I Continue the Telling of this past year (part 2}...
The second night in hospital was worse than the first. The first night I was so shocked, stunned, almost disbelieving. It was a strange reality. The second night the anxiety storm kicked in and I was caught in the vortex. Not only was I up all night to keep him breathing, but fear overtook me. I worried about money - how we would cover all the medical bills we were racking up. I worried about Timo's recovery - his pain, his health, his rest, his soul. I worried about me. I run a depression-soul-fever in general; how could I possibly take on the round the clock care of a 17 year old who doesn't want help with anything?
As we encountered nurse after nurse and checked in with each doctor, they queried Timo about his life. Through a number of ups and downs, Timo had decided he would move on from high school and embark on working full-time and pursuing trade school, and possibly some community college classes in plumbing and welding. He had just found a full-time job doing tree trimming and was loving it. A nasty incident with a wasp nest had him miss a few days the week before his accident. Someone sent me an article while I was staying with Timo those first few nights that showed that bee or wasp venom might have an anti-inflammatory effect. I wondered if God hadn't planned every detail to ensure Timo's best outcome.
Those days are a blur - is it because I block it out? Because it was so soul-crushing? So horrific? Probably. At the time it was simply a matter of doing the next thing, listening to doctors, learning how to assist - learning when to back off.
In all the details, I see how God was working to bring growth, change, and hope for us. When the doctors asked what grade he was in, he replied, 'Uh, I'm done with high school.' They were so gentle, thoughtful, and kind. 'You won't be able to work for a number of months. Now might be a good time to look into going back to school.' Timo listened. I sat quietly observing.
A few months before, I had taken Timo to tour a homeschool co-school - a one day a week program that provides classes and assignments, structure and accountability, and most importantly to me, a community. I had hoped Timo would take to this idea, but he firmly told me he was done with high school. Mind you, our parenting style is such that normally I would say 'We make the decisions and you go along with it.' But it is silly to think a particular manner of parenting applies to all kids in all situations at all times. Over the years we had learned we would have to adjust our dictatorship-style parenting and overhaul it entirely. The methods we wanted to implement simply would not, and could not, work. I can't explain it all here publicly. So please know there is a lot I am not describing. But parenting choices are arrived at through meandering pathways, and here we were with a 17 year-old who was done with high school.
That doesn't mean we simply resigned ourselves to his choices. No. I prayed. And prayed and prayed and prayed some more. If I can't make my kid do what I think is best, I can certainly plead before the heavenly throne and cast all my cares at the feet of my reigning King. And trusting His power, I can confidently rest in what He does. Although allowing my kid to undergo this severe trial caused much cringing in my soul. I can't pretend to analyze or understand all the mysterious workings of God and how He allows what He does. This past year I've seen the loss of a number of people, young and old. I am baffled why these tragedies occur, and realize our experience, though we are grateful for the outcome, could have been so much different.
Back to the issue of school. I had hoped Timo would choose to attend this co-school, but he hadn't. But there we were with his limbs useless for the time being. I never even thought to suggest he think of it again. I knew to keep quiet, as he hates to be manipulated into anything. He looked over at me and said, "Hey, do you think you could call the lady at Greenhouse and see if it's too late to go there?" I was dumbfounded. And I did nothing. It was probably some random thought he had and I couldn't take him seriously.
A few days later Timo was released to return home. It was a Saturday. "Hey, did you ever call the lady at Greenhouse and ask her if it's too late to enroll?" said Timo, over supper. "No, I haven't." I replied. "Why not? Can you ask her?" he retorted. He took the initiative to prompt me. School had already begun that week. We had never even applied. It was too late in the process, I thought.
The next day we went to church, and nearby I saw the head of the school. I didn't always see him at church. Once in a while - maybe. But that day, I saw him sitting there. As soon as the service ended, I went over and talked to him. I told him what had just transpired the previous week and asked if their school would ever consider admitting someone even after the first classes had begun. He told me it was quite unlikely, and unusual, but that he would discuss with the principal and they would get back to me.
All of this was an incredible provision for us. God placed people before us in our time of need and opened pathways that seemed impossible. I had hoped Timo could get more schooling from his high school years. And here we were with a potential to enroll him in a small, kind, welcoming, community. It probably doesn't surprise you to read that Timo's enrollment was fast-tracked and he made it to the second week of classes. We were on a crash course of navigating wheelchairs and limited mobility and use of hands. And this school opened their arms and welcomed him.
There was a school picnic and Timo hadn't wanted to go. He couldn't hold a spoon and didn't want to eat in public. All the kids would be running around playing. He would be confined to a wheelchair. (He was already beginning to take steps and stand, but it was a painful and slow process). We encouraged him to go to the picnic anyway. Timo's limitations were temporary. Many suffer with permanent losses that hamper every movement, every task. Timo was learning empathy through his own pain.
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