Thursday, July 5, 2012

How We Do It, Part XIII in a series





Sophie and I walked outside yesterday and down the path toward the driveway of our friends' house in the Hollywood Hills. She, Henry and I had come to an annual Fourth of July get-together, a family party that I look forward to each year for the great company, amazing food and a view of fireworks that stretch all across the Valley. Oliver is still at camp, and the The Husband was with The Mistress, so I had resigned myself to being Sophie's sole caretaker at the party -- not a job that I love as it entails either holding her hand  and walking around to calm her or sitting her in her wheelchair while the many children run back and forth and all around, seemingly oblivious. There were new children at this year's party, and when they'd arrived they had done the usual not-rude-but-entirely-understandable-curiosity-staring and when introduced, said polite hellos and then ran off. As Sophie has grown older, the disparity between her and others has only magnified, and while I have historically done nearly everything in an attempt to "include" her, I've grown tired of it, frankly, and perhaps shut down that part of myself that yearns for friendships for her. As we walked toward the large driveway, I pointed out some of the beautiful trees and flowers that lay along the pathway and only noticed the children jumping on the trampoline in my peripheral vision until one of them shouted, Does she want to come and jump on the trampoline with us? I looked up and saw a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old, in a blue and white striped skirt, a white tee-shirt and a large red flower in her shiny black hair, standing at the opening of the trampoline. Well, there's a lot of kids on the trampoline, so it would be hard for her, I think, but thank you for including her! I shouted back. How old are you? the girl directed her question at Sophie. She's seventeen, I said, and she can't talk because she has a problem in her brain. But she can understand you! The girl spoke again, directly to Sophie. I'm sorry about that! But you can come jump with us! My whole body thrilled to this exchange, and I told the girl that I wouldn't be able to lift Sophie up that high, that the ladder was too difficult for her to use, but that I really appreciated her invitation. We stood there for a few minutes and watched the girls jumping, their free bodies soaring not so high as my own heart, beating steadily through the hands that linked Sophie and me.

29 comments:

  1. What a beautiful moment, beautifully rendered. I'm glad it found you.

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  2. Ah Elizabeth. So gorgeous. As always.

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  3. elizabeth, this brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. such a seeming small thing, and yet so huge in your heart. bless that sweet child. bless sophie. bless you. and oh, your writing. your writing.

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  4. eliz, what i find amazing is that you are able to hold two perspectives in your head. your reality, and also that of the slightly detached observer who can tell 'how we do it.' i can barely manage to switch between those two points of view in my own rather simple life, let alone in times of complications.
    btw, saw that NOAA has announced that mermaids do not exist. my first thought, seriously, was "what about
    sophie!" i think we need a rebuttal...

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  5. I love this and i absolutely love that little girl.

    Absolutely.

    May she never outgrow it.

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  6. What a lovely child--both Sophie and the young girl who spoke to her!

    Re the comment above, I've got to check with NOAA and see what the "no mermaids" is all about. My younger son works for NOAA!!

    Best,
    Bonnie

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  7. An incredibly beautiful moment that makes my heart soar.

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  8. I see that and I feel it in my heart- that girl, calling from the trampoline.
    How beautiful she is! How thrilling that red flower in her hair! Red like the hearts linked through your hands.

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  9. May that sweet, young girl never lose her compassion for others. Elizabeth, you are an amazing writer. Thank you for sharing your life online. When I grow up, I want to be like you!

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  10. A beautiful moment for Sophie and for you.

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  11. My heart swelled reading this post through to the end. Lovely. I've been enjoying your blog for a long time now. Thank you for writing.

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  12. That was the most hopeful, tender and true thing that I've read , anywhere, for a very long time.

    I am so grateful to you Elizabeth for continuing to let us into you heart and your life in this manner. Beautiful, in every sense.

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  13. Elizabeth - this restores faith in humanity. Bless that sweet child. Even after reading your incredible writing I always still question how you do it... And I answer in my own head "well, you just do what you have to do." I say again that your own beauty shines through in so many ways. I feel so many conflicting emotions when I think about you as a mom raising 3 kids with Sophie being disabled. I can only imagine what it takes out of you and what it gives you too. But it has to be hard, so very hard. You have touched my heart and soul through your blog. I have great respect and admiration for you.

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  14. What a moment for you both, and how terrific for Sophie to feel wanted. As ever, thank you, Elizabeth. You are so present to everything going on and you capture it all so beautifully.

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  15. Ah what a lovely moment and such a lovely child. I found myself wondering if others there (a group of men perhaps) could've made this happen for sophie. I remember getting my C5 injury paralyzed brother in law into the ocean with the help of many... he floats so there was no fear of drowning but getting him out of the chair and into the ocean... a bit of a moment and definitely something I could not do alone! I also don't know if the trampoline is an experience Sophie would've perceived as enjoyable.. .only you would have the "best guess" at that!

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  16. I have tears in my eyes and in my throat. What an absolutely stellar moment. What a lovely, pure heart that girl had. I hope she keeps it.

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  17. Love your writing. Love that little girl.

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  18. Wow such an awesome and beautiful story. I hope my son can encounter such wonderful people as that little girl throughout his life as well. Your story gives me hope.

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  19. Wait long enough, and a chink in the wall - and oh the light! that floods through!
    *hugs* of the virtual kind
    pamela x

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  20. Cheers to your lovely friends who have clearly raised a beautiful, kind child. Love.

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  21. beautiful
    I spent my happiest childhood moments on a trampoline.

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  22. wow - if we could all do it as well - what a wonderful world

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  23. Beautiful.

    What a darling little light. And your words, so lovely.

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  24. tears... but tears from the warm ember of joy that starts in the heart and radiates out through the salt of the eyes :) love love love.

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  25. What a lovely, open-hearted young girl. Thank you for telling us this story.

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