Hope is the physician of each misery. ~Irish Proverb
Here is a little peek at some of what Vernon has been working on, behind the scenes.
What can I say? Though he is obviously doing better than he was a month ago, he seems to be slowing down again…not wanting to work, not wanting to open his eyes and acknowledge his situation. I think he is depressed. Who wouldn’t be? In a way, that could be a sign that his brain is healthy. Still, we keep cheerleading and encouraging him to find the HOPE that will be his strength. It’s not easy to watch though.
I don’t want to pressure him to perform and show progress, as it all will happen in his own time, but its difficult for us all when it feels things are going backward. Its hard to watch him lose momentum, even though I KNOW that he will be breaking through the next level again, just as he has before. There is just no time-frame, which makes it frustrating.
Here I am trying to make him look up for the camera (which to his credit, he was never crazy about.) To our praying friends: please ask God that he would be refreshed and uplifted again. He may just not be feeling well these days…but he needs another breakthrough. He needs to find the will to work and interact so that we can communicate and so that he can be confident that he is indeed improving. I know how debilitating the Great Sadness can be.
Pilar mentioned today that there is a spate of younger motorcycle accident patients who have just been transferred in. I then suggested to her that perhaps when Vernon is ready to moved from his isolation room, he could be put with a younger roommate…perhaps it would be good for him to see that some of the other patients in the hospital are young. I get the sense he feels like an old man: unable to do the most basic things, moving too slowly, helpless, unlike the self he remembers at all. It might be good for him to see some other ‘young’ patients he can relate to.
Back in the room, Pilar noticed a friendly young man, Juan, walking around the halls with his walker, chatting to all the nurses, and asked if he could come meet Vernon. Of course he could. He only stayed for a few minutes, telling his story how he was so depressed in the beginning, he didn’t want to eat or try to work, but with the physical therapists, he now loves to move around and generally has the brightest attitude in the hall (that I can tell so far.) He hadn’t had a brain injury but a blood clot that had rendered him unable to use his legs.
Juan was great, full of spark and positivity. Vernon opened his eyes wide for the first time all day when Juan was in the room talking to him. Maybe we are on to something here. I personally think Vernon needs a big booster shot of HOPE.
I’m praying for a supernatural infusion of the stuff.
Once you choose hope, anything’s possible. ~Christopher Reeve
Maki and I went up to see Vernon together today, with great hopes (as we always have.) He’s been so active and present lately…even if for short periods. But when we got there today, we could tell Vernon was not into having visitors. He seemed tired and distant. Ah! Every time I tell myself I understand the peaks and valleys, the two steps forward/one step back momentum, I still find I suffer from high expectations.
But this is how we are dealing with it: If Vernon isn’t up for visiting, we leave. We might go back later, and he may or may not be in a better mood. But sometimes, its just not a day for visitors. I hate to disappoint Maki with days like this, since he only gets to visit his dad once a week. But fortunately Brea is filled with novelty restaurants. That’s like heaven to a 12 year old.
So today we exchanged the hospital for a waffle-themed diner. It was fun while it lasted. We were tempted (if time had allowed) to go to a movie instead of revisiting the hospital. I guess we were a little bummed-out that Vernon wasn’t responsive. But Maki, in his pragmatic way, offered: “Daddy has been working hard all week. It’s his day off.” He also related with the idea that he doesn’t like to jump out of bed and do things on Saturday mornings either, just because the family wants him to. Ah, such wizened perspectives. I guess Maki and daddy are living out their own parallels.
“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find our eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land: there is no other life but this.” —Henry David Thoreau
Sometimes (most of the time?) taking the opportunity of the moment isn’t about the thing we set out to do that morning. Sometimes its about letting go of our expectations, the thing we THOUGHT we wanted to do. Sometimes its about walking away for a bit and embracing a different version of the moment.
Truthfully, I had a better time with Maki eating waffles and chatting about life on the long drive either way than I did at the hospital (today’s main event.) That doesn’t mean I won’t be up again Monday morning with high expectations for Vernon all over again. It also doesn’t mean Maki and I won’t visit Vernon next weekend. But these days, time is precious. All we can do is take the moments we have and find our best way to be present in them. Sometimes it means changing our plans and doing something else.
This is the one life we have. It is precious. Change your expectations mid-stream. Eat more waffles.
Since Maki is now in 8th grade, last night marked the third “Parent Night” I’ve attended at the Middle School. This is the evening at the beginning of the year when parents are invited to follow their child’s schedule, spending 12 minutes between bells in each classroom, meeting the teachers and getting a quick syllabus/approach to each subject. It all started out fine: PE, English, Science….I knew the general drill by now.,
Actually it was pretty great knowing our kid was an 8th Grader this year. Top of the Hill, again. I knew he would feel more confident in his classes as he knows how to move between them so much better than he did two years ago.
We’ve been expecting bigger concepts and more homework. Just like the teachers last night confirmed there would be. Nothing strange here…
And then I visited the 4th Period classroom: Mrs. Rosien’s Advanced Art.
She began to talk about how she she loved this elective class because the students actually wanted to be there. They were all students she had known for 2-3 years. I realized that Maki had been taking one of her classes every year since he arrived at this school. That she was actually one of the consistent people in his life. She probably didn’t even know it. And on top of that, she is one of those teachers who walks in pure encouragement and love. Out of the blue, I was touched to the core. I started leaking from the eyes…in a room with 15-20 other adults. Oh dear.
I managed to push through the next two classes, but it was difficult. I wanted to be there, but I felt surprisingly emotional. It shocked me, but I knew it wasn’t dangerous. Slightly embarrassing and annoying at worst.* (I feel I may need to make a disclaimer here: With my history/recovery of Major Depression, I know the difference of this and uncontrolled emotion and I am not afraid of a few tears.) Generally, it is a gift to be able to FEEL…appropriately.
