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A Mighty Fortress |
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Dear all,
So this was the tune that greeted our ears as we entered Badger Lutheran Church last Sunday morning, the 'we' being Bill's sister Diane, and Karl, Else, and I. We were back in Badger, in the parish I served from '96-99, because the good people of the congregation decided to throw a pork sandwich feed for our family after church that day, with ads running in the local paper, and word flying across the prairie like wildfire.
We were overwhelmed by goodness.
"A Mighty Fortress," if you recall from the first email (http://homepage.mac.com/annabill/Personal1.html), was sung at Bill's funeral, and provided the decisive moment for how I was going to cope with this disaster.
People, I am still pissed; I am pissed at the accident, at Bill's absence in our lives, at the reality of the severity of Karl's injuries, at the constant level of anxiety and ambiguity in my life, at the fact that Karl is joined in suffering by thousands of other people enduring the sudden shock of a traumatic brain injury.
These things should not be.
But I am neither pissed at Bill, nor at the woman who drove the car. That doesn't bring Bill back, nor make Karl well again, nor does it take away the pain I imagine that this woman has. Nobody wanted this event to come to pass, least of all Bill and the driver.
Nor, I hope, am I myself becoming pissy.
I am, rather, righteously indignant.
And quite.
But to be driven by being pissed is itself exhausting, and takes energy from me rather than gives it to me. It has its place, to be sure.
But I prefer to be driven by righteous indignation and hope.
The day affects the order, to be honest.
Last weekend I was affected by hope.
I was bracing myself for the day of the pork feed, for the church service itself, in the sanctuary with all of its memories, across from the parsonage with shadows of Bill through every window. But then, climbing the stairs with my babies in arm, the psalmist, and Martin Luther, spoke to me yet again. "God's Word forever shall abide/ No thanks to foes, who fear it;/ For God himself fights by our side/ With weapons of the spirit."
My weapons of choice these days are righteous indignation and hope.
So we celebrated, and remembered, and Karl rode a tractor and waved for the first time. Else stole the hearts of everybody, trying to put her crocheted hat on top of the head of Nick Williams, a burly high school football player, son of Joel and Robin Williams. He and the congregation melted in her sunshine.
There, people asked how they could help us, and I said, "come and break down boxes, and fold sheets, and move dressers." And so yesterday Robin and her friend Susan, a saint whom I had never met before last weekend but who has been praying for us all along, came and stayed the day. LouAnn Jensen came too, a bit later, and stayed the night to help watch the kids so that I could get a few things done, like cut up Karl's meds.
Karl still continues to improve, and I still think he's slowed down, but the therapists still continue to be amazed. I learned on Friday that nerves regenerate at a rate of only 1 mm per month, and that the most significant recovery happens 6 months to a year after the injury. We're coming up on 6 months in December. He is doing new things, certainly, like improving reaching with his right arm, using fine motor skills, and saying "sssssss" and we certainly have been seeing more belly laughs. He loves to wake up his Auntie Diane with a "Roar," albeit hushed. He's rolling a bit in his sleep, which I hope presages intentional rolling. Beautiful little girl Else helps Karl clap again by holding his hands and bringing them together; she has done this with no prodding from us. She, too, is loving him through this.
Yesterday, he was to have gotten a new EEG, but immediately before he had had therapy, during which they put him in an elasticized hammock, of sorts, and had him bouncing and spinning and swinging. He was all giggles. Then we got in the car, and he became whiny. I figured it was just his sleep deprivation, necessary for the EEG. But then I noticed that he was drooling, lots, and lots of drool, and I realized, moments too late, what was to come. So we turned home and gave him a bath instead.
The local television station is doing a story on us, and will broadcast it this next Tuesday, the 9th, at 6:00 p.m. There will be a netcast link at http://www.keloland.com/, and the story will remain there for a week or so. Tune in for the latest pics of the whole family.
(Continued on next page.)
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