The real Jamaica

A colleague and I just returned from a week in Jamaica working. But (as you roll your eyes), it's probably not the one you are thinking of. I bet you're thinking of the one that is set with pristine, white-sand beaches, beach-side cafes, those little drinks with umbrellas, etc. I saw that Jamaica from a distance, but never got closer. The Jamaica I was in was the one that is invisible to most tourists. It's the one set in a crowded, big city, the tin shanty towns, the pervasive poverty, the remote mountain villages, the one where people lack some of the basics that we have grown accustomed to. I always thought of Jamaica as the former - the tropical paradise vacation destination, but I now know that that Jamaica is a tiny portion of the truth. The real Jamaica is very different.

Our purpose in visiting Jamaica was to conduct some site preparation for an educational study that we are planning later this summer. An international organization that aids developing countries (like Jamaica and many others in the Carribean) is working with us to examine the effects of recent educational reforms and programs that have been implemented there in recent years. I learned that the Jamaican youth are some of the most delightful kids I have met. They have real problems that are sometimes solved with such modest educational resources. They are victims of stunning poverty in a place of stunning beauty. This looks like a place where I can have a constant reminder that I am not the only one who suffers (and my suffering was certainly contextualized in an interesting way next to theirs). This looks like a place where I can use my skills and training to do some good, but I know that it will be a two-way street.

Thinking 'bout the good old days

We took the boys out of school today (don't worry, I'm an educational psychologist), and went to Six Flags instead. Paul is always in my mind, but Six Flags magnifies my memories of him. I enjoy retracing his steps there. Recalling where he found money, what rides he enjoyed most, etc. I hear other kids laughing, and it reminds me of Paul. I'll never forget his riding the rollercoasters over and over again. Today we were about to hop on one of Paul's favorite rides when I noticed that the last passenger had thrown up all over the place. We all grossed out, but in my mind I could just hear Paul cackling and saying something sarcastic like..."hey, Dad...why don't you just sit in it!" Where did he get that sick sense of humor? I thought of Paul as Jack stretched under a fence to capture a dime. Others were just out of reach. Paul would have obsessed over those until he made me put gum on the end of a stick in order to McGyver the coins through the fence.

Lately, a lot of relapsed NB kids I follow have died, several have disease progression, and some close friends are dealing with yearly anniversaries of their childs' deaths. It's all so hard to understand when you consider the amount of suffering these kids and families go through; discouraging too. It reminds me of some U2 lyrics:

The more you see the less you know
The less you find out as you go
I knew much more then than I do now

All I know for sure is how much I miss Paul.

Man vs. monster bass; I win.

The other day someone asked, "What brings a smile to your face?" Above is one thing on the list of smile-bringing things. (-:

The IPPC

I've just returned from a week-long conference. The topic was how to improve the way the healthcare system (and healthcare professionals) address the pain and suffering of children with terminal diseases or chronic illnesses that affect quality of life. The conference was hosted by The Initiative for Pediatric Palliative Care. I was invited to participate as a bereaved family member. It goes without saying that the conference was at times very difficult for me. I mean...would you choose to attend a conference like this one? There were probably 12 or so of us parents (all of whom have lost a child) in attendance. Even though I consider that our "end-of-life-care" for Paul was as good as it could get, I now realize that we are an exception. Many families have dealt with much worse brought about by uninformed and disorganized healthcare systems and a pervasive resistance to sharing information with families and across medical settings. The IPPC is trying to fix this with education and conferences such as this one. Besides parents, the rest of the conference attendees were physicians (mostly hem/onc), nurses, hospices, social workers, hospital chaplains, and other organizations that play a role. I wondered before I went what I could possibly offer, but left feeling like these folks heard a side of the story that they rarely get - the parents.' I too learned how much these folks want to help kids and their families, but how our healthcare systems impede their work. I see lots of hope on the horizon for change. We can do better for our kids, and I can now see some concrete ways to make it happen. So, I am recovering from some emotionally draining days, and I miss Paul more now than I have in a long while.

Mother's Day Weekend, 2008

This photo of mom and Paul (2yo) was sent to us recently by a friend who took it; we had never seen it before.

From time to time I go to the blog pages from the past to see what we were doing "back then." I did that today, and ended up on July 13th, 2007, the day before Paul died. I found this excerpt below from my blog post that day. This will be Leigh's first Mother's Day without Paul. Maybe this reminder will help ease the inevitable pain that comes with the joy.

"...I have also noticed that he has really re-attached himself to his mother in these last few weeks. Some of you may not know this about Paul but from about 18mos. of age to just a few weeks ago, he was a big time 'daddy's boy.' He preferred I do everything for him. Now, the reverse is true. That is OK with me. God knows what he needs more than I. We enter this world with our mothers as a necessity, and perhaps we leave it the same way..."

Money

Paul had a special "money gene." It allowed him to detect coins hidden from the view of others. Legend has it he could hear a coin fall in the distance and immediately know the kind of coin and the year it was minted. Jack possesses a similar gene though less refined. It remains to be seen what gift Whit has for such pecuniary detection. Last year, a college student friend of ours came over to complete an assignment that entailed interviewing children regarding their understanding of money issues. Below is an excerpt from that interview.

How much is a lot of money?
J: "$75-$150"
P: "$100"
W: "A Bank"

Would you rather have paper money or coins?
J: "Coins, as long as they add up to the same value as paper."
P: "Paper"
W: "Coins"

What do you like to do with your money?
J: "Save it, buy toys or put it in the bank."
P: "save it."
W: "Buy Wonderpets."

How much does a house cost?
J: "$378,000"
P: "$150"
W:"$6"

How much do you think Jeff Gordon's car costs?
J: "$52,000"
P: "$84"
W: "$36"