"Elias cover your mouth," Olive says to her big brother, as he coughs at the table.
When you use your arms to stand, common courtesies like covering your mouth when you cough aren't always possible. When your brain processes the world differently, more concretely than most, courtesy or manners can also be hard to comprehend.
"Elias say please," Olive reminds her brother when he asks for water.
Olive turns three this month. Elias will be nine in February. And yet in some ways, she is already looking out for him. Elias's little helper: Ms. Olive. The younger sister who will always be wiser than her years.
It won't be long before she starts asking why. And not just to delay bedtime or engage her Mama, but to understand her brother's challenges.
Why Mama why?
And then there's his story of arriving four month premature, breaking free of my left uterus at 24 weeks, spending 94 days in the NICU... and hers of staying happily tucked in my right one till full term.
Why Mama why?
All these years, I've been waiting for Elias to ask the difficult questions. We learned about his impaired vision first, then his cerebral palsy, and it wasn't until I realized he had Autism too, that I understood his lack of curiosity about his differences. He doesn't worry about how others perceive him or spend time comparing himself to others, so he has yet to ask me why he is different.
I know Olive will.
Why Mama why?
And this is where I sometimes wish I could fall back on my faith, to explain to her God's will.
God.
Those three letter stumps me. I just wrote and deleted three times, scared to say I'm not sure I believe. Not sure I believe this is part of God's plan.
Why Mama why?
I don't know how I'll answer those big brown eyes when she seeks an explanation, when she tries to understand the story of their births.
A brother and sister from two different wombs.
Maybe its why I write. To find my way to an answer I can lean on when my own balance doesn't seem right. To find my faith in the pause between sentences.
In the stories I don't want to lose.
We share the same dynamic in our family as well. From the youngest taking on a responsible leadership role, to those very hard questions of why. We lean on our faith to carry us through and comfort even when it is so hard and frustrating. My daughter with CP asks the hard question of 'why God made her heart stop' when she was born. A hard and heart-wrenching question that I can only answer with, 'I don't know, but he moved the doctors and nurses to work on you beyond reasonable time to restore your heartbeat. God has given you the ability to love, think, feel, and enjoy, when very easily we would have lost you.' Her little sister will ask 'why didn't God make her heart stop too' and I fumble through with something unintelligable. It hurts and angers when you have to go through trial, a life long one, but I can hope and have faith that glory will be found in the triumphs that we find along the way. Relief is found when we can submit our pain and anxieties, but it is so difficult to relinquish.
You certainly aren't alone. I am especially shaken when my little one will correct her big sister in the same tone and inflection that I use. This makes me feel shame that my frustration is audible, perceived, and replicated.
Oh the pendulum of heart.
Posted by: Kimberly | 12/10/2012 at 06:25 PM
Kimberly, I hear my frustration replicated as well and know that same shame. Thank you for your honesty and for your beautiful words. I love the way you answer your oldest daughter's questions. I'm not sure if Elias will ever ask but I will remember the way you focus on the response that saved our babies when their hearts stopped. I envy your faith and feel lost at times without a sure sense of a plan from above. So I stumble forward as best I can, pulling from the comfort of others. Making my way in the dark...
Posted by: Christy | 12/15/2012 at 12:08 AM