recently read Mary Pope Osborne’s “Tonight on the Titanic,” and did a good job with building his stamina and comprehension.
Raising a child with FASD feels like you’re on board a perpetual sinking ship.
FASD is truly an iceberg. What you see of the child at the tip masks much of what’s hidden below the dark surface.
You see the sharp edges at the top but you don’t see the reasons beneath the visible – sensory issues, emotional regulation challenges, impulsivity, trauma and so on.
As T’s caregivers steering the ship, we hit the FASD iceberg often and it can truly be as devastating as rising waters threatening to submerge us.
The impulse is to emulate the musicians on the deck of the Titanic, nobly playing until the end.
But honestly, sometimes the best way to respond is to board the rescue boat and try again.
One of the gifts of caring for a child with FASD is that every day is a new day, new ship, new beginning.
And yes, same fucking iceberg.
We went on a hike at the Bluffs last Sunday, a beautiful Spring Day; a way to recharge and lift our spirits.
If there’s a lesson I can share with other caregivers going through the struggle of caring for someone with FASD, it’s to try to focus on the big picture and wins along the way.
There are moments that cause our hearts to rise from the bottom of the ocean where we often feel we’ve sunk down to.
Last Friday, after a particularly hard week with T, we received a lovely email from T’s music teacher.
She wrote: “T is beyond talented with composing music. He can always explore song maker on Chrome music lab. He focused on his music for 30 minutes straight.”
She shared with us a video, see below, of the song he composed.
The hubby thought it was neat but I screamed with excitement on what he did not pick up on, “It’s the Titanic theme song!”
I was blown away and shared my excitement back with his teacher who then wrote back.
“He is beyond talented. This was done all by him humming to the song and recognizing the beat. He was able to focus on this for so long. He got frustrated at points but we both laughed it off and he kept plugging away. He absolutely loves composing music. I love how he made it his own version at the end. Just brilliant 😊”
This was joy and sunshine that lifted my spirits and provided us with a great start to our weekend.
It reminded me that despite the icebergs and wreckage, the heart will go on and on.
Photo at top: Shipwreck tour at Tobermory in summer 2022.
A beautiful sunny t-shirt weather Spring Sunday gave T and I the recharge we needed.
After breakfast, we practiced reading two chapters in his latest book then headed to one of our favourite nature spots: Rouge Park.
I feel blessed for this urban oasis near our home. I appreciate the government recently adding a boardwalk and bridge that makes accessing the trails from the parking lot much more convenient.
Nature is healing.
Fresh air is refreshing.
The sound of water is calming.
Sunshine is reinvigorating.
For neurodiverse kids like T, who has diagnoses of FASD and ADHD, nature supports mental, emotional and physical wellbeing.
The outdoors provide endless space to burn off his fuel in a productive healthy way.
Look at him go!
Trees, branches, sticks and twigs. Sand, mud, water, rocks and pebbles.
Nature provides active learning opportunities to feed his imagination and wonderful textures to satisfy his sensory needs.
Fallen logs several feet up in the air create a balancing game to provide proprioceptive inputs.
For the exhausted frazzled caregiver (that’s me, in case you’re wondering), nature calms the mood and thoughts – a respite away from home life with a loud, unregulated, oppositional child.
If a child swears or has a meltdown in the forest and no one sees or hears it, did it happen?
It brings me joy to watch T be carefree in the wild, zipping down seemingly endless trails then circling back to see if I’m ok then dashing off again.
He is at his surest and most confident in nature – and that surely must feel good for him.
We enjoyed unexpected sights and sounds, like a fort made with branches, or the calming rhythm of chirping birds and woodpeckers.
Nature is not a miracle worker though.
There were moments during our outing when T tested my patience… a lot.
Our often oppositional child wouldn’t follow my instructions to stay on the trail – away from the direction of the bear warning sign.
“Ok that’s fine. If you get eaten by a bear, I’ll finally get my peace and quiet,” I said and kept walking, refusing to wait for him any longer.
Then of course, our walking birth control ad decided to turn around.
“You don’t want me to have peace and quiet, do you?” I said, trying to suppress a smile.
He grinned like a little shit as he ran past me on the trail.
Being able to receive and apply feedback, as hard as it can be to hear sometimes, is key to growth.
In February, halfway past the Grade 3 school year, the hubby and I had our teacher conference with T’s teacher, CYW and the school’s special education coordinator.
We discussed T’s areas for improvement: reading, writing and social skills.
He’s reading at a grade 2 level. He does ok with decoding but needs to work on comprehension, reading stamina and to move away from picture books to chapter books.
