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Acceptance, Courage, Wisdom |
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Dear all,
There is always something new.
Karl is astounding the therapists. "Never seen a three-year old work so hard," the physical therapist said this past Friday.
Although he continues to make remarkable verbal progress (he tries out every word which crosses his path, and said "Else" today--his first clear two-syllable word), it seems as if Karl is turning his attention to motor skills, as his right arm is responding quite nicely to his desires, and his hand will open and grasp what he wishes. His favorite has been noses, and stroking Else's hair. He got his foot and lower leg braces to help retrain his muscles, and is responding very well to those too. Today he also was able to blow into the harmonica and into two different whistles for the first time, and got such the hang of it that at Gary and Ann Pederson's home for supper tonight, I tested out his milk-bubble-blowing skills, and he could do it with a smile.
He couldn't do that yesterday.
Good friend Andy Eckart was here this past week, and worked wonders in Karl's bedroom, what with painting the walls a vivid yellow and blue and, most importantly and impressively, setting up a train which whips around the perimeter of Karl's room, about six feet from the floor, on a clown-nose-red shelf. It looks spectacular, and is complete with a whistle and smoke. Karl can even reach for and grasp the orange control lever, and make the train go slower or faster (he is torn between moving it up and down and leaving it at 'faster.'), as well as press the button to "blow the horn," as the song says. God bless Andy Eckart, and Kevin Wickman, who preceded him, staying a couple of days to do such things as hang up pictures, fix dresser knobs, and buy TVs large enough for my mother to see (not to mention folk in the next county).
All that said, I have been discouraged this past week, as I begin to have questions about Karl's cognitive functions. I seem to be the only one, as others see only progress. Karl is not his former self, and while I recognize that that may not come to pass, that I see that Karl again whom I once knew, I hold onto hope that I will. I would love to know how this story will end--eschatologically, I know; that is, I know, as Julian of Norwich, a medieval woman mystic, wrote, that "all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well," but I would like to know that my Karl will be well, and sooner, rather than later. Patience is not my strong suit--never was--and this daily pace of small but noteworthy progress is sometimes almost more than I can bear, tediously slow.
Karl still moves unnaturally, still makes unnatural sounds, still responds with a delay (most of the time, though he is often enough right on to rejoice), still has no tears when he cries, still dazes into the air. The question of the hour is, is this how it will be, or is this a phase? "How long, oh Lord, how long?" is the question of the minute.
It is exhausting.
Friends here have been very helpful--I was dragged to a massage yesterday, thanks to Ann and my mother, and it was good. Good friend Sarah McCarthy stopped in for a few hours today, and Amy Gebauer, from Regensburg, was also here to visit. I am reminded by their presence that there is a life beyond my troubles, and many reasons to laugh, and play, and eat much chocolate while drinking strong coffee.
I do not like triteness, and most particularly trite theology, cliched phrases which do not get to the meat of the matter. But tonight at Pederson's I noted the embroidered words of Lutheran theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, words adopted by the AA 12-step program, words that are so often repeated that they are in danger of becoming a cliche, but are so much more:
"God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference."
Acceptance, courage, and wisdom. These are not trite words with trite meanings, but words that get to the heart of the matter--at least to my heart. For these I pray, and ask for your prayers again as well: for myself, that I embrace this prayer; for Karl, that he become healthy again; for little girl Else, that she not get lost in the shuffle; for my wonderful mother, that she not break her back carrying my pudgy boy and that she retain the joy she has helping care for Karl and Else and me; and for all the friends who support us in these days, including the saints on this list.
I will hope to finally begin to write thank-yous and greetings in the next week or two. I appreciate your patience with these general emails, and am so grateful for your letters, emails, and gifts.
God is good.
Anna
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