Yesterday, I found myself in a conversation with Ian and Larissa and Mary about all that the church and so many others did for us in bringing Ian home from the hospital. We told about the many, many kind people who helped us tirelessly for a season build an addition (e.g. organizers, builders, contractors, givers, suppliers, agencies, businesses, family, etc., etc.). Ian was thoroughly engaged in what we were saying, nodding and shaking his head and smiling at all the appropriate spots.
Then, it occurred to me that he was eating popcorn. Popcorn! He was reaching into the big can of popcorn over and over stuffing his face with popcorn, some of it not making it to its destination – a lot like the way I eat popcorn! He was thoroughly engaged in our conversation, though, like he was watching a movie. I stopped my reflections when I realized again how far he had come. “Ian!” I blurted out, “you’re eating popcorn!” That must have sounded a little silly from his perspective, but I couldn’t help it. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed of giving him even a kernel of popcorn for fear that he would choke on it.
Mary and I continued the conversation with him tonight about all the ways God had blessed us through so many people in helping to bring Ian home. Once again, he was fully engage, nodding and shaking his head at appropriate times. At one point Mary said something like, “people in the church, your friends, they really love you!” The grin on his face was priceless.
“God’s majesty never imples his remoteness from those who look to him; it implies instead his exhaustive attention to detail, and his inexhaustible ability to care for his faithful.” ESV Study Bible notes to Psalm 113.
We read this in our quiet time yesterday and I asked Ian if he had any specific examples of that of his life. Right away he mouthed “my speech.” It really affected me that even tho this has been a particularly hard and frustrating week of speech therapy for Ian, he knows that God is paying specific attention to the detail of his speaking.
Ian then told me that speech has been the hardest therapy he’s ever worked on and it’s the one he wants the most. It motivates me to pray for that to be worked out in him more. Specific prayers would be that we would both have much grace and patience with each other as many times I can’t figure out what he’s trying to tell me. Also, that Ian would be able to get his voice working more and more often as he’s mouthing words.
Here are some recent pics from a trip to Pittsburgh. Thank you for praying.
Sorry for the lack of posts. Here are some updates
Got another loaner mobile chair yesterday which is really nice. Even though he hasn’t done it for awhile, he picked it right back up and is doing better than he had before.
Continues to work on speaking. Getting the voice out is hard, but he’s very diligent and always willing to work on it.
Still doing well in therapy and doing new things each day
( Sorry, David. It’s because we like Sarah better than you.) Ian wanted me to write a post about how to communicate with him. I think that we all tend to forget that we should be communicating with Ian just like we would with anyone else. Here are some (hopefully helpful) tips on how to talk to Ian.
*Talk to Ian like you would have before the accident. You don’t have to talk slowly, or loudly, or differently at all than you would to another friend.
*Ian most clearly says yes and no by nodding and shaking his head. If he’s not doing that, just ask him to and he will. It’s really really clear. He can also give you a thumbs up or down.
*Ian might try to mouth things to you. If you can’t understand him, just ask one of us to help you.
*Remember that Ian is aware of everything going on around him. Sometimes people talk about Ian to someone else, but Ian is close enough that he can hear it. It’s helpful for me to remember what it would be like for me if someone were talking about me to someone else right in front of me. We should either include Ian in that conversation or talk about it to that person later.
*Ian really seems to enjoy just having someone talk to him. Just let him know what’s going on in your life.
*More likely than not, you probably don’t need to introduce yourself to him. I know that’s different than a year ago when we were asking you to just remind him of who you are. He’s never communicated to me that he’s forgotten who certain people are, so you’re safe just assuming that he remembers you.
I hope these are helpful. I think the biggest thing to remember is that we treat Ian the same now as we used to.
Thank you all for praying. Ian continues to work really, really hard and is impressing his therapists like crazy:)
Ian continues to work very hard to talk to us. He’s been doing really really well in speech therapy. I went with him on Monday and he said about four or five sentences with his voice. Apparently he was doing it today too in speech. He is mouthing words all the time and trying really hard to get his voice out at the same time.