I was a bit bummed, because we work hard on reading and I thought he was doing ok. But I’m also not surprised they’ve noticed his poor working memory, which supports reading comprehension, as it’s common for individuals with FASD.
A special needs parent needs to collaborate with teachers and service providers, and their child, to maximize their child’s success.
That includes keeping it real and being open to feedback that may seem critical, because often the intentions are to help.
We focus on the big picture, because it can be so worth it.
Like with T’s first term report card, received prior to the meeting. Bs and B+s – based on his Individualized Education Plan – and we’re proud of his progress!
An A on his recent math test! 🥰
During the meeting, his teacher said they will send home beginner chapter books to practice with T.
Reading practice with T can feel quite painful, because it is not a preferred activity.
We persevere because we know it’s a foundational skill and we believe in him.
During our recent March Break trip, we packed a beginner chapter book – “Tornado” by Betsy Byars – and read one chapter a day, using play and pool time as incentives.
I paused on every page to ask comprehension questions.
Some days were hard to get T to focus, but he finished the book on our vacation and read and answered questions well!
T’s first-ever completed chapter book! An appropriate title for our hyperactive kid!
We shared the happy news with his teacher and CYW when he got home.
We’re now working through his second chapter book, slowly building a routine to read one chapter during bedtime.
Like with everything else in life with T, it’s a work in progress.
T does steadily well on weekly spelling tests and once got a perfect score. I try to focus on these positives when we stumble.
On Easter Monday, T and I visited Pa, Ma and my sister at the cemetery and T read the latest chapter of his book to his Ama, while we both sat on the ground in front of her memorial site.
Just my luck, it was the longest fucking chapter in the book! He got unfocused at some points, but he finished and I told him Ama was proud.
His audience understandably didn’t offer much feedback. 🤣 But in life, you also do things because the feedback of your inner voice tells you it’s the right thing to do.
An overzealous adult crossed the line with our neurodiverse son and awoke the Papa Bear in me.
While waiting at the airport for our early morning flight home after our March Break trip a few weeks ago, T was disregulated.
He didn’t get a lot of sleep and he was short tempered, hyperactive and mouthy.
During these situations, the hubby and I try our best to ignore the behaviour, while fully aware all eyes and ears are on us.
We gave T fair warning that if he didn’t stop with the colourful language, which he would say out of frustration with the game he was playing, we would take his phone away.
And so we did. He got mad and started swearing loudly and smacked the hubby.
A woman sitting in front of us then yelled loudly at him, “Hey kid, this is not a playground!”
The hubby got up with T and they walked away to try to deescalate somewhere less crowded and noisy. As the hubby walked away, he told the woman, “Your comments are not helpful.”
The woman then looked at me in disbelief but instead of backing her, I said to her, “He has a disability and he is escalated right now.”
Then she snapped back, “I’ve fostered kids before so I know all about kids like this.”
I didn’t back down, because she should’ve known better then.
“His brain is on fire,” I said. “He is in fight or flight mode. I know these situations are hard for everyone – believe me, this is hardest for him. Comments like yours only add fuel to the fire.”
She saw I was not backing down, so she swiftly ended the conversation grumpily, “Well, you’re very tolerant.”
She then turned her body away from me and towards her travel companion next to her. She typed messages on her phone that she silently showed to her companion.
So I squared my shoulders and body towards her for the duration of the wait for the flight. Two can play the let’s-make-things-awkward game.
I was livid, because she crossed a line.
People can think what they want about T, judge silently or even speak to the hubby and I and tell us he’s being a brat or we’re being bad parents.
But to directly yell at him, when she was not part of the situation, was inappropriate.
I would never yell at someone else’s child when that child was not doing anything to me.
Reflecting on this situation a few weeks later reinforced to me that being a special needs parent is about taking a different path, one that is often counter to the path I took growing up.
As T grows up, he will face misunderstandings, intolerance and I know it will get harder, because people only see outwardly behaviour without understanding the underlying reasons.
It makes me sad and angry. But I am doing my best to redirect these feelings into something productive – awareness raising, advocacy and most importantly, standing up for my child.
The plane ride home had a few bumpy moments with T, but I didn’t care.
During a particular rough patch of turbulence, the pilot reminded us to fasten our seatbelts.
And that’s what life with T, a child with FASD, is about sometimes.
Fastening your seatbelt and landing on solid ground eventually – small patches of turbulence in a journey filled with wonder.
One last photo, at sunrise, on our last morning at the resort shortly before heading to the airport.
After a cloudy few months, we’re spending March Break at a place of happiness.
We booked this family getaway last October, before I knew one of my closest friends would lose her brave battle with cancer in November. Never would I have guessed Ma would pass away a few weeks later.
