My Little Buddy.
I wanted to take a minute to talk about my nine year-old son, David.
My boy is a wonder. He’s kind and sweet and smart and a big personality who lights up a room. He’s good at sports, especially soccer, and he’s a legitimately great actor. He laughs easily, and has excellent comic timing.
He’s just…amazing.
And this whole thing with me has been hard on him.
Look, I know it’s been hard on everybody, but, when you’re nine, you don’t have the balanced perspective of an adult to experience stuff like this.
And my wife, who is a saint, got to choose to be with me, and stay with me.
The kid has no choice.
It also means that there’s been a rapid expansion of his chore-doing repertoire, as I can no longer do things like take the trash out (a chore that I’m happy to relinquish after 50 years…I’ve done my time.)
There is little time that goes by in the house where the phrase, “David, can you do me a favor?” isn’t being yelled from one room to another. And, though I know he doesn’t love it, he does it.
When we go out, he hoists my wheelchair into the car and out and makes sure I get in safely. Sometimes, he offers to push me just because.
Because he loves me.
And, yeah, I know he does, because he shows me all the time. That’s one of the great things about this experience, is that I get to take the moments that come and really reflect on them.
But I think this whole thing has changed his perspective. In fact, I know it has. In both good ways and bad. He’s a lot more curious about my body, and how I feel, and what my rehab is like, and all of that stuff. He (as previously mentioned) named my stump (Jimmy), and respectfully asks if he can touch it all the time.
This is not as weird as it seems. I think he’s acclimating. And that’s awesome.
Recently, he told me about the first couple nights I was in the hospital. He was real scared. He thought I was going to die. He called my wife at 3:30 in the morning and asked if he could come be where we were, but he couldn’t, because the ICU only lets people over 18 visit.
For the first time, I imagined all of this from his perspective, and it made me cry. My little buddy was scared for me, and for himself, and for our family, and he had no way of helping or knowing what was happening.
That must be legitimately terrifying.
Even now, thinking about him in that situation makes me a little weepy.
But, fret not! I am here and so his he (quite literally, building LEGO sitting next to me at the table, blissfully unaware of my psychoanalyzing him in a blog), and we’ve become a peculiar little team.
We go to the mailbox, and the movies, and the mall. He is my lifeline when we’re out in the world alone. I can only move if he can help, and he does help. He doesn’t always love it, but he does it anyway.
Because he loves me.
And it’s a lot of faith and responsibility to put in a kid. I know that. But he’s rising to it every day.
And I love him. So much.
I didn’t know if I would enjoy being a parent when I was younger, and I certainly wouldn’t have developed these parameters on my own, but a large bit of what I’m thankful for in this experience is that he and I have become closer.
We see each other more clearly now.
He’s my little buddy, and truly one of the best people I know.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to listening about the “fun fact” that thresher sharks have the fastest tails in the ocean.
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As always, if you have it in you, please give a thought to donating time or money to Hospice Austin. They do amazing work for people who are going through the hardest thing a person can face.
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