"Ca y est!"is a french term that means "We are there! We did it! We have arrived..."
Today I sighed a huge sigh of relief. And just kept thinking, "Ca y est!"
Another huge milestone for Parker was reached today....
I have worried about and dreamt for years for this day to come, and it is finally here! Parker started traditional or what I call "hearing" preschool today. And I didn't realize how much I emotionally needed to see Parker & Penelope walk hand-in-hand to school until they did it this morning.
The english teacher, the french teacher and the assistant were all very welcoming to Parker. It really went off without a hitch.
But all morning I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both, repeatedly.
It's the first time in 10 years that I have no children in the house for a space of a few hours in the mornings. And I honestly never dreamed we'd come as far as we have to this point with Parker. The day I realized that he would likely not start school with his twin was a hard day for me. And I have dread the outcome of the future up until now. The harsh reality of the ravishing destructive bacteria on my baby's brain--and the long term effects on his learning are yet to be determined. I realized that he would go to a deaf school, and that his twin would attend the same school that all of our other children have attended.
And yet, he did, basically, start school with his twin. A bilingual school that accepted my deaf son. No, it's not as it would have been (with no hoping & praying and special meetings to see if they could accommodate him), and I should be allowed to mourn that, right? It's just a little different than it could have been-- with a lot more fanfare than I expected way back when.
And its glorious. My heart soars. In some sense I feel very whole again....
Mostly. Kind of.
But I feel more broken, again, too.
I can feel my heart's scars pulsing as I type. What have been sealed scars for many months reopened today.
I can feel my broken and re-sealed heart leaking a bit, and I'm not sure whether it's because I am so filled with joy that it is tearing at the seams, or that the wounds have actually broken holes through the sutures again for suffering's sake. That the reality of these next few years and the outcome of all of the running around & hard work and therapies all manifest in the lasting effects of the meningitis in relation to Parker and his learning will come to head makes my heart beat heavy--and hard.
Will he be able to speak? Will he understand? French? English? Signs? Can he process speech and respond appropriately? Will he make friends? Will he understand when the other kids question him about his hearing head-gear? Will he be ashamed? Or proud? Will he be afraid? Or unafraid? Will he stand tall or run and hide? Will his twin stand up for him, and teach others to accept him as she has? Or will she, too, be ashamed of him, his differences? Will he be able to make circles, squares, triangles? Arms and legs, on a body while coloring? Will he learn the colors red, yellow, and blue--as their class objectives this year? Will he be able to run and jump and play without me worrying that he will fall and break his head open--- every single time?
My heart bleeds.
It bleeds today. It sort of oozes with every passing beat.
It's busting at the seams with hope and excitement at this day, and the future, but it is aching at the pain and suffering and exhaustive work this bacteria has given us-me and my son. My family. I bleed for pure fatigue. I bleed for joy. I bleed for pain. I bleed for anticipation. I bleed for wonder of what the future holds. I bleed.
I envision huge, loving, strong Godly hands cupping my heart ever-so-gently with skilled care and watching it beat, and seeing those wounds and wishing I didn't have to suffer. All the while I can feel Him whispering to me, "It is for your own good, for learning and growth, and understanding of eternal things". He whispers assurance to me as He takes my beating heart, holds it a little more tightly to prevent the wounds from bleeding out. Then with very skillful hands, works His magic thread and needle to repair those wounds once again. I know the scars remain, but I feel reassurance knowing He is mindful of me and my broken heart that still beats, and still oozes and still yearns for flawlessness. He sews up my pain again, holding my heart in His hands. Keeping it together, and watching it beat, assuring it beats. He wills it to beat and keep on beating. I accept it. I accept his skill, His knowledge. I welcome His love.
Sometimes I still ache, and I completely entirely feel those gaping scars on my beating heart, but they haven't bled for months. Sometimes they leak, sometimes they gush, but for now they are mending, I can feel the healing master and His thread at work. Keeping this little heart of mine at work.
Big progress. Progress.
Ca y est, Parker. YAY for the special chair that arrived in time, but honestly those little kids are moving around so often I wonder how often Parker will really actually be seated in that little chair. And Hooray for EAB for welcoming him with open arms. VERY open arms.
Nagette, the woman assigned to help Parker said to him when he arrived, "Nous sommes tres contentes que tu est la avec nous, Parker!" I could tell that she meant it. I bit my lip and held back my tears. At the parent/teacher meeting tonight I thanked the teacher for her acceptance and attention and tolerance of Parker. She wept a little with me (which is VERY un-french), assuring me that Parker would learn many things from the other children and her this year, but that the lessons he would teach his comrades would be life lessons of compassion and tolerance and acceptance. That his presence would teach them things they could not learn otherwise. I found her to be a shining, perfect angel at that very moment. I anticipate other moments in the next 9 months that I might repeat those sentiments.
So I bleed a little today. But in hopes for the future, my sutures reopen. I allow the Master to take my heart in His loving, gentle hands and heal it, fix it, make it anew, or at least block the flow and allow me, and us to continue onward. Ever onward. Beat heart, beat, and heal. Bleed if you must, but just keep on beating. For him, for them, for us.
