kiwords

Craig James came home earlier this month. After a while I started talking to Tre and Max about going over to visit him. They were vague and non-committal whenever I brought it up, and I didn’t push it.

After a while, I started to get antsy. It was time to get over there and say hi, already. I ran into Sue, Craig James’ mom, at the mailbox, and asked if we could come over that afternoon. She said sure, around 4 would be great, and it was set.

When it was almost time to head over, I corralled the boys and talked to them about it. We discussed what Craig James would look like, in his wheelchair. The fact that he couldn’t talk. I told them that he could understand more than it might seem he could, so it was a good thing to talk to him, even if it felt weird to be talking to someone who can’t talk back.

“Any questions?” They shook their heads and milled around, anxiously pacing in circles in the kitchen. Tre turned and nudged my arm with his head. His chin wobbled.

“I’m scared.” Max nodded and glared fiercely at his shoes, trying not to cry. I sighed and pulled them close, one nervous boy in each arm.

“Ok, guys. He looks different, he acts different, and he does different things. But it’s still Craig James. You have to learn a new way of being his friend, but he’s still the guy across the street. It might feel weird, but that’s ok. You can do this. And he still needs his friends.”

They agreed and shrugged off my arms, and we marched across the street. I was amazed to see him, after the pictures of the emaciated boy in the hospital. He looked like Craig James. His hair was short, and the line of the incision on his scalp was still visible, but his face, his eyes…it was Craig James.

I was struck by his shoes, perfectly white sneakers. Boys’ shoes just don’t stay that clean, and I kept glancing at his still feet in those white sneakers.

His aunt and his sister, Megan, were with him at a table in the kitchen. They played games with him while his mom made phone calls in the dining room behind us, trying to sort out appointments and schedules. All of them told us of Craig James’ accomplishments over the last few days and weeks.

“He petted the cat this morning.”

“We took him over to the piano and asked him where middle C was and he pointed right to it.”

“Yesterday he only recognized a few letters, today he knows them all!”

I listened to their reports, facts they collect like jewels, like talismans of Craig James’ hope for his future. These are not people who expect his shoes to remain unscuffed. Their optimism and joy astound me.

Tre and Max hovered nearby, turning to say things to their friend as they occurred, awkwardly playing with the fishing game next to him. They were delighted when he waved hello or pointed at a letter for them. They didn’t know what to say or do, exactly, but they were glad to be there.

After a little bit we went home, and Tre couldn’t wait to report Craig James’ condition to Amma and Appa.

“I’m gonna go visit him more!” he declared, “I’m gonna go see him.”

Today he went over to say hi for a few minutes. He couldn’t stay long, because Craig James was eating when he went over, but he visited for a bit, and then came home.

“I told him about the Insane Aquarium game I got for the computer, and what level I got to,” he reported to me, “and did you know he can give a thumbs-up? It looks like this:” He held his hand out in a slack fist, thumb extended. “It was a thumbs-up! It just looked a little different.”

It seems unfair, after all Craig James has been through, that it is he who is giving my son a gift now. But by knowing him, Tre is learning that looking different doesn’t change the basic meaning of a thumbs-up…or a person.

If you want to check out how Craig James is doing, you can take a look here.