Knock Knock

Yesterday something very normal happened, and it felt extraordinary. For the first time since May 2018, Tate went to his friend Clark’s house to hang out. The boy trapped in his bed for months finally had the strength to leave.

I have dropped Tate off at this house many times over the last few years. In the beginning, he would ring the doorbell and wait for someone to let him in. Clark has a big, happy family, and it always seemed like a different blond, smiling person opened the door to greet him each time. Eventually he started to open the door and walk in without knocking. Yesterday Tate said he wanted to walk in without knocking, just like he had so many times before. When he opened the front door, the house was full of normal sounds; their Roomba was cruising around, and the food processor was running. He made it all the way into the kitchen before anyone noticed he was there. Tate received the warmest welcome at his home away from home.

This visit was a little different than the rest: I followed him into the house with his wheelchair and a little bag of meds in case he needed them. I knew with 100% certainty he would be well cared for at their house, but Tate’s needs have changed, and I didn’t want to leave him – or them – unprepared.

I texted Tate a couple times over next few hours to make sure he was okay, and I am pretty sure he was more okay than he has been in a long time. When I arrived at their house a few hours later to collect him, Tate was sitting in a folding chair in their front yard hitting tennis balls with his walking staff. I pulled up just as he got a hit!

Tate was exhausted and so very happy when I picked him up. He didn’t have any strength left in his legs so Clark helped him into his wheelchair and pushed him down the driveway to our car. Clark’s friendship has been a shining light through so much darkness.

Today Tate came to the front door in his wheelchair to watch the rain between doing schoolwork and taking naps. Somehow he injured his knee yesterday, even though nothing technically happened. He didn’t fall, and he doesn’t remember anything that would cause an injury. My friend texted me this morning to see how Tate was doing, and I realized that the kind of care he needs has changed and how much much more time we spend on first aid. Tate is trying to do a lot more for himself, and his body doesn’t always cooperate; the result of his efforts to get his life back often hurt. I was describing to Tate how the peroxide, cotton pads, bandaids, and antibiotic ointment have moved towards the front of his meds table while the less-used medications have migrated towards the back.

Tate has his Homebound lessons tomorrow, physical therapy Thursday, and occupational therapy Friday. It’s nice to walk into his room and see him working on textbooks spread across his bed. We can see him working so hard toward a healthy, independent future.