For better or worse, life goes on. I feel the urgency, the fleetingness, more so than ever.
We returned to the same resort in Cancun, Mexico, that we stayed at last year; it’s a beautiful resort with fantastic amenities for kids.
In the days leading up to departure, T excitedly counted down the days then hours.
For the most part, we are having a good time. The warm weather, sun, pools, beach and restaurants have provided rest and comfort.
The challenging parts of the trip has been T’s behaviour.
Maybe it’s the change in routine, but he was disregulated the first few days – his foul behaviour at the restaurants were embarrassing.
But such is life with a child with FASD – you take the good with the hard.
You remind yourself it’s the FASD you detest, not the child, and every day is a chance for a redo.
We’re now halfway into our trip and the last two days have been great.
With T, there’s nothing that ice cream, waterslides or cotton candy can’t mend.
I’ve carved time for myself – to let the weight of the past few weeks go.
That means eating well (plates full of fresh papaya), sleeping lots, and hitting the gym with Ferry Corsten’s uplifting trance music on rotation.
I discovered a recent work of his that I hadn’t heard before, Surga, which has his trademark joyful melody all over the hypnotic production.
Surga is an Indonesian word for heaven or paradise; a place or state of great happiness.
I saw a deeper message in this seemingly random musical discovery.
As our plane descended towards Mexico a few days earlier, there was a moment when we sank through the clouds.
“Are we in heaven?” T asked.
“No, why do you ask?”
“Because we’re in the clouds,” he said. A moment later, he said, “I think this is where Ama is.”
On Saturday, surrounded by family and friends, near and far, we said goodbye to Ma.
It was celebration and catharsis.
I am thankful for the last few weeks to reflect and to remember what an inspiring life Ma lived, full of love and accomplishments.
Loved ones from afar, including Philippines and Guam, joined the service virtually.
I compiled a slideshow that highlighted Ma’s important relationships, as a daughter, wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, beloved family and friend, and respected colleague.
It felt wonderful to find photos of memories long forgotten, including photos of Ma with former Philippines President Corazon Aquino, whom she once followed on her US press tour.
Press corps with Corazon Aquino at the Presidential Palace.
I was touched by the support of those who joined, including my dear friends, and faces I have not seen in a long time, including Ma’s teacher colleagues from Manila, one of whom was my kindergarten teacher!
I’m seated in front of my kindergarten teacher in this kindergarten graduation photo. She attended Ma’s service with her son, one of Ma’s students. Ma, our principal, is seated in the middle.
T was calm and regulated during the service and interment. He always show up for us when it matters most.
We spoke with T in the days leading up to the service about what to expect and we arrived to the funeral home early so T could have alone time with his Ama before guests arrived.
Unlike my sister’s funeral a year ago, there was no body. It was an urn and so it was a new experience for T that we briefed him about beforehand.
T had a few cries, including during the moments right before the interment.
At T’s request, we let him lower Ma’s urn into her memorial bench, where she will be buried with Pa.
We wanted to include Ma’s glasses with her.
T, in his very creative and thoughtful way, placed her glasses right on her urn.
I can only imagine Ma chuckling at what her grandson had done in her honour.
As the pastor who delivered Ma’s service said, death is not defeat. It is merely a chapter in our journey. I wholeheartedly believe we will all see each other one day in another life.
For now, I intend to honour Ma’s life by living my own to the fullest and to help our T do the same.
During school lunch a few weeks ago, T proclaimed to his class he was refunding his parents.
His CYW recounted to us with amusement, via text message, that T ranted out loud that he had told Daddy (the hubby) many times that he didn’t want meatballs for lunch and still got them.
Due to this unforgivable offense, T said he was going to Walmart to put his parents back on the shelf and get new parents.
After his soliloquy, the class laughed out loud.
His CYW, who’s working with T for the second consecutive year, is a godsend.
She sees the potential in him and his many strengths.
Like us, she thinks T has a great sense of humour – and we look forward to her text messages updating us on whether lunch was 👍 or 👎.
She works as T’s external brain – now on a part time basis, rather than full time, as there are other kids with needs in his school too.
We could tell how much she cares for T and we are so grateful for the difference she makes.
Most recently, the class had to complete a project about Canada – to create a display then present it to the class.
His CYW was determined to help T do well and gathered dollar store supplies over the weekend.
She then coached him on his presentation.
On the big day, she texted us enthusiastic updates and photos, letting us know T did excellent.
At a teacher-parent conference last week, T’s teacher and CYW gave us great feedback on how T is doing – his strengths and areas for improvement.
T’s CYW said she considers herself very lucky to work with T.
