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  1. #1
    Dali
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    Default Perfect Moments redux

    Fragrantly stolen from here.

    I'd love to hear from the rest of you as per the OP in that post; have you had a 'moment'; may be a few days or an hour; where everything seemed perfect and just right.

    I went to this place in Langkawi (Malaysia) called Pulau Dayang Bunting (The Island of the Pregnant Maiden) that has a lot of local folklore surrounding it. Its waters are said to possess magical powers that will enable barren women to bear children if they drink water from the lake. It's a tiny green hilly island with a cool freshwater lake in the middle of the main hill and I had to hike through a bit of jungle to get there. I swam in the water which was fresher than fresh and there was a pond with catfish in it by the side of the lake and you could dip your feet into it and the catfish would tickle your feet with their feelers as they ate the dead skin. You haven't lived until you've seen a group of eight adults sticking their feet into a pond and all laughing UNCONTROLLABLY for no apparent reason. It was an overall amazingly whimsical experience visiting that island and quite simply one of my best memories.

    Mo

  2. #2
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    Default Perfect Moments Redux

    My second son, like my first, was born by Ceserean section, but this time we were better prepared for the possibility and I had an epidural instead of general anesthesia so I was awake when he was born. I will never forget the moment my now-ex-husband held him up for me to see...sturdy and dusky-skinned with dark, curly hair, the most beautiful baby I had ever seen. Strong emotions surged through me and I wanted to hold him but couldn't. There were "complications" and they whisked him off to the newborn ICU. The next day my hisband with a doctor in tow entered my room, both looking grim. I still felt I'd been run over by a Mack truck but also high on the experience of the night before. The doctor explained that this beautiful, perfect son of mine had significant spinal birth defects--several, in fact. My husband burst into tears. I remained dry-eyed, galvanized by a need to see this child of my heart. My husband was too overwhelmed to do anything but cry, so I got out of bed and walked with that post-C-section crouch down to the newborn ICU. My son lay in one of those clear plexiglass bassinettes, hooked up to beeping monitors, IVs in his scalp. His face looked like a prize fighter who just lost a fight from all the attemps to deliver him with forceps the night before. Despite all that, he looked not at all fragile; even then his inborn toughness shone through. He was sleeping, which is a newborn's defense against pain. Overwhelmed, I tentatively reached inside the basinnette and his minute hand grasped my thumb. It was only relex, but to me a deal had been sealed.

    And it was. I was there with him through two back surgeries, one in infancy and another in early childhood. Then at 15 he had his first psychotic break and I was there through the hospitalizations, the outpatient treatments--and gloried in his triumph when, despite everything, he finally graduated from high school. We were separated for the first time when he went into a residential treatment program at 18, but we still talked daily by phone and every weekend had coffee at Starbuck's. Today at 22, he lives in his own apartment, with lots of support, and works three days a week at a civil-rights organization, despite a diagnosis of schizophrenia with a significant mood component and cognitive deficits caused by all the psychosis. We still talk several times a day; he seems to need to hear my voice, just to check in. He is still the toughest person I know and I've learned more about life from him than anyone else I know. And it all began with that day in the NICU when he grasped my thumb with that tiny hand.

    Tonight he will receive a service award from the organization he volunteers for. He is the first person in the history of the organization to be so honored two years in a row and I will be there for that too, bursting with pride.
    It's a blessing...and a curse.

    Originally Posted by Anja
    I don't have room for shame in my life.

    INFJ, 4w5 sx

  3. #3
    Dali
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    You're a great mum, Cherchair, a great mum.

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    Default Perfect Moments Redux

    Quote Originally Posted by Mo_(operalover) View Post
    You're a great mum, Cherchair, a great mum.
    Thank you, Mo But I really can't take the credit for how far this young man has come. Yes, I was there, but he did all the work, stoically suffering the horrible side effects of various medications for the two years it took to find the right "cocktail," stepping out into space to do things that terrified him (anxiety is a large component of schizophrenia). When he was really young, he was in a body brace for 8 mos but learned to walk anyway; and at 7 he was in a halo vest (the halo being bolted into his skull) but returned to school three weeks post-op. He is, as I said, indomitable.
    It's a blessing...and a curse.

    Originally Posted by Anja
    I don't have room for shame in my life.

    INFJ, 4w5 sx

  5. #5
    Dali
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    Quote Originally Posted by cherchair View Post
    Thank you, Mo But I really can't take the credit for how far this young man has come. Yes, I was there, but he did all the work, stoically suffering the horrible side effects of various medications for the two years it took to find the right "cocktail," stepping out into space to do things that terrified him (anxiety is a large component of schizophrenia). When he was really young, he was in a body brace for 8 mos but learned to walk anyway; and at 7 he was in a halo vest (the halo being bolted into his skull) but returned to school three weeks post-op. He is, as I said, indomitable.
    But you were there, alongside him from birth, letting him know he was as strong and as capable as anyone else out there and thanks no doubt to your guidance, he has battled odds to be not just capable but remarkable.

  6. #6
    Senior Member Willfrey's Avatar
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    I suppose a perfect moment of mine is when you are looking around the empty walls of a place you'd lived a few years. I remember the first tri-plex I lived in when I first moved to Boise. My best friend from high school had moved out a few months prior, and I had moved most everything into storage.

    It is an odd mixture of sadness and relief, walking around the vacant apartment.

    I could remember the warm Boise nights where we used to sit on the front stoop smoking cigarettes, drinking beer, and bullshitting with the neighbors. I remember climbing up the roof with some lawnchairs so me and my ex-girlfriend could watch the meteor showers. Working on our crappy-rust bucket cars and prepping them for the downtown cruise.

    I remember sitting alone on that front stoop stressing about my dead-end life. I remember how my neighbor used to get drunk and yell at his wife in front of us. How our storage shed was broken into and all our tools were stolen. I remember my wreckless driving ticket and how my best friend from high school basically just left with little warning a week after.

    There is a point where the bad times force a change, but it'll always be remembered for the good times.

  7. #7
    Senior Member ZiL's Avatar
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    Honestly, almost any time or place where I'm having one of those "perfect" conversations, where me and another or others feel to be on some ideal wavelength of understanding. If our surroundings are evocative, it's a bonus.

    Moments of "communitas," to speak in Victor Turner-ian terms.
    ALL AROUND THE WORLD PEOPLE EATIN' GUMBO

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