During deployment, time is a strange thing. The hours drag
on, but days fly by as one blends into another in a monotonous routine of
survival. 189 days - 4536 hours -
272,160 minutes of filling an emptiness that deployment thrusts upon a family. We
were going to figure out how to make time pass quickly, but I wasn’t quite sure
yet of the details.
When I was driving Patrick to the airport, we were
discussing all of the random things I would do with the kids while he was away.
I casually asked, “What would you do if
Claire learned to walk while you are gone?”
“I’d shit my pants,” he replied seriously.
Challenge accepted.
As long as deployment seems, the time since we just put
Claire into a walker February 3, 2015 seems like an eternity ago. Her therapist
was convinced it was time to get her “vertical”, but she lacked the strength or
coordination to propel the walker forward. However, as you pulled her arms, she
moved first her right leg and then her left. Two small movements to give us a
glimmer of hope that walking would someday be possible.
Fast forward over two years, and that day was still not
here. Despite countless therapy
appointments and hours of practice at home, she simply stood there in her
walker unless someone pulled her arms or pushed the walker from behind. At some
point, hope begins to waver. At doctor appointments, I sometimes can’t decide
if I want answers to the questions in my head, but we all know that my filter
doesn’t always work well. During one appointment about a year ago with her orthopedic
surgeon, I asked if he thought she would ever walk. He paused, thought
carefully, and firmly replied, “I don’t know. But, I do know, that if she is
going to, most patients walk by the time they are five or six. After that, the
odds just don’t seem to be in their favor.” Clearly, he didn’t have a filter
either, and I love him for his brutal honesty. The clock was ticking more
loudly than ever after her fifth birthday in March.
The week before Memorial Day was especially frustrating.
Luke had come down with a stomach bug, work was crazy in anticipation of the
long weekend, and I was in a foul mood because I despise holiday weekends when Patrick is away. Per our usual
evening routine to help time pass quickly, I was sitting on a little scooter in
front of Claire, alternating between pulling her along a few feet and letting
her stand there to see if she would move on her own. In one of my less stellar
parenting moments, I angrily pleaded with her, “Will you please just move your feet.” I stared at her, willing her to move
before I completely gave up for the night as was the case every other night.
The walker inched forward.
I lost my ever loving mind.
Sobbing, I begged her to take another step.
She started laughing hysterically, and then she inched the
walker forward again.
Step after step she propelled the walker forward about three
feet, the wheels of the walker smearing my tears across the floor. In that one
moment her entire world shifted.
And we weren’t going to tell a soul other than the nanny and
her therapists. We had two months to practice for the best surprise ever.
To Be Continued…..
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