Something amazing has happened.
W opened his eyes and has been talking, albeit with some difficulty, which is to be expected. They removed him from the paralytics first and then the breathing tube, they removed the sedation and then you wait.
We have seen him open his eyes to command. Squeeze people’s hands. But yesterday they were waiting for a moment. The moment that maybe he seems lucid and perhaps you can see a bit further down the road. Most days I’m at the hospital for three or four hours in the middle of the day. I try to keep so Zoe’s life ticking along as normally as it can here. She’s been a superhero — marching off with my brother, someone she’s really only met a few times — with smiles and confidence.
Yesterday I brought a new batch of clean clothes to the hospital, sat by W as his hands moved to the drain at his head. He seemed as if in a light dream. The place between sleeping and waking. He’d been very sick all morning. I’d convinced his father to walk with me to grab a bite. A moment away.
When we came back his mother and everyone was smiling. The room abuzz. He’d been communicating with her. He knew now where he was, what had happened. G was crestfallen having missed it. He stood over the bed pressed his face nearly nose to nose with him and said ” I love you boy” and he opened his eyes and said “I love you too”
The CT shows as it did before that his brain has damage from the fall. We don’t know what the next bend in the road looks like but as I told G he said I love you — he knows you’re there, he knows you love him. He feels safe. A very good day.
I was driving home the other day and where I had felt, at times, this dangerous void beneath me … Especially those first 24 hours … After that I felt this wave, this cushion, this enfoldment of love. Your wishes. Your energy. Your prayers. I can’t explain it. I spoke aloud to my best friend missing her so much and I felt her, simply felt her right there in the car with me.
Last night my other oldest friend– who knew Ali — told me she had prayed so hard to Ali to come to me, before I’d mentioned to her my drive home. She was there I said. She is here. And we both cried.
I could feel the same sensation I had when she comforted me that first drug induced haze post c-section. I could almost hear the purring sound she’d make at the back of her throat. Her presence, there is no other way to explain it, was palpable.
A miracle. Every bit of it. There’s an unseen road ahead. We’re just at the very beginning. He has damage to the frontal and parietal lobe. His doctors said to expect weakness on his right side, aphasia, language processing difficulties and maybe sequencing difficulties, challenges to impulse control — all these things governed by the area of his brain most affected.
W was alone for a point with his dad last night. He opened his eyes and asked his dad if he had his phone and if he could have it.
That part made me laugh through my tears.