bogeyandruby

When my son first introduced us to his girlfriend, Isa, two years ago, I remarked to my husband that there was a shift in the usual thrum of our household, normally a backdrop of whistling birds, whining dogs, Neil Young and our trusty Rabbit Air purifier.

I have one son from my first marriage, an only child who was frequently lonely growing up, who only stopped asking for a sibling when it was clear it just wasn’t going to happen. He takes up the least amount of real estate in a dwelling where the rest of its inhabitants frequently jostle for space on the podium.

Enter Isa; queue joy, laughter and vitality. Electricity buzzing, fingertips tingling.

You know that saying, you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone. Well, we didn’t know what was missing until it entered the house.

Sean has dyspraxia. The official diagnosis is Developmental Coordination Disorder (DCD). The way I explain it to him is that the muscles aren’t able to hear the messages from the brain properly.

Of course, there is more to it than that but that is the simplified explanation. Not only does it make the undertaking of new tasks challenging, it requires a lot more energy to complete those tasks, quickly burning through the bank of energy chips at any given moment.

This isn’t an excuse in life but it is an explanation.

For some reason, my son is inordinately hard on himself when he doesn’t meet his own expectations. He resists the notion that rather than it being a question of effort or ability, it is an energy management problem. It is like trying to run a marathon depleted, with the muscles not hearing the messages properly. At a certain point, he needs to recharge and/or regroup.

Learning strategies and acquiring new skills takes time. But sometimes in order to reach a destination in a reasonable amount of time or to meet a deadline, he needs to adapt or at the very least accept that this is his best effort under the circumstances, that perseverance can be exhausting and resilience can coexist with short-cuts.

Sean doesn’t drive yet. He will get there in his own time, at his own pace. Isa is fiercely independent, shares a car with her sister and owns a scooter. Though they both use public transit wherever possible, Isa does all the driving otherwise, and she never complains about it.

Let me tell you about Isa’s act of kindness when she picks up or drops off my son on her scooter, observed from my perch by the living room window, nestled in my reading chair.

Upon arrival, she texts Sean then dismounts the scooter, takes out the spare helmet from the storage compartment and when he emerges, lovingly attaches it for him, all the while making eye contact. There is always a long hug before and after the helmet adjustments, then a few words exchanged before they are off. She does the same thing when she drops him off.

A long hello and a long goodbye over a helmet ritual. Every single time.

I absolutely love her for this, for her generosity and compassion, for this simple fine motor act of kindness to spare my son the energy and effort it would take to manage the helmet straps himself. Energy conservation in a loving gesture.

I feel gratitude every time I witness this ritual. I want her to know that her small act makes a huge difference to Sean and to me.

Thank you, Isa. ❤️