I replied that we are the lucky ones to have her.
The day after was another PA Day and T attended another wonderful meetup event hosted by Surrey Place for kids with FASD and their caregivers.
Instead of horses and dogs, the activity was a cooking class! The hubby took T this time and it looks like they had fun!
Raising a kid with special needs is hard. What makes a big difference are the community supports – and we’re so lucky to have the ones in our lives.
As social creatures, we yearn for connection and we thrive when we have psychological safety.
This was the key takeaway from a virtual talk by FASD expert Nate Sheets I attended during a recent caregivers group get-together.
I’ve followed Nate’s work for a while but it was my first time attending a live talk and I’m thankful to Surrey Place for organizing it.
Kids with FASD struggle with emotional regulation and quickly escalate into fight or flight mode – their brain set on fire.
In these moments, traditional parenting teaches us to discipline. But it’s the equivalent of throwing gasoline into fire and views the behaviour as disobedience rather than an overwhelmed child struggling to cope.
The point Nate made that resonated with me is that when we create psychological safety for our kids, it minimizes moments when they get disregulated. To do this, we must find moments each day for connection.
When it’s spelled out like that, it’s suddenly bloody obvious, isn’t it? After all, success in life, personal or professional, is about relationships.
One of several informative talks by Nate Sheets that you can find on YouTube.
To our family, we find simple ways to connect:
Making time for play, like Everest time; even a few minutes before T gets ready for school.
Hobbies like swim lessons with the hubby and leisure swims at the community pool with me.
Treasured routines like hugs before T walks out the door or standing on the steps and waving goodbye as T drives off with one of us.
It’s about trying to make challenging tasks fun.
Homework is often triggering for T but he’s come a long way with sitting down each night to complete his work.
Lately, I’ve taken to roleplaying as his favourite stuffed toy Moo Moo to practice for his end-of-week spelling test and to do his other work.
He now insists Moo Moo does homework with him and not me – often pausing to give the cow hugs and kisses before carrying on.
It’s so absurd and cute – but hey, it works! 🤣
T has come a long way with school work. We are so proud of him. 🐮
Connection is more important now than ever as T grieves a significant loss: his Ama.
He sometimes bursts into tears at night about how much he misses his Ama.
During these moments, we sit and silently comfort him as he lets out his tears and thoughts.
We once worried T would fall behind in reading. Look at his print recognition skills now! 😂
Walks and hikes are other simple but effective ways to build connection. T thrives in the outdoors and it helps regulate him.
During a walk this Saturday morning with the hubby, they explored graffiti under bridge tunnels and encountered a furry pal.
T loves and is so caring with animals.
Kids with FASD exhibit challenging behaviours. But they are also often very empathetic and caring.
We see this every day in T, who tries hard to find connection with other kids.
My heart aches when I see or hear about his struggle with friendships – and it soars when I see him succeed.
Setbacks build character and resilience and we will never give up in helping T build connections.
Today is Valentine’s and T has homemade cards for his classmates, teacher and CYW.
He worked hard over three nights on them, spending probably more time than needed on each card, thoughtfully drawing a nice photo in each.
We even took him out of daycare early yesterday so he could have more time to finish them. 🤣
Moo Moo was on hand for moral support.
T put a lot of time (3 evenings!), thought and heart into his Valentine’s cards for his class.
We remind our little guy that he is stronger and braver than the monsters in his head.
During a recent Sunday morning, around 1:30, I was woken up by the hubby having a fit.
T had turned on all the lights in the house, downstairs included, and was up playing with his toys – because he was too scared to sleep.
The next morning, around 1:30 Monday, it was my turn to be flustered, because he was up again; this time, on a school night.
While T has always feared the dark, this was the first time it affected him to the point of getting up, turning on lights and staying up.
Sleep is especially important for those whose brains are on overdrive. We’ve been lucky T is usually a good sleeper, so this was concerning.
“The Darkest Dark” by Canadian astronaut Chris Hadfield is a treasured picture book we often read with T, a great story about overcoming fears.
Fear of the dark is normal. Heck, I was 16 when I slept with lights on after watching The Exorcist.
But as Freddy Krueger in Nightmare on Elm Street taught us, the monsters in our mind feed on our fear. Facing our fear overcomes these monsters.
The monsters that adults fear are different; real monsters that cause harm to others or situations that render us helpless, be they health, relationship or finance related.
As a FASD parent, I’ve found myself in dark places.
The fears, real or perceived, can feel paralyzing. Fears that T would never thrive, be bullied or struggle with friendships, become a delinquent, or that FASD would destroy my family.
These fears are fed by reading and hearing about other caregivers experiences and encountering challenges myself.
