Zach turned 22 this week. What a miracle. I have spent a lot of time being quiet and reflecting on the Grace that has allowed our lives to be what they are. Despite losing Zach’s two siblings. Despite feeding tubes and short life span predictions and comments like “Zach won’t need knee surgery, he won’t be alive much longer.” Yes, that was one of his physicians about 15 years ago. Despite endless tragic situations I have dreamt up in my head, foreboding Joy and trying to prepare myself for the worst, here we are. 22 years of life!
As always I am grateful. I love writing about Zach and my experiences as his Mom. It’s like having the chance to say what I was thinking all those years that I was alone and had no one to talk with but God and myself. Today is one of those chances to share a memory that I haven’t described much, but is a true example of how Grace brought us along at each juncture, to get to a 22nd birthday this week!
When Zach was 7 or 8 years old, we started to see aggressive behaviors that were newly emerging. Since at that time, Zach really didn’t put together more than a few words, it was always difficult to understand what he was trying to tell us. Initially, our go to was a painful, reactive and never ending loop of events: stimulus – response – consequence. Zach would get set off, throw something, I would punish him. Repeat often.
Then one evening I remember being in the kitchen and thinking “Zach is so quiet, where has he gone and what is he into?” I went searching and found him on the floor of his bedroom. When I saw him sitting there, I gasped, literally out loud. To my broken mother’s heart appeared my young son with a box of bandaids he’d emptied. Despite limited fine motor skills, he’d managed to remove all the bandaids, peel the plastic backings and tape them furiously all over his knees, on both legs.
Zach looked up at me with a humble “Can you hear me now?” facial expression that I will never forget. Again, as with the “Penguins” post (5/4/21) it was never easy to understand what was happening. But the Grace came. He found a way to tell me what was happening, in a way I could understand. I sat beside him and rubbed his legs saying “Sweetheart, do your legs hurt?” To which he replied: “Legs hurt” as he began hitting them with his open hands.
Memories like these can be haunting. I could easily turn the experience into a story about how bad a Mom I was for not realizing it sooner, or sink into a victim energy of “Why me? Why him?”
Instead, I will just say thank you. Thank you for the Grace that allowed Zach to communicate in the best way for me to hear him. Thank you that as a result, we got him properly medicated and comfortable. Thank you that we live in a geography that has specialists who could help with his arthritis and bi lateral genu varum, and that we had the sense NOT to listen to the one who’d given up on Zach living much longer.
We alone, have the power to choose our perspectives. When we see the good in life, more good appears. When we focus on the little miracles that abound, more miracles appear, to affirm our beliefs. More miracles like 22 years of a good life for Zach.
Is there someone who is acting out in your life, who is really asking “Can you hear me now?” Try to be present, beyond the surface and see if there is Grace to be discovered.