Jason, the remarkable gift that keeps on giving

A million thoughts flooded my brain Saturday as I married the lovely and charming Candace Medd Hadley. I will probably discuss many of them in future posts, but my son with Down syndrome, Jason McGuire, took a big share of those thoughts.

Jason was his ebullient self throughout the day, though he was particularly worried about the one task I assigned him. Jason was in charge of handing the wedding rings to the priest. His incredibly loving siblings, Tracy and Jeff, were as concerned as Jason was about his job so they took him to the church basement and practiced. Jason executed the exchange several times to his brother and sister so he was ready when the time came.

Here are the words of his job coach at his workplace: “Jason  was very chatty about it all and said his favorite part was holding the rings! He showed me step by step what his job was and said he didn’t drop the rings or get them stuck on his finger. He said it was good they didn’t get stuck otherwise he would have had to marry his step mom! He had such a great time and he is so happy.”

Oh, what a mess that would have been if he would have had to marry his step-mom. There is a country song in that to be sure. That logic is typical of Jason. He believes that you wear seat belts to prevent an accident. I remember his mom, my late wife Jean and I were once walking through the underground metro in Paris. We were very confused because we only understood a very little bit of French. In our befuddlement, Jean observed, “this is how Jason goes through life, with a little bit of a clue, but never completely understanding.”

That phenomenon was in full effect at the wedding reception Saturday. As a close friend of mine put it, “he held court like no other.”  Yet, when his brother wanted Jason to join him for a toast he hated to be pulled away from his wedding cake. There must be priorities and a toast versus more cake didn’t seem close to Jason.

As I watched, and now reflect on Jason’s delightful antics and the way he endears himself to everyone he meets, I also reflect on a piece of state legislation in Ohio. Abortion opponents are pushing Ohio to make it illegal for a doctor to perform an abortion if a woman is terminating her pregnancy to avoid having a baby with Down syndrome. I find the proposed legislation an incredible invasion of privacy and an infringement of civil liberties and generally repugnant. Yet, as I write in my book “Some People Even Take Them Home,” “I can say unequivocally that I believe our world would be an inferior place if there were no Down syndrome children. The pursuit of the perfect baby would deprive our world of real joys and triumphs. I hope the optimism that is inherent in this book may provide intellectual and emotional fuel for making those life-changing decisions.”

I don’t wish Down syndrome on a child or parent but last Saturday my overpowering thought was how awful it would be if there wasn’t a Jason at that wedding to touch people’s hearts. His sweet cluelessness and deep kindness makes us all special people.

Tim J McGuire is the author of “Some People Even Take Them Home” A Disabled Dad, A Down Syndrome Son and Our Journey To Acceptance

The qualities of new love at 66–It’s different

Grief to new love trilogy–Part II

Within five months of my wife Jean’s death it was clear my relationship with Candace Hadley was genuine.

Relationships at 66 are different than those at 26. My brief bout with loneliness was brutal for me. I had a wonderful 39-year marriage and it was obvious to me I loved loving and being loved. One of the things I missed most was laughing with a partner. Candace and I laugh together in silly, juvenile ways and with sophisticated humor only a few would appreciate. No matter how old we grow together, I pray the laughter will always remain.

I think one also wants a sense that they are needed and both Candace and I felt that with each other. Another thing that is crucial to a late life marriage, in my mind, is a shared sense of values. Candace and I quickly realized spirituality was important to us–we shared a passion for the writings of Richard Rohr. Politically, we are compatible without being carbon copies of each other. Our differences make things interesting. Very significantly, we have both dealt with cognitive development issues in our family. That particular shared experience is vital.

The other shared experience that is critical, in my mind, is the loss of a spouse. I know many widows or widowers build great relationships with divorced people. I think that would have been very difficult for me. My late wife, Jean, and Candace’s late husband, David, are integral players in our relationship. We talk about them often and we frequently share grief experiences and life experiences. Since Jean’s death is relatively recent, that has been especially indispensable to me. Candace has been an incredible grief coach and just the other night asked me: “How is your sadness?” She has been most attentive to making sure I tend my two gardens and grieve appropriately, all the while loving me and knowing that I love her. I still keep pictures of both Jean and Candace, in some cases side by side. And, Candace still proudly displays some of her husband’s excellent paintings. We are our history and neither of us wants to deny that.

