Monday, August 10, 2015

Arms and Miracles

Taylor is 31.  Thirty one.
I have had 31 (thirty one) years to do this life with him. I gave birth to Taylor when I was 31 (thirty one.)  So, I knew myself and had grown all sorts of beliefs and convictions on my own before this imperfectly perfect child was placed on my chest and on my heart.  Now I have spent 31 (thirty one) years undoing or re-doing or redefining or trying to make sense of  my life----and my life with Taylor. My life with words like retarded, inclusion, special needs, handicapped, mentally challenged, "suffers from", "debilitated by".....
  Don't you think 31  (thirty one!)  years should have given me plenty of time to figure this all out?
Spoiler alert:  No.  There has not been enough time yet to figure out this life. Even given the 31 years.  I am such a slooooooow learner evidently.
      Yesterday when Taylor was using his arms again in the pool---for the first time in maybe 8 (eight) years----I was struck dumb with the "miracle"---medical, divine, mysterious-- miracle of it all.   For years we have gone to this same pool to swim.  For the past ten years and though five massive spine surgeries,  I have spent most of the time in the water weeping as I have held Taylor's head so he could float on his back.  It was the only position in which he seemed to not be in pain.  I have prayed a million prayers and sobbed on a hundred Thursdays that my sweet son might feel better---might be able to do something in the water other than just float.   And look-a-here.
"Well, darn if it ain't a miracle right here and now on this ordinary Sunday." I heard myself mutter.
   Taylor used his arms.  Pain free.
      I might have missed this miracle because I was thinking about how fat I looked in my bathing suit----how I needed to color my hair---how I can't seem to make intelligent conversation about books or music anymore.(Could I ever?)  I might have missed this miracle because I was thinking I needed to go to Lowe's to get some carpet cleaner or  had lost myself in counting  all the calories I had eaten since lunch.  I might have missed this miracle because I get so caught up in the intoxicating myth that everybody else (you)  has it all figured out.  I let thoughts like that distract me and I fling myself far from my center-----don't barf now....but from that center that is the divine and "whole" place in each of us.  Yep, I can go way off course and lay myself out in my own self-made ditch.   Ditches sometimes feel safe.   I  find comfort there.  (Another myth)
But then I miss miracles.  Extra-ordinary miracles.
     Taylor used his arms.  He swam without pain.
Maybe this is all I have to know.
 Maybe it's all figured out.
Life is just waiting for me to notice.
Mysterious.  Miraculous. Divine.
Pay attention, all ye...and me.