Recently, Dr. Charles announced the first annual "2010 Charles Prize for Poetry". He states,
"Bold and pretentious name aside, the award will be given to the writer who submits for consideration the most outstanding poem within the context of health, science, or medicine.
Open to everyone (patients, doctors, science people, nurses, students, etc.). 1 or 2 entries per person. Poems should be related to experiencing, practicing, or reflecting upon a medical, scientific, or health-related matter."
Open to everyone (patients, doctors, science people, nurses, students, etc.). 1 or 2 entries per person. Poems should be related to experiencing, practicing, or reflecting upon a medical, scientific, or health-related matter."
The winner will recieve $500 and a cherry tomato from his garden. There are three judges and the contest is open through 8/31/10.
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Here's my entry~
Watching the Lights Go Out
Watching the lights go out,
is a scary thing
or at least that’s what it seems like.
I never imagined when my Dear Son was born,
that the first ten years would be spent
trying to move forward
forever chasing the milestones
only to spend the next ten years
going back
with the lights closing in on each behavior
like a bad game of “Deal or No Deal”
where instead of dollars,
his behaviors are listed on the game board
with the lights going out as each behavior
goes away forever.
Sometimes, you don’t realize the behavior is a gift,
when it’s something small like moving your foot
and then suddenly, the light begins to flicker
and it goes out, never to turn on again.
Sometimes, though, you think it’s out and then
suddenly it flickers again…
You get excited thinking it’s back
only to find out it was a fluke
as you watch another light go out forever.
As the days go by,
you realize that there aren’t many lights left.
You wonder when they’ll all go out.
Heck, some nights, I wake up in a sweat
worried they’ll all go out at once
then I’ll be left with nothing.
Other days, I am lulled to sleep by thoughts of days gone by,
when he was full of life and his smile was a mile wide,
of happy times when he walked on his knees over to the kitchen counter
to let me know he was hungry,
and looked up at me with that big grin,
with eyes that would melt a Mother’s heart.
Oh, how I miss those days.
But now, I wake up in the middle of the night
to sounds of him choking on his own saliva.
He can’t seem to cough or swallow anymore
and the wretching sounds of his battered lungs trying to gasp for breath
take over the room...
I call out to him to cough as if doing so will help him.
In desperation, I jump up and suction him
hoping to keep the light on
one more night.
Note: Dear Son is eighteen years old and suffers from seizures, dystonia and severe mental retardation as a result of a random mutation of the ARX gene; he also suffers from a progressive neurological disorder.
is a scary thing
or at least that’s what it seems like.
I never imagined when my Dear Son was born,
that the first ten years would be spent
trying to move forward
forever chasing the milestones
only to spend the next ten years
going back
with the lights closing in on each behavior
like a bad game of “Deal or No Deal”
where instead of dollars,
his behaviors are listed on the game board
with the lights going out as each behavior
goes away forever.
Sometimes, you don’t realize the behavior is a gift,
when it’s something small like moving your foot
and then suddenly, the light begins to flicker
and it goes out, never to turn on again.
Sometimes, though, you think it’s out and then
suddenly it flickers again…
You get excited thinking it’s back
only to find out it was a fluke
as you watch another light go out forever.
As the days go by,
you realize that there aren’t many lights left.
You wonder when they’ll all go out.
Heck, some nights, I wake up in a sweat
worried they’ll all go out at once
then I’ll be left with nothing.
Other days, I am lulled to sleep by thoughts of days gone by,
when he was full of life and his smile was a mile wide,
of happy times when he walked on his knees over to the kitchen counter
to let me know he was hungry,
and looked up at me with that big grin,
with eyes that would melt a Mother’s heart.
Oh, how I miss those days.
But now, I wake up in the middle of the night
to sounds of him choking on his own saliva.
He can’t seem to cough or swallow anymore
and the wretching sounds of his battered lungs trying to gasp for breath
take over the room...
I call out to him to cough as if doing so will help him.
In desperation, I jump up and suction him
hoping to keep the light on
one more night.
Note: Dear Son is eighteen years old and suffers from seizures, dystonia and severe mental retardation as a result of a random mutation of the ARX gene; he also suffers from a progressive neurological disorder.





Soon I arrived at the ballroom. As you know, since 
and gift boxes for the mothers.
Here is another picture of the room. I tried to get a few other pictures of the room however the ballroom faced the street and the outside light was in front of me instead of behind me so the photos turned out too dark to share.
As we went up to the buffet table, I had a chance to talk to Charles Tillman. I thanked him for the invitation. We chatted a bit and he talked about his daughter's surgery and how the luncheon was started. He talked about how his situation was highlighted due to his celebrity status and how his daughter's situation changed him and made him want to do something more for these mothers. I thought it was great that he used his celebrity status as a platform for his foundation. He was a very kind and extremely personable man. I was also impressed that he not only stayed for the entire luncheon but also was very interested in speaking to as many mothers as he could. 



You will remember the story I wrote here, called, "
After everyone finished their stories, he thanked all of the mothers for coming. He thanked everyone for "dressing up, wearing their pearls and looking beautiful." You could tell he was genuine in wanting to make every mother in there feel good after knowing all that they have been through. 




Others received pink or green gift bags and the rest of us received Vera Bradley gift bags like this.



It's sitting in front of one of my favorite pictures of him when he was four years old. It was 8 o'clock in the morning and he had on his Disney shirt and his new "wide leg" jeans in a size 4 slim. I took this picture in front of the flowers at my house. At that time, I told him it was my favorite picture because it's of my two favorite things, "flowers and little boys". Since he couldn't sit up alone, I sat him on this little white chair. I figured I'd take a lot of pictures hoping one would turn out. As he sat on the little chair, he slowly started to turn his body around trying to get his foot into my flowers. He knew he wasn't supposed to do that and he ended up laughing so hard that he fell off the chair. When I got the roll of film (this was before digital cameras), I fell in love with all of the photos and framed them all. 


