By Troy Foster
I
held little Henry in my arms, his head resting on my shoulder, and his arms
wrapped around my neck – when he asked me.
We were almost halfway to the car, both exhausted, sweating profusely,
and the “dry heat” proving to be less so than one would hope. He titled his head, moved his mouth toward my
ear, and whispered “Daddy, can I have a wheelchair?”
It
shouldn’t have broken my heart, but it did.
It wasn’t as if I hadn’t been prepared.
Just days earlier, Kristen told me that he had asked for a fancy walker
or wheelchair so that he wouldn’t get tired so fast. He didn’t want the long walk from the parking
lot of the school to his classroom to tire him out before the bell rang.
But,
I had dismissed the idea then. I
remember saying to my wife, whom I know had just as much trouble saying it to
me as I did hearing it, “Well, he doesn’t have to. We don’t want to push that. We have to try not to make him any more
different.” The look on her face said it
all, and I knew before the words left my insensitive mouth – of course, we
didn’t want to push it. We weren’t. He was asking, and we couldn’t ignore him. We couldn’t ignore the reality. Henry is different.
As
these thoughts rushed through my head, Henry grew heavier and I remembered when
Kristen and I wished – desperately – that Henry would live long enough to grow
so heavy. Grow to need a
wheelchair. And here we were.
Still
not wanting to give in, I asked: “Why do you want it, Henry? Why not let your teacher pull you in the
wagon?” Not that it mattered, but I
guess riding in a wagon felt more “normal” to me. Henry quietly shared, “Because I want