Monsters often seem smaller when you face them – by learning more about FASD, building skills, finding supports, making time for self care and connection, adjusting expectations, and finding gratitude in our many wins.
During a recent counseling session, I received great advice.
Special needs parents often find ourselves like deers caught in the headlights. We focus on that blinding light that we forget to look around at all the good stuff around us.
Going for night walks during warmer seasons is a favourite pastime for T and I.
As parents, we know fear of the dark is normal.
It can feel silly to us but for our young ones, their fears are very real.
So we try to validate T’s feelings and let him process them while helping him build coping skills.
It includes letting him talk and to understand what’s contributing to his fear. Is it a bad dream, a scary video, an incident at school, a symptom of grieving from recent events?
We installed night lights in his room and hallway, recognizing that getting him comfortable with the dark will require a transition.
Thankfully, the evening wake ups were shortlived, for now, and night lights are helping. It’s our goal to wean him off them.
I also gave T a second pillow and told him to hug it when he gets scared at night.
Then he asked, “Is this why you sleep with two pillows, Papa?”
Live and love as if it’s your first and last day on Earth.
Our caring, curious, funny and not-so-little guy turned 9 this weekend. How is that possible?!
The past year brought adventures and hard losses and through it all, he steps forward with his fun-seeking, resilient and endlessly energetic spirit.
Our consecutive hard losses have profoundly shifted my mindset of how I want to step forward with life.
Life is a blessing and the gift to enjoy it with loved ones is something I will never take for granted.
We kept T’s birthday celebration low key, as we did not have time to organize a party, because of the events of the past weeks.
We stayed home and got the traditional golden balloon ready for when he woke up.
This year’s theme is Skidibi Toilet, an obnoxious web cartoon he’s currently obsessed with, so the colour scheme is red and black, traditionally associated with celebration and mourning.
An appropriate theme, I might add!
T’s Uncle J dropped by in the morning for a surprise visit and they played together. As my cousin left, I hugged him and jokingly pleaded to not leave us alone with our endlessly hyperactive child.
T then went to swim lessons with the hubby then we just relaxed at home in the afternoon.
We took T for dinner and play at Chucky Cheese then enjoyed a chocolate cake with buttercream icing at home well past his bedtime.
T is great at basketball.
The simple pleasures of life are deeply meaningful when spent with those we love.
Wishing our sweet T a year ahead of continued happiness, good health, growth and adventure.
Sometimes, a picture sums up life’s depth of emotions better than words ever could.
Yesterday, we had lunch with family to celebrate Ma and my aunt’s birthdays. Ma’s absence was noticeable.
Afterwards, my uncle, recently returned from the Philippines, gave me Ma’s urn.
It was a strange feeling holding it in my hands. The logical part of my brain knew what it was; the emotional side shielded me from the reality.
I placed the urn in our home next to a photo of Pa – where it’ll remain until Ma’s interment, when she will be laid to rest with Pa and next to my sister.
I then unpacked framed photos my uncle brought back that belonged to Ma.
The first photo I unpacked was a lovely illustration of Ma and T, pictured at the top.
It was commissioned by my cousin’s thoughtful wife, from a photo I provided; my favourite photo of Ma and T, taken at a restaurant last June, one of the last times T spent with her.
I love this photo because it so deeply and succinctly captures the loving relationship between Ma and T.
T’s mischievous face pressed right up to his Ama’s – his signature lack of personal space approach to tease someone, his way of saying I like you.
I then remembered all the times when T would tease Ama, following her around and smacking her butt and burping in her face – or walking around with her cane, pretending to be slow and old.
Ma would eventually get annoyed and yell at him to stop but be unable to keep a straight face and hold in her laughter.
I love this photo, because of Ma’s warm smile that radiates genuine unfiltered unconditional love.
It’s astonishing, and a bit offensive to me, the sheer hell T got away with. Ma would’ve beaten me to death for half the things he got away with.
But that’s what makes the bond between grandparents and grandchildren special.
She never fully got what FASD is and it didn’t matter that she didn’t. All she saw was a kid that she loved and she loved him as such.
I had a good cry when this photo caught me by surprise.
Then I showed it to the hubby and T.
I am thankful Ma and T got to enjoy each other for seven years. While we always wish for more time, I am grateful for the time they had together.
We let T decide where to put the photo and he asked for it to be put up in our living room, the place in our home where he spends the majority of his waking hours in – above his favourite toys.
We prepped T for his first concert by looking at photos of the venue and show and speaking about what to expect before, during and after the show.
M starts her shows way past T’s 8:30 bedtime. So we took him out of after school care so he could rest and have a soothing bath beforehand.