I’ve heard that the feelings of grief come when you least expect them. We shore ourselves up and carry on with our lives because we have to. We look on the bright side, we see the positives. And then suddenly… it hits you in the small, routine moments of life.
(a picture of inner-children in math class? Could be!)
Anyway…I held things together pretty well and listened as best I could to the teacher’s plans for the year (yes, I did enjoy it mostly, too.) But by the time I got back to my car, I wanted to review the evening with someone (well actually, only with Vernon) just like we always have. Its like when we go to parties…we can be separate the whole time…but at the end of the night, when you are sitting in bed reviewing with each other all the details: who you talked to, what felt weird, funny, etc. Those are the things I realize I miss. For us, those are lovely nuggets of relationship: the going apart and returning. Experiencing things separately and sharing them together.
It’s not that Back-To-School night is especially sweet or sentimental. But I am realizing (as is Maki, who has his own story.) that in the summer, when routine goes out the window, when we live in change and spontaneity, it was easier to deal with our feelings. Its the memory…the return to normal that brings up the grief* and tears. September brings consistency, routine. It also brings up missing him.
*in this case, my definition of Grief is the normal and natural emotional reaction to loss or change of any kind.
Earlier this week, Maki’s mother, Synnove, returned to New Zealand after a week resettling him into his American life with us. As I mentioned in a June post, one of the major positives that has come out of Vernon’s accident is the fact that Maki’s two families have come together in an unexpected and special way.
Divorce is hard for everyone involved…at first. But it happens. And when people move on, a blended family can be an amazing thing. I can’t speak for anyone else, but it seems that I hit the jackpot: a great husband, a great step-son, and now a great friend in Maki’s mum. Imagine that! 🙂 And though it is probably a little strange for Maki to have two mothers fussing over him, I hope he understands its all because he is LOVED. He may not always appreciate the extra attention at 12, but I expect he will in time. It takes a village, anyway!
I could go on and on about her as I have so much respect for how she has handled the situation—arriving in our crazy (and foreign, to her) world as soon as she heard the bad news, showing her support for Maki at every turn. (And also her support for Vernon and myself.) I don’t take her involvement for granted. I know this is a unique gift.
While she was here this time, I got to take a few photos of her as she needed some for her upcoming book release. It was quite an adventure and I love how they turned out. I feel they captured her Nordic strength and her youthfulness at once. You can see them out on my photo website, here.
Since Vernon still seems to have the blues today, I’ll just share a moment from one of our outings outside. This was yesterday in the little bit of welcome rain that came down in Brea. What’s more romantic than a date in the rain, right? I started thinking of all the times we’d complained of not having enough time to ourselves, especially after kids. And here we were…free to sit outside together without any distractions. Just each other, the rain, and some music on my phone. We might as well have been teenagers with nothing else to do but share music on split-headphones. I played him one of the songs that was a favorite of ours in the early days, and he seemed to enjoy it —he had me play it twice.
As I was listening to the words, I thought…yes, it is worth the drive, it is worth the waiting, and all the other stuff I have to figure out in this new phase of life…to be alone with him when I can be. It can be a little awkward, a little slow, and sometimes a little boring just sitting around. Yet these are all good problems to have. They aren’t even problems: they are blessings. I love that I get to spend these mornings with you, Vernon. You may not have much to say, and you are obviously sad and frustrated—but you are awake, and you are alive.
Who knows…maybe one day in the not-so-far future, we will be so busy with normal life again that we will tell each other: “Remember when we could just sit around together and not say much? Don’t you miss those days?”
Just in case this post was getting too sappy…I’ll add an update from this morning. I played the song again, he wasn’t interested. So I tried a variety of music I found on Spotify. He’d pull out the headphones if he didn’t like the song. (PROGRESS! He was able to control some outside stimulation: that’s got to be empowering!) He wound up preferring ambient “Forest Sounds” (birds chirping, brooks babbling, etc.) and Television Personalities (English Post-Punk). Yeah, that fits our Vernon about right…he refuses to be put in a box for long.
“The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly kind companion.”—William Makepeace Thackeray
This morning, I had the privilege of watching the physical therapy team working Vernon out in the Gym today. It was fascinating enough, ust seeing him in a bright new environment and hearing their positive coaching. But I found it especially interesting that they used a mirror so that the patient could see how much his body was responding to direction.
I wondered how difficult it might be for Vernon (or any patient) to start looking at his reflection in the early days. He sometimes seems rather worried when he starts to realize he is in a wheelchair, for example. But again, I have no idea how he is processing these things. I just try to figure out what he looks like he is thinking in those moments. Soon, he will be able to tell us…or else he will forget and it won’t matter anyway.
Still, it did hit my heart a little that it might be difficult to look at himself in the mirror at this stage. Though he looks so great to those of us who have been watching him closely for the past 108 days, he wouldn’t look the same as he might prefer to remember himself. When the PTs tell him to lift his head and look in the mirror, he does lift his head as best he can, but I noticed that he keeps his eyes down. This may be a whole new phase of ‘reality check’ for him. But ultimately, the truth is what sets us free. I hope that he can come to terms with his reflection and his reality peacefully. As the rest of us humans know, that is not always an easy thing…even without disabilities.
Incidentally, this reminds me of a wonderful photo-project by TOM HUSSY. In this series, elderly people envisioning themselves in their prime, they way they once were. I think Vernon may be experiencing a taste of the opposite. And I feel for him, it could be a shock. But in his case, he is getting “younger” and more able by the day.
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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