A truly fascinating element of finding a new partner after long marriages is that you have to get used to a new set of expectations. I like to joke that after 39 years of marriage I damn well knew the rules, but now the rule book has totally changed! Things that didn’t matter suddenly are important and vice versa. Figuring out how to disagree, and even agree, can be a fascinating new adventure.

Adventure is the key lesson of new love at 66. It’s an exciting adventure in creating a new life of happiness. The adventure needs to be enjoyed, not over-analyzed.

NEXT: Grief to new love Trilogy Part III –Let them say what they want.

Tending “two gardens” has reinvigorated and sustained my life

The grief to new love trilogy-Part I.

Readers of this blog followed my grief journey from last September to May of this year when I took a summer break. One of the first and most significant posts was the entry which argued my good friend Ian Punnett’s perspective that “you cannot do grief wrong.” That advice, delivered the night of the wake for my dear wife Jean Fannin McGuire, guided my emotional journey and my writing about grief.

And the journey indeed felt special to my circumstances. For the first six or seven weeks I could not have told you what my emotions were. I have used the word kaleidoscopic to describe them. I rewrote the last chapter of  Some People Even Take Them Home” A Disabled Dad, A Down Syndrome Son and Our Journey To Acceptance during that time. As I look back at those words it is obvious I wrote them in a frenzied fog. Most of the sentiments were right on, but I lacked serious perspective. Seven weeks after Jean’s death a family wedding sent me into a profound downward spiral of grief which lasted for a couple of months. It was horrible.

I have written before that I found grief exhausting. It was also incredibly lonely. Four things began my  recovery from what felt like the depths of grief.

The first may strike you as weird, but I had a conversation with Jean as I drove to work. I told her I was going to do two big things I feared she wouldn’t approve. I offered her a deal that if she came back I wouldn’t do those things. She didn’t return. That may sound like a silly exercise, but it was incredibly important in my grief process. It helped me realize that no matter how much I cried, Jean was gone from my life and I was on my own. That forced me to move ahead.

The second thing that pushed my grief to a new stage was my realization that I had not been very nice to people while I was grieving. I was just angry at everybody. When I found myself grunting at students I knew I had to stop feeling sorry for myself.

The third key force in working through the depths of grief was my grief counselor, Jenny Diaz. As I wrote in this blog, she strongly urged me to repeatedly watch a video of Jean’s life that reduced me to sobs. She advised me to watch it until I could celebrate it rather than sob. To this moment, I remember vividly the first time I felt incredible joy just marveling at Jean’s smile. I have tried to celebrate Jean ever since.

There was a fourth factor in moving past grief but I never wrote about it. I have felt free to talk about my own journey but I have been reluctant to talk about the journeys of those close to me. About three months after Jean’s a death, a friend from the Star Tribune in the mid-80s, Candace Hadley, contacted me and offered grief help. Her husband died two-and-a-half years before Jean did. I had worked with Candace and we were good friends. Candace and I had been out of touch for the best part of 25 years when we first talked about grief on a Monday night in late September. The conversation lasted 55 minutes. I know, I checked my phone. It was more than obvious that our friendship had survived the years.

As weeks passed and we talked for long periods on the phone, the bond grew stronger but I was still grieving. I thought about Jean’s death constantly and yet I could clearly see a new relationship was beginning. The tension between two powerful new forces in my life–grief and new affections– left me confused and anxious. I made the decision that even though a wonderful relationship was developing with Candace I could not proceed while I was still in the throes of grief.

Fortunately, I discussed it with my grief counselor Jenny before I ended it. I worried whether I could grieve Jean and love Candace at the same time. Jenny was convinced Candace and I had something important. Jenny shared with me the metaphor that has sustained me for many months and will forever sustain me. She said, “You need to tend two gardens, the garden of grief over Jean’s death and the garden of your new life with Candace.”

That precious metaphor released me to grieve Jean at the same time I was falling in love with Candace. With Candace’s understanding and patience I was able to process my grief and build a new life and a new love at the same time.

My two gardens are incredibly important to me and they’re flourishing. As my Facebook followers know, this summer my family and I had a touching, sad memorial for the first anniversary of Jean’s death. Facebook followers also know that a few weeks later I proposed to Candace and we will marry Sept. 12.

NEXT: Part II of the Grief to new love trilogy: the qualities of a late in life relationship.