We also took him out of school the day after the show (Friday), coordinating with his teacher to complete all his homework and end-of-week spelling test (13/15 🙌) by Thursday.
With T prepped, off we went to the show!
We drove and parked near a subway station five stops from the venue – to save on parking and minimize the transit commute after the show, fully anticipating T would be overstimulated after.
Walking from the subway to Scotiabank Arena.
We set the bar very high for T’s first concert – as M’s shows are produced to the highest quality and with powerful heartfelt messages.
We arrived at Scotiabank Arena close to 9 pm and enjoyed the preshow DJ set and popcorn.
The hubby and I were annoyed to realize we left T’s noise-cancelling headphones in the car. Oh well!
The show started at 10:15 and she opened with “Nothing Really Matters,” one of her less widely-known singles from the late 90s about her reflections on being a first-time mother.
She’s never performed it on tour so this was such a treat for diehard fans, 25 years after its release.
A lovely video from the Toronto show posted by another fan. I kept my phone mostly in my pocket!
The show was a joyous poignant ride through the life of an artist I’ve long admired – celebrating her ups, downs, successes, setbacks and constant reinventions in an unparalleled four-decade-and-counting career.
“Nothing takes the past away like the future
Nothing makes the darkness go like the light.”
– “Nothing Really Matters”
Having attended all-but-one of her tours since 2004, this show felt extra special because it was an autobiographical celebration of her life and included four of her six children; her eldest two kids were featured on previous tours.
David Banda accompanied her on guitar in two numbers, including the crowd pleasing 80s hit “La Isla Bonita” (below).
Mercy James, now 18 (how is this possible?!), played the piano during “Bad Girl” (below), the first time M has performed this early 90s ballad on tour.
M has long used her art as a form of expression, protest, advocacy and celebration.
The most moving part of the show was when she performed her 80s ballad “Live to Tell,” atop a platform that floated across the arena, while giant photographs of those who’ve passed away from AIDS were projected on massive screens.
It was a beautiful tribute and provided a reminder of her AIDS and LGBTQ advocacy in the 80s, a time when it was considered career suicide to do so.
Her music has inspired me in different ways in my life; today, in my journey to advocate for T and the FASD community.
“Live to Tell” was incredibly powerful. The massive photos were very moving to see in person.
Music provides comfort during hard times.
Another moving part of the show was when M and David Banda performed “Mother and Father,” a deep cut from her 2003 album, “American Life.”
A recurring theme in M’s work is about how the death of her mother, also named Madonna, when she was 6 profoundly shaped her life.
Her performance, featuring large photographs of her mother and David’s birth mother, paid tribute to both their late mothers.
Watching this performance, less than a week after my Ma passed away, was quite emotional.
“Faster than a speeding light she’s flying
Trying to remember where it all began.”
– “Ray of Light”
Music also underscores the joyous moments in our lives and as M sings in her #1 hit, “Music,” it also makes the people come together.
It was amazing for us to immerse T in an arena packed with 13,000+ other fans – mostly adults, I saw less than a handful of kids – in a celebration of life, art and community.
As the awesome rave-themed and laser-filled performance of “Ray of Light” (below) reminded us, M is, at her core, Queen of the dancefloor.
T danced along joyously to this performance and it is an image I will tattoo in my heart forever.
So you must be wondering how T did.
He had fun. He’s a fan of her music and listens to it during our drives.
He was also overstimulated. When the show started, he looked at a stopwatch app on the phone (see below) for over half the show, peeking his head up from time to time to see what was going on.
I think it was his way of regulating himself.
He let us know after he liked the show! 💕👍
The show wrapped up at 12:30 am.
I was super tired – and still jet lagged – but I felt thankful for the experience.
Little did I know last August when the show was rescheduled, due to M’s near fatal illness, that it would take place at a time when I really needed a pick-me-up.
More than that, I felt grateful to have experienced this with T and to see him experience not just his first concert, but Madonna, through his eyes.
As we were leaving the arena, a random woman went up to him and said, “You don’t know how lucky you are!”
As we expected, T was beyond overtired, overstimulated and disregulated during the subway ride back uptown.
As we waited on the crowded subway platform, he repeatedly ran up the stairs and jumped down the steps.
Then he started rolling and crawling around the platform – then repeating this on the train.
Once I got over my initial self-conscious annoyance, I thought with amusement on our drive home about how Madonna once rolled and crawled around on the stage floor during her first televised performance at the inaugural MTV Video Awards in 1984.
T learned about his Ama’s death the week prior, in the middle of the school week. We gave his teacher and CYW a heads up before telling him.