While this is wondrerful, it also presents a lot of really frustrating and challenging situations. Please continue to pray for Ian’s speech- that he would have the knowledge to get his voice working when he needs to, that he could form words, and for patience.
I’m not focused enough right now to write a really well-thought out post about grief- but I’m not even sure why I’m waiting until I would be focused enough because I would be waiting for a long time. But I did want to share a few thoughts that came up in a conversation with my friend Jen over Christmas.
I think it’s important to remember that even now, while Ian is making significant process, our (at least my) grief hasn’t changed. And for others who have suffered and are suffering, you know that it runs too deeply to be easily removed.
Jen asked me how our grief has changed over the past two years. It was a great question and made me stop and think. I described it more of how the feeling of the grief has changed.
When Ian was first in the hospital, grief hand’t hit me yet. It was all a whirlwind and instead of grief, I would describe it as intense sadness, confusion and pain. As time went on, and I slowly began to see how much Ian’s life had changed, the grief began to grow. And it grew intensely. Constantly slamming me in the face. Never hidden and always there. Everywhere I looked I realized that Ian wasn’t there with me.
Time does nothing to grief but make it deeper and more wearying. Two years has not erased any grief. It hasn’t made it easier. Time has only made the grief deeper as each day we live one more day without Ian the way he used to be. To re-use one of Steve’s illustrations, instead of an intense grief, it now is always lingering, always over our shoulder, always ready to manifest itself.
Ian’s progress doesn’t change my grief. It encourages me, but it doesn’t even touch the grief that I know. Even if Ian were to be healed completely today, I would still grieve for what he has suffered and endured. I would still grieve for what happened to Ian September 30.
There is much to say about grief, but this is it for now. For those who encounter significant suffering in their lives, maybe the grieving never ends, until meeting Jesus.
Ian was laying in his bed watching a football game yesterday, and I plopped myself in his wheelchair and joined him. At one point I got up to go get a snack, and I thought of the deer bologna Bill gave us. I got the bologna and a knife, sat down again in Ian’s wheelchair beside him and started slicing off some pieces. After a couple pieces I looked over at Ian. Two and a half years ago I wouldn’t have given a second thought to offering to cut him a couple slices, but that’s not something I would have thought of doing since the wreck…until now. I was actually a little surprised by the thought, but so many things have changed in the last couple months I knew it was a reasonable thing now. I said, “Hey Ian! You want some this?” Immediately he gave me a thumbs up. So, I cut a thin slice for him, held it in front of him and with his thumb and forefinger he took it from my hand and ate it. Over and over I shared deer bologna with him that way…watching a football game.
But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Even while led through dark valleys and long nights that turn into even longer mornings, there is the sweet, but sometimes distant, promise of God’s faithfulness. It isn’t always revealed to us while we’re in the valley and we can’t often see it through our suffering eyes. But His faithfulness is there, working itself out for us. It doesn’t always show up in our quiet times, or during lonely nights when we feel we need it most. It also doesn’t always work itself out like we think it should. But it is there- to me almost like a quiet stream always running behind us, or in front of us up there in the fog somewhere.
God is faithful. And his faithfulness is great. It has taken two years for us to have tangible examples of His faithfulness to answer long-lived prayers, but we have received some. 2008 was a big year for Ian. It stirs my heart and Ian’s heart to worship as we recount his deeds:
*He spoke for the first time in two years and continues to learn more and more words
*He smiles
*He now eats and drinks full meals
*He can make decisions for himself and for our relationship
*He can walk and stand with less and less help each time
*He can communicate clearly and consistently to us
Each day God gives a littl bit of Ian back to us. We still have so far to go but have come so far already.
Thank you all for reading, and praying, and sending cards, and fasting, and being faithful to Ian for nearly two and a half years. That is a picture of Christ’s faithfulness to Ian.
Here’s to a 2009 that is better than 2008. May it be filled with more laughter than tears and more prosperity than sorrow. May this be the year that Ian sees deliverance.
