Support Groups – Hah!
Eric goes to preschool. The day a year and a half ago that he first got on his bus, the short bus, I cried. He was my baby, my youngest. He was barely three and I had carried him his entire life. I breastfed that kid for over two years. We were inseparable. I knew everything about him. I signed to him, played with him, did therapy with him. I spent my days for three years trying to make him more. More appealing, more communicative, more healthy. Just... more.
Read MoreSaving The World
When Eric was born I used to talk to him all the time. I coined the term “heart-talk” and we’d have long conversations in my head and in my heart. He would tell me things about his world and tell me not to worry about him, that he’d be okay. He was very very small and wasn’t thriving well for a long time but this tiny boy would stare solemnly into my eyes and tell me, through this “heart-talk”, not to worry.
Read MoreOutside The Box
Eric goes to a special-needs preschool four mornings a week. Other than some cryptic hastily-scrawled daily notes on what he did that day (story: check; snack: check), I have no idea what goes on there. I figure that’s between Eric and the school. They seem willing, thrilled even, to take my son for fourteen hours a week.
Read MoreThe Club
Having a kid with special needs automatically grants you membership in a certain club. Out in public, parents in this club meet eyes over the heads of their children, allowing a glimmer of understanding to pass between them. “I know,” that look says, “You’re not alone.”
Read MoreThe Death Card
Every parent plays this game. I did, and not just with Eric. I call it Baby Monitor. You know that game? You lie awake with your ear glued intently to the monitor; your baby is in the next room, or downstairs. You’re listening for the regular noises you’re used to hearing, the sounds of breathing. When the sounds grow faint, you could go down and check but instead you play macabre mind games: what if he’s not breathing?
Read MorePerfect Birth
It was going to be the perfect birth. Under soft gentle lighting, bathed in quiet contemplation of the perfection of this tiny soul we were welcoming to the planet, my son Eric was going to make his appearance. Everything had been planned: the warm-water birthing tub, the midwife, the music. Everything was going to be just right, down to the last detail. Everything was going to be perfect.
Read More Hi. I’m Talyaa.
Cancer Chick.
Soulmate.
Wild Goddess.
Soulmate.
Wild Goddess.
I have Stage 4 cancer. Doctors have little hope and little to offer, so I had to take my healing into my own hands. Luckily, my soulmate is a break-the-rules warrior, so we created a radical healing program. My life will never be the same.
This time I'm living life like I mean it. No more tango somedays — living like a wild goddess starts now. I'm already the Cancer Goddess.
Next stop. Wild Goddess Life.
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