The next day, his CYW said T asked to step out of the class to talk. She said he talked for over half an hour while she listened.
He said that everyone he cares about is dying and that he is scared he will lose someone every year.
That night, he had a big cry at home.
I was also having a hard week. Ma’s death hit me hard. The jet lag did not help. I stayed in bed for most of the week.
I was grateful for friends and colleagues’ support, including gifting Uber Eats gift cards that we put to good use.
A week later, we’re better. T still has moments when he cries and we give him space to talk.
I am thankful T externalizes his feelings – one blessing I’ll attribute to FASD and the lack of impulse control and regulation – because internalizing grief is not ideal.
Emotional wellbeing is as important to nurture as academic and physical wellbeing.
We want to normalize that it’s ok to ask for a break; it’s ok to take a Personal Affection Day.
T did keep himself busy on the PA Day, playing on his tablet and with his toys.
I love seeing T’s imagination come to life.
Friday was also Ma’s birthday. So in a way, it was nice T was close to us all day. That evening, we went to Dragon Legend buffet to celebrate Ma.
On Sunday today, I felt like my normal self for the first time since Ma’s passing, and took my own Personal Affection Day by doing things I enjoy.
I spent part of the morning meal prepping for the week, my first time cooking in a month.
I made Jamaican beef brisket stew for dinner and it felt soothing slow cooking this aromatic meal.
I did weekend learning with T. It felt nice to have the motivation to do so again; I created a Skidibi Toilet-themed math worksheet to T’s delight.
T zipped through reading and math practice and I thanked him for being focused then announced the rest of the day was for play!
We went for a long walk before lunch then swimming at the community pool in the afternoon.
It was nice to resume our Papa and T Sunday swim ritual after a month-long pause.
As we drove home, the golden hour sun bathed the snow-covered sidewalk and lawns in our neighbourhood.
It felt sobering and sad to realize that life moves on all around us, regardless of how hard a loss is.
But it was also a reminder of what a gift life itself is – and the best way to honor our loved ones is to live our lives to the fullest.
The beef brisket stew was the perfect way to end this day – and yes, the gooey fatty bits are the best.
After Ma was admitted to ICU, I could no longer visit her. So, with thanks to uncles, I visited Binondo, the neighbourhood my family lived in for most of my early childhood in Manila.
My family moved into and lived at a well-known Chinese school when I was 3, after Ma took the job of principal to run the school.
Yes, I spent a large chunk of my childhood living in a school and studying at that same school.
Our home was on the second floor and you can see my bedroom window above the word “Philippine” on the sign in the photo below.
Photo credit: Unknown from Google
I have many fun quirky memories living here:
Like going to take my shower and there’d be students standing in the hallway outside our door.
I had no excuse to be late for class, as classrooms were literally steps from our door.
I worked hard to prove myself, because Ma was also my principal – a strict one!
We wore uniforms. Teachers did random spot checks to see if our nails were cut. Students stood up every time a grown up entered or exited the classroom to greet them.
I had the school to myself on weekends and roleplayed as teacher in the empty classrooms.
One of my friends lived on the third floor, her mom was the Grade 6 Chinese teacher.
School started at 7:10 and morning classes were taught in English. Afternoon classes ran till 4:00 and were taught in Mandarin.
Kids as young as kindergarteners had exams. The passing grade was 75% and the first thing we did when we received report cards was to look for the color red, which meant a failing mark.
Ma said I once tutored a fellow classmate and when they did well on their exam, the parents gifted me a roasted chicken! 😆
During typhoon season, Ma organized fundraisers to support vulnerable people and families that lived in the slums.
When I first visited Manila in 2008, 19 years after moving to Canada, the hubby and I went to see Binondo.
The school had been torn down and a low rise building was being constructed in its place (see above). I was devastated as I had hoped to see the school again.
In recent years, with the influx of social media, it’s wonderful to see Binondo gain local and international recognition, thanks to influencers discovering its history and offerings for foodies – such as those highlighted in the video below.
My cousin opened a cafe in Binondo last fall and I was so happy I got to visit in person – as I’ve been drooling over their Ube (purple yam) latte from afar on Instagram. 😋
Here’s the latte with the Ube stirred. 😋
As we inched through the Manila traffic towards my old street, I couldn’t help but reminisce about my childhood in Binondo.
Then we arrived at the intersection of where the old school used to be, now in its place is a low rise building.
I walked around the building and gazed down the streets.
The convenience store from my childhood was still there and I spoke to the owner, who remembered Ma’s time as principal.
The streets that once seemed long and wide were short and narrow.
