Lunch time.
I hold Big Sis in my lap, her tense body and arched back resisting my hold. Stiff limbs flail, her head tossing back and forth as her mouth opens in gurgled yells. The little food that makes it past her lips gags her as she screams and tosses her head. Coughing, she spits up the paste and continues to cry and resist my attempts to calm her. I’m just trying to feed her. Pain, frustration, darkness…. What am I supposed to do?
I thought it was a battle, a battle to keep her alive. A battle to get her to consume enough nutrients to live another day. A battle to do my job as an “Auntie” and caretaker.
I didn’t know it was a battle for me to see through her eyes.
I start the day armed to the teeth with a bottle, a bib and a spit-up rag. I’m gonna get her to drink all of the bottle, dang it. But it seemed like half of what I got into her mouth poured out the sides of her lips and the other half she spit out when she was crying. Somehow she managed to swallow a small percentage, but the pain in her face and contortions of her body made my victory vanish like the wind. What was I supposed to do? I’m doing everything I’m supposed to be doing: supporting her at an angle, letting her breathe, trying my best to do the job right…. But why did we both come away from breakfast like we had just been beaten up?
At lunch, I was about ready to hand the job over to Christy, but I knew there was something in the experience that meant I couldn’t quit. I couldn’t have told you why at the time, but I needed to do this. I didn’t know what I was asking for.
Trying to prop up her head and support her stiff body, I forgot to notice her wildly swinging fist. Before I knew it, the bowl of mush was dumped OUT of my hand and ONTO her head. I had to bite my tongue before I said something I didn’t mean. Cleaning up the mess, I prepared to dive in again… Only to have her flying fist descend right onto the prepped and loaded spoon. Choking and gagging on every bite I spooned into her mouth, her cries tore at my heart. I felt like I was torturing her, but I was only trying to feed her! Her jaw would be set so firm I had to shove the food between her teeth. Arched back, shaking head and flailing limbs made me want to give up. “If you won’t let me feed you, feed yourself!” But she couldn’t. She needed me.
That afternoon she was crying in pain and frustration, tossing and turning uncomfortably in her resting place. Her face twisted as she cried, but she could do nothing to ease her own comfort. Helpless, she cried alone. I carefully lifted her stiff form onto my lap, seeking to find a way to make her stop crying. Stroking her belly made her calm down, gently restraining her flailing arms kept her from striking herself in the face. Suddenly, my mindset shifted. Instead of trying to keep her from crying, I found myself trying to make her happy. I was no longer trying to do a job, to complete a task. I was seeking to LOVE.
As she whimpered and tossed her head, I brought it to rest gently on my chest. As I stroked her back, I hummed a tune, letting the vibrations of the song in my chest, the rise and fall of my breathing and the steady beat of my heart bring her to a calm rest. The fists stopped waving, the head stopped moving and the mouth ceased crying. Instead her own breathing slowed to a steady rhythm with mine. Her tense body relaxed just the faintest bit as it rested in my arms.
Sometimes, I can’t change somebody’s life. Sometimes, I may be frustrated because no matter how hard I try, I don’t see myself making a difference. But sometimes, I just need to come along side them and love and support them. I don’t need to see change. I don’t need to know that I accomplished something. I don’t need to DO anything but love.
