I put her old ugly pink helmet on yesterday afternoon and let Sophie walk around my room while I tidied it up. Despite her ability to walk and her love for doing so, she has next to no individual freedom to do it, to do what she most loves. Between possible seizures and the lack of cognitive ability to recognize danger or navigate, she just isn't safe except in her own tiny room that is padded or on a vast, softer surface like the beach or a grassy field.
This is one of those things that I absolutely do not, have not and cannot get used to and that needles me and that hurts my heart. Literally. I know that the more we push away our uncomfortable feelings, the stronger they are, and perhaps this is why after nineteen years I am no closer to accepting the fact that we can't let Sophie roam around where and when she desires. I push it away, I push it away and it sits there, hard and sore to the touch, perhaps emblematic of all the grief I carry. I am resigned to the fact that I will probably always have to pay someone to take her out for a walk. That's the stone, rounded at the corners, but still hard.
I understand. And my heart is with you Elizabeth. Always.ReplyDelete
This is so painfully honest. Thank you for always opening my eyes to your truth. It made me feel sad but then I looked in the margin of your blog and saw the picture of you holding that sign with your eyes so soft and loving. How do you do it, I ask myself sometimes. Your words: "Her eyes will sustain you" -- give me the answer to my question.ReplyDelete
The simple truths of your life are almost impossible to imagine. Honestly, I never thought about this-Sophie's inability to walk around by herself for fear that she will hurt herself.ReplyDelete
The rounded rock is as hard as the sharp one, isn't it? Oh, darling.
I wish I could help.ReplyDelete
I was thinking about Sophie yesterday and wished she could ride with Daniel and me. He loves the van. Loves his stroller. Cannot walk alone either, but seems to prefer the movement of vehicles. She would make a good companion for our strolls, pushing Dan and getting her walk on. Where's that commune I keep thinking about?!ReplyDelete
I wish you didn't have to carry those stones, dear Elizabeth.ReplyDelete
This is hard. I am glad you live near beaches where the ocean has pulverized the stones.ReplyDelete
I've long wondered what levels of morality might disappear if no one stayed in touch with anguish. Not that I'm enthusiastic about embracing it.ReplyDelete
Because of the way you write about it, I can feel it. I am sorry for this loss - for Sophie, for you - and if I lived closer, I would so love to be able to take her for walks. It's one of my favorite activities, as well...ReplyDelete
I echo your comment, I wish we lived closer. She and Max would have great fun exploring.ReplyDelete
Oh, my dear. Difficult for both of you.ReplyDelete
The ease of which you use such powerful metaphors shows your brilliance in describing these terribly painful moments. It is interesting how it creates much beauty in the way it teaches and touches others. Thank you.ReplyDelete
I'm with you.ReplyDelete