This mornings drowsy snowflakes have become this afternoons - TopicsExpress



          

This mornings drowsy snowflakes have become this afternoons drizzle. Its gray outside, a bit raw; but inside it is warm. The only noise comes from soft snores, my fingers on the keyboard as I write, and music playing in the background. One speaker is on the floor near Wills bed so he can feel the vibrations. As for the lyrics he cannot hear; they are for me in some ways. I believe in words. I believe in the grace of intention. The message is one I believe in and hope that Will can feel. Words in a song, words I use in speaking with both Will and Atticus, they are not unlike a prayer. As a writer, I know the importance of words. And Will and his blanket? When he arrived, he lacked trust and his guard was up whenever he was touched. Thats why I run my hand over him softly, to let him know its me that I am here, and the blanket will soon make his way over his tired and chilled body. Will gets covered so that he will nap happily, and so the cold wont seep into his bones and joints. Im often asked if Atticus gets the same treatment. He doesnt. It doesnt mean much to him. I look at Atticus and Will as I would any friends. They are individuals with distinctive likes and dislikes. When Atticus was going through the chemo, especially in the hours after his treatment, when the sun went down, and the night tremors began, I used blankets then, but for the most part I dont. He doesnt want or need them. But Will is different. He now finds comfort in touch (and often seeks it out), in tactile stimulation that comes from soft textures. The blankets not only keep him warm, I believe he likes the way they feel. Around Christmas, you saw Will sleeping with plush characters from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Those are actually mine and used for decoration. Neither Will nor Atticus plays with toys, but on one extra cold and night, after I draped a prayer shawl over Will, I thought about what I would like if I were in his shoes. That’s when I bolstered his body with those stuffed toys. He liked it. But he doesn’t always. So I go by how warm it is, how raw the air feels. Music has always been a part of the life Atticus and I have. I never thought it would mean anything to Will since he cannot hear much of anything. But there was that first morning when Atticus and I returned from our walk, and there was Will, sleeping away from his bed, with his ear pressed against the leg of the coffee table feeling the vibrations of the music flowing out of the speaker on top of it. He did this again and again and so I experimented with sound. Will is old. Hes older than most of us will ever live to be. When it comes to living with him I think about how I would want to be treated if I were as old as he is, if I were as proud (and sometimes defiant) as he is, and how I would feel if I were left behind, taken from the only home Id ever known. We honor Will the way we do because we respect his space, his differences, and his needs. But where we connect with him is in the commonalities we share. We all wish to be safe, to be warm, protected, accepted, and loved. Such is naptime here. Its a quiet place, a private place, a peaceful place. More importantly its our space where we each get to be whom we want to be. Its a place called home....and I think thats all any of us wish for in the end, to find that place.
Posted on: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 19:18:54 +0000

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