Christopher's Homecoming 10

Christopher’s Homecoming 10

Sunday, June 13, 2010

It’s been awhile since I’ve written.  Eleven days, to be exact.  My how time flies… when you’re having fun?  When, for 18 days, you did not sleep from midnight to five am… just lying awake… watching the minutes tick by on the alarm clock?  When life as you knew it only 7 weeks ago is a distant memory because your time is no longer your own?  When your days are still filled with Dr. appointments, CT Scans and home-led cognitive therapy? When you can’t help but worry about your 13-year-old child stumbling over something as common as a curb, falling and hitting his head? When the simple act of being away from him for a couple of hours is stressful, wondering if the family members or friends who are ‘watching him’ in your absence are being vigilant enough? Today, worry; stew and fret are my new buddies.

I somehow feel as though I’ve stepped back in time.  Back about twelve years, that is.  Back to when Christopher was a toddler.  My thoughts are always three steps ahead of the ones he is taking.  My mind is filled with ‘what ifs’.  What if he slips and falls?  What if we get in an accident and he hits his head on the windshield?  What if his friends get a little over-zealous when hugging him ‘hello’ and they knock headsor they knock him over?  What if Chief jumps up on him and he falls down?  My heart skipped a beat when he told me that he and Emily had raced up the stairs at her school on Tuesday afternoon when they went to pick up some books and I thought,“what if he would have tripped, fallen and hit his head?”  It has been such a long time since I have had thoughts such as these. 

Actually, I never really did have thoughts about such things.  Oh, I knew they could happen, but my nature is not to worry.  Remember, it was only seven weeks and four days ago that Christopher called to tell me that he and his buddies were going to be out in the neighborhood looking for some ‘awesome trees to climb’.  It didn’t even enter my mind to worry about that.  Boys climb trees.  MY BOY climbs trees.  My concern that day was that they be home by 6:30 pm so that I could get them to youth group on time.  I wasn’t even worried when a neighbor stood pounding on my front door that evening at 6:30, asking if I was Christopher Ackerman’s mother, frantically beckoning to me through the side window.  And when she told me that there had been an accident, that it was really serious and they’d called 911, still I didn’t worry.  Remember my thoughts?  “Oh great… he’s broken and arm or a leg and there’s bone protruding through his skin… this means surgery… a cast… physical therapy… there goes soccer season… he must be so bummed!”  Little did I know how quickly life as I knew it was about to change. 

But today, I am not complaining about the changes we are living with.  Things are improving daily.  I’m finally sleeping again at night.  Oh, how wonderful that feels! We have settled into our new routine.  Our new normal actually feels, well… quite normal.  I have not only adjusted to, but have embraced having my boy home with me every day... all day long.  He and I are figuring out how to be together 24/7 while still giving each other a little space.  Well, I should say that Christopher has accepted the fact that every day, his mother needs a little space.  We stay in touch via text messaging.  Yes, you read that right… text messaging while in the same house.  I need to be alone for about an hour every day and he needs to stay connected, so he texts me when he has something to say.  Yesterday, I was in the office and he was in the family room.  He gave me a running commentary on the USA vs. England World Cup Soccer game.  He did a fine job keeping me apprised of all the action! 

I feel as though I’ve won the lottery in so many ways.  First of all, Christopher is alive!  I bet I think that thought about twenty-four times a day.  I am not exaggerating… I really do think to myself, “He is alive and that is a miracle.  He came so close to death.  I almost lost him.  I have so much to be thankful for.”  Not only is he alive, but also, he is still Christopher.  Remember on night five of his coma when Dr. Gayle told me exactly what I had asked for… the truth?  (Blog titled “Christopher’s Brain Injury 7).  She explained to me that the speech and personality areas of his brain had been injured.  That was by far the darkest night of my life. I’ll never forget my thoughts during those hours.  “I taught him to talk once, I’ll teach him to talk again.  But his personality?  NO… not his personality!”  And then when I got in my car the next day and the Amy Grant song, I Don’t Know Why was playing on the stereo… that lyric will be forever embedded in my brain, because it so perfectly described the journey we had suddenly found ourselves on…

“This is one of those moments, when all that really matters is crystal clear.

We are woven together by whatever threads of life that have brought us here.

We are stripped of all our layers, getting to the core.

Tell me something real and nothing more.

I don’t know why.  I don’t know how.  I don’t know where.

