THE LAW OF COMPENSATION

Out to lunch with old friends,

LaRene who is in the middle of chemotherapy,

still facing radiation,

expressed her concern for her husband of

less than two years

who nursed his first wife

in the last years of her illness;

and for 55 years has taken care

of their

Special Needs restless autistic son

who has never talked;

is gradually getting so he can’t walk.

Several times a night

he’s up with him to go to the bathroom;

changing clothes and bedding

when necessary.

“If he would just show any love,

any appreciation,

any emotion.

Does Eddy express gratitude?

Show feelings?”

Yes.

Beautifully.

And it makes all the difference.

“It’s sure good, Mom.”

“You sure look nice, Mom.”

“Do you love me, Mom?”

“That’s a kiss for you, Mom.”

“Who do you love?”

“I sure enjoyed the dinner I had last night.”

“It’s good, Mom.”

“I love this Ward, Mom.”

“I love the Shepherds, Mom.”

“Thank you for the dinner, Mom.”

“I love this planet, Mom.”

“Thank you for taking me to the play.”

“Hi gorgeous.”
"Did you have a good time last night?"

“Thanks for lunch,

even thought it was last night’s dinner.”

“Thank you for the breakfast, Mom,

and for last night’s nasty dinner.”

When his dad teasingly said “Credit Onion”

Instead of “Credit Union”,

He warns,

“Somebody sure can’t enunciate.”

And my personal favorite,

“Don’t upset your wife.”

he cautions his dad.

Each night the last thing he says

as he turns out the light is,

“I’m enjoying the earth ride, Mom.”

Everything he says thrills me.

First three years,

he didn’t talk.

“I want him to talk,” I wail to my mother

as I drive her to her radiation treatments.

“It’s okay,” Mama comforts,

“He’ll be just fine in the next life.”

“NO!

I want to get to know him NOW.

I don’t want him to be a stranger

in our home.

I want to know what he’s thinking,

feeling, needing, hoping,

dreaming.

I don’t want his soul to be forever

locked in a silent hurt body.”

My prayers were answered.

 To this day

we spend mornings together,

playing educational games,

singing hymns,

reading,

triking,

swimming.

From 1:30 on, he entertains himself.

Selective TV watching,

music, DVD’s.

How I cherish his expressions

of love and appreciation

daily.

My heart aches for my friend LaRene,

her husband and his son.

And to paraphrase Lance Armstrong*,

“It’s not About the Cancer.”

When Ed was 7 years old,

I wrote in my journal:

I wish he were “normal”,

with good vision and coordination

and strength and confidence.

But he isn't.

And deep down

beneath all the hurt

and prayers and wishing

and even guilt,

I feel the most precious,

peaceful bond of love,

appreciation,

and admiration

for our little seven-year-old son;

. . .sometimes in my mind,

the tables are turned,

and I feel sorry

for all the mothers

who never experience that deep repose

which transcends all other feelings.

I am sure LaRene and Gary feel

this compensation towards Jeffrey also.

*It’s Not About the Bike;

My Journey Back to Life.”  By Lance Armstrong, winner of the Tour de France a record seven consecutive times, after having survived testicular cancer.