I don't have to look at a map anymore. I just know it.

We had Alan over to our house for dinner on July 4th. He was very quiet - unusually so. No pacing, talking, clapping. He was able to talk with us, have a great conversation. We cherish moments like this.

As we sat at the dinner table, eating his favorites - barbeque, corn on the cob, squash - we started talking about our upcoming vacation to Wichita, KS. Alan spoke up.

"Dad, I've been thinking. We could take 412 West to Interstate 35, then go north to Wichita. That's the route I think we should take."

There was a moment of silence.

"Alan, that's a great idea," my husband replied. "That's exactly what we will do!"

Alan spent most of his childhood studying maps, particularly the US interstate system. He hasn't looked at a map in a while, so I asked if he had been studying maps to figure this out.

"You know I just know this, Mom," Alan said seriously. "I don't have to look at a map anymore. I just know it."

Wow. I guess that's the way it is with us. We don't have to look at a map anymore to know how things can go with our son. We know he will have days of perfect clarity, days of diminished ability to interact, days of manic activity, days of withdrawal and silence. We've been studying the map for a long time. This is life with Alan. I felt a certain peace about our day to day walk through this life.

I don't have to look at a map anymore. I just know it.

Comments

  1. Lori L.July 5, 2010 at 10:36 AM

    I can just hear him making those comments! What a great story and a great analogy.

    ReplyDelete
  2. SanWritesJuly 6, 2010 at 7:57 AM

    I remember all those maps!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Suddenly...It's Spring

Spring comes without warning, it seems.  Suddenly everything is green, flowers are blooming, and the world is waking up.  New life is everywhere.  Robins are hopping around our backyard, some are building nests in nearby trees and shrubs.  There is an expectancy in the air. The cycle of grief is a recursive one.  Back and forth it seems to go for months on end.  Great sadness, numbness, depression, exhaustion; until one day a memory comes and it is not painful but poignant.  Rather than a tear falling, a smile comes and with it a hint of joy and a lightness of spirit. Ten months have passed since we lost our Lacy.  We made it through some big firsts; birthday, Father's Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas.  The anniversary date of his home-going is not far away. In these ten months, Kenny and I have begun to find our way into new patterns and traditions. Sunday afternoons have become a time for visiting friends, enjoying walks, or just relaxing...
Read more

Countdown

Four weeks from today will be two years since we lost Lacy. I keep getting reminders on my Facebook feed of the last few weeks of Lacy's life.  The last year, I took a picture of him every week.  I wanted to make sure I could remember him, and the good - and bad - times we had together. I feel a sense of dread about May 28.  I am thankful that it falls on Memorial Day, so we will not have to go to work.  I am also thankful that we took every opportunity to spend time with him.  The last time was 5pm on May 27, 2016.  Nine hours later, he was gone. As I drove away from the nursing home that evening, a scripture popped into my head:  ...that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection... (Philippians 3:10) That power has sustained us for nearly two years.
Read more

Day by Day

Alan is doing better since his hospitalization.  His outbursts are fewer, and are less "pitched" than before his med changes.  The staff assigned to him at his group home are doing well with him.  They have to pick their battles, as we all do, and are trying to keep him to a schedule. We took Alan to his neurology appointment this week.  Usually when someone asks Alan how he is doing, he just says "fine," but on this day he answered, "My knees are weak, and I have to lean over and hold on to things." After examination, Alan's doctor recommended physical therapy, as Alan is perilously close to falling.  While we don't know if Alan will be able to follow a therapists directions, or will even want to cooperate, we will arrange for a consultation. I can deal with the nuts and bolts of being an advocate and sometimes caregiver for my son, but I find it hard to maintain the focus I need when I hear his say that he is having trouble walking.  It is ...
Read more