We worked as a team, Sophie and I. She brought the plates and scraped them clean and I stood at the sink with hot soapy water. These ordinary places and mundane tasks seem to be the very places where we flip ourselves inside-out to one another. She started the talking tonight. “Mom, how are you going to take care of Calvin when your old? Like, 92?” I laughed, “We will probably both be gone by then sweetie.” “Calvin won’t be, mom, he’s not going to be old then.” she challenged. “If you can’t take care of him I could,” she offered. “He would love that wouldn’t he?” I smiled.
The silence spaced out the clinking dishes in the sink both of us lost in our own thoughts. I was imagining Calvin with eyes that could see, a mouth that could speak, arms that could hug, and little feet that could run to me. She stood holding the next plate. “You know mom, I don’t want Calvin to have a problem with his brain, but I don’t want him to change. I want him to be just the way he is.” It seemed to surprise her, this realization and she let it out slowly. Noah chimed in, “Yeah, and I want him to make the same noises!” “Yeah!” shouted Evie, “and kiss us the same.” They batted a balloon back and forth in the diningroom hardly doing their dinner duties.
Really?!? It seemed like just last week a very indignant Evelyn pronounced, “I wish I had a little brother who didn’t slobber and could walk.” She, his chief adorer and president of his fan club. Maybe it was the fact she needed a “dad” to play house with and Calvin was the only option. I could see how that would be frustrating. But here, today, the tune was different. How are they catching the joy? How are they seeing the beauty?
It’s not because they don’t see the loss. Noah had just asked me about his little wonder-cousin Quinn (who is beginning the real adventure of walking!), “Did Quinny go to therapy mom?” No. “Where did he get lessons to walk?” He just learned by himself, his brain told him it was time. Noah was amazed at this revelation.
Maybe they are catching the beauty because they are seeing him. The essence of the little boy who is growing like a weed (and oh how are we going to carry him?!) and making new squeals of delight as the days go by. The days go by and he still can’t walk and play Hotwheels and pretend to be “daddy” for Evie’s games. BUT these inconveniences are shoved under the rug when it comes to him. His person, his essence, his love, their relationship with one another. They love him as he is. They find him endearing as he is. They want him to always be as he is.
I’m not always there, I don’t always get that. I hand him over to Darryl, frustrated with his consuming care, wanting more of a life and feel a complaint deep inside because of the way he is. I get tired of his needs, of holding his pacifier in his mouth for hours so he can go to sleep while the laundry piles and the garbage can overflows and children beg for a story.
Slow down. See him as he is. See him. See him as the kids do.
Have I forgotten this in all my wishing in all my longing for something more? Have I passed over the beauty and forgotten the joy?
Open the eyes of my heart, Lord!
Latest posts by Kara Dedert (see all)
- Frustrated with a lack of milestones? Collect moments instead. - August 24, 2016
- Using Grief for Good - July 27, 2016
- Mother’s Day — It’s Complicated - May 6, 2016