Maybe all I know is now.

So I’m here between the bookends of everything that was and what will be.

There’s a wealth of information but not so many answers it seems to me.

So I’ll face the unfamiliar and nothing is clear.

Only blinding faith can carry me from here.

Hold my hand and hold this moment.  Time sure feels precious, don’t it.

Life is always changing, this I know.

I don’t know why.  I don’t know how.  I don’t know where.

Maybe all I know is now.”

To this day, I can’t listen to that song without crying… without feeling as though I’ve been stabbed in the heart… the ache in my chest so strong that in my mind, I sink to my knees.  It happened last Thursday when Christopher and I were in the car, leaving the hospital after his CT Scan.  I was overwhelmed with emotion and I apologized to him for crying.  He just sat there and looked at me, his sweet face smiling, his heart breaking as he said, “I’m so sorry I made you go through all of this.”  “Oh, Christopher,” I said, “You have nothing to be sorry for!  I’m just so thankful that you’re sitting here next to me… and that you are still MY Christopher.” 

As I write this, the tears are flowing again, the pain so very real, the memory so vivid.  I don’t know if it will ever go away.  In some ways I hope it never does.  It is a daily reminder of where we were.  How precarious life is.  But most of all, of where we are today.  It is my reminder that I need to be thankful for every single day… every moment of every day.  Life can change in an instant, and while Christopher’s life has changed, which in turn has changed mine, he is still here, living, breathing, walking, talking, laughing and fully CHRISTOPHER ANDREW ACKERMAN.

I tell him that I feel as though these days, weeks and months, spending every waking moment together is what I now refer to as my ‘Lucky Strike Extra.’  It’s that extra bit of time that we were not planning to have.  Mothers and 13-year-old sons just don’t do this.  It isn’t normal to be attached at the hip, driving in the car from appointment to appointment.  To listen to music together on the radio or on his iPod for hours every day, talking about bands, lyrics and the beauty of song.  About how music possesses the ability, the magic to transport us back in time.  To play games such as Banagrams and Password every day, both of us being rather competitive when we play because we are such ‘word fanatics.’  We argue about whether the word one of us created is real or not.  We Google the definition of a word given in Password, always challenging each other, at times getting into a heated debate over the validity of a definition. 

We’ve had wonderful conversations about the complexities of the brain, the body and the amazing doctors and nurses who cared for him.  He spent last week reading my blog.  I started reading it to him the week after he came out of his coma but he wasn’t yet ready to hear what I’d written.  He didn’t believe all that I was saying and it was a rather scary ‘story’.  So I simply told him that it was there if he ever wanted to read it.  I’m not sure what compelled him to begin reading it last week, but he was ready… I guess the time was right.  He could only handle several posts per day, though.  He would read for a while, then come to me and talk about all that he had absorbed.  He was quite moved by my story, which he is now coming to realize is his story.

 I believe that he is feeling guilty on some level about all that happened. At one point, he expressed concern about the cost of his medical care.  He was relieved to understand how our health care coverage works and to know that Paul will not have to work longer hours, nor do we have to sell our house to pay the bills (I guess the $30,000 helicopter bill caught his attention!)  He feels badly that we were so worried about him.  He has apologized numerous times for being ‘so mean’ to me during the time he was going through withdrawal.  I shrugged that off, telling him that I would never hold it against him since he was a bit crazy during that time.  But I believe that I need to sit down with him and have a heart-to-heart conversation. One in which I reassure him that I will NEVER resent him because of all that I went through during his hospitalization.  I was telling my friend Mike about this and he suggested that it would be a great opportunity to talk with Christopher about grace.  I love that.  What a beautiful way to teach my son about a mother’s love and about grace.  Grace, what a lovely thing…

Yes, things are definitely better these days.  I’ve won a lottery of sorts.  I’m thoroughly enjoying my Lucky Strike Extra.  I still don’t know why this happened… I don’t know how I got through it… I don’t know where this will end up… All I DO know is now, today, this hour, this minute, and that is how I will continue to move forward.  Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute… humbled, thankful, and looking forward to teaching my child about grace.

With love, Laura

P.S.  I have decided to re-post the slideshow I made several weeks back using Amy Grant’s song, I Don’t Know Why.  It is a beautiful reminder of where we were, how far we’ve come in such a short time, and of all that really matters.  Hope you enjoy it… again!