There were still street vendors selling noodle soup – and I remember how Pa would not allow me to have them nor the bola bola (fish ball) skewers sold by vendors outside the school, because he felt they were unsanitary. 😆
My childhood friend still lives on the street. She was working that day so we couldn’t meet up; but we saw each other during my prior visit.
As we drove away, I felt a grounding sadness.
This was probably my last visit, because Pa and my sister were gone – and now Ma.
I also felt overwhelming gratitude for having the opportunity to revisit this special place that will always live on in my heart and memories.
Grit, resilience and work ethic are wonderful lessons I learned from Ma.
I thought about times she demonstrated them during my recent unexpected visit to the Philippines, as she battled for her life.
At 15, she left her home in the province to move to the city in Manila to attend university – working tutoring jobs to support herself and her 7 siblings.
She grew up poor and during hard days, she’d turn on the tap to sip water to fill her hungry tummy.
Growing up in Manila, I rarely saw Ma as she worked two jobs – as a school principal during the day and a journalist for the Chinese newspaper on evenings and weekends – to meet ends meet.
When I was 8, my family immigrated to Canada and my parents gave up a life they loved so that my sister and I could get a chance at a better life.
In Canada, Ma was the sole provider.
When I was 15, I came home one day and learned she quit her job, which she hated. For two years, she kept us going through tutoring work, while she took a training program for a bank teller job.
In her 50s, she started work as a teller. It was low paying, but she kept our family afloat and saved very hard to buy a home.
In her late 60s, she retired when Pa fell ill and took good care of him until his death.
When she had her stroke in 2020, she told me at the hospital that she was a fighter and was going to survive. And she did.
Through her example, I developed my own work ethic, perseverance and determination – qualities I hope to pass down to T.
When I arrived in Manila, I knew it was my turn to help Ma fight.
She was hospitalized for a fall. Medically, it was surmountable; but she was struggling with grief for my sister’s death. She had no will to get better.
During the four days I visited her, I saw the depth of her grief. She apologized out loud to my sister and prayed to join her and Pa.
No parent should outlive their child and I saw in my 20s how Pa crumbled after the death of my elder sister and I was seeing it again two decades later with Ma.
On New Years Day, she took a turn for the worse when she got pneumonia and was moved to ICU.
She was also under nourished, as she was refusing to eat, and the doctor asked for my consent to intubate her for tube feeding.
Being intubated was Ma’s worst nightmare but I consented to give her a fighting chance.
My uncles and aunt waited outside her room as they didn’t want to see the process.
I stayed with Ma and held her hands while the nurse inserted the tube up her nostril, down her throat into her stomach – having to try five times.
I cried silently as I watched this happen.
Later that evening, Ma tested positive for COVID. Not only was her condition critical but we could no longer visit her per COVID protocols.
The following morning, the doctor asked for my consent to intubate Ma for machine-assisted breathing as she could no longer maintain life-sustaining oxygen levels on her own.
I consented to give her a fighting chance.
Knowing when to let go and stop fighting was the last lesson Ma taught me.
Last Sunday, on my last day in Manila, the doctor asked for my consent to surgically add a tube through Ma’s neck so they could intravenously give her medication, as it was no longer possible to do so using her bruised veins.
I had a frank discussion the day prior with all Ma’s siblings and based on our chat, I asked the doctor if these efforts were only prolonging the inevitable.
He sadly said yes.
I took a deep breath and told him we would like to let Ma go peacefully, as this was what she would’ve wanted.
The hospital allowed my family to say goodbye in person – and I was joined by her brothers and two of my cousins.
We were not allowed to go inside her room and had to stand outside, one at a time, and look in through a window.
It was very surreal for me to watch Ma, the strongest person I’ve ever known, look so weak and attached to machines and heavily intubated.
Her eyes opened a few short times and while the nurses said she was not alert, I believe in my heart that she knew I was there. When we made brief eye contact, her hands weakly lifted from her bed.
In the room next to Ma, the patient had gone into cardiac arrest and doctors were applying chest compressions, to no avail, to resuscitate them.
As I said my final goodbye to Ma, the other patient’s family gathered inside to mourn their loved one.
I found the moment incredibly surreal – almost like an out of body experience – and it reminded me that life is fragile and moves on all around us.
Nine days earlier, I flew into Manila at sunrise and I flew out at sunset.
During the 15-hour flight home, I thought how surreal and sad it was that I was going to be the only one left in my first family.
I thought about how much I missed the hubby and T – and that I wanted to be with them when the inevitable sad news arrived.
I thought about how hard the decision I had to make was, but that it was also the best decision for Ma, who was a very pragmatic person, and I felt very thankful I got to see her and say goodbye.
My Life With T 