I was pregnant again and I'd already used the name "Jory". A name I'd fallen in love with while reading the Flowers in the Attic series by V.C. Andrews. Now that I was going to have another little one, I'd need to fall in love with a new name.
My sister suggested making one up. Inventing a name. Well, that would be a new name but I had no ideas. I'm not gifted at creating, although I do enjoy recreating. I do love seeing things that already exist and playing with what they mean to me. So, my sister said, "You like trees. Why not play with the word tree?"
I did. Treedan. Treeman. Raytree. Raiyntree. Treean.
I didn't have a clue. But I kinda liked Treean. I played with that.
Treean. Teeran. Oooohhhhh! I liked the way Teeran felt!
But, I needed it to have a "y" in it. Don't ask me "why" but I really wanted a "y". So, I tried "Tyran". I really liked it!
But then I realized it looked too much like "tyrant". Well, who wants to start life off almost a tyrant?
I felt lost. I tucked the name away, saving it for a character in a story, and kept looking, though nothing seemed right.
And then on this day nineteen years ago, he was born. I held his wrinkly naked crying body in my arms and asked him.
"What's your name little love?" I comfortably wondered. He told me. He told me his name was Tyran.
The past nineteen years with Tyran have been enlightening, lovely, scary, intense, and gorgeous.
Tyran isn't a tyrant, but his innate need to make us think outside the box and shake up expectations is almost like a tyrant. And like a tyrant, he has been a bully. When he was small anger and rudeness sometimes overflowed and cascaded onto those who annoyed him most. He would also be the one to step up, fists at the ready, if ever anyone threatened those he loved most. He was often angry and conflicted.
Yet, deep at his root, where his name and soul gather nutrition and meaning, he's like a tree. He's strong. He's organic. He insists on being himself--a home for some, a moment of shade for others, and when he's in your way he knows it's your job to find a way around him. He'll not move just because you think his ideas are inconvenient. Or because you don't want to take the time to see their value.
Like a tree, he helps me breathe.
But he is not a tree, and he is not a tyrant. He is Tyran.
And the world is lucky to have him.
My son went from Tree to Tyran, and he's done it (is still doing it) in the most magnificent ways!!!
Happy birthday, Tyran!!!!
I love you, I'm proud of you, and I miss you!!!
Hugs, smiles, and love!!!
Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)
|Tyran is a safe and favorite place for his little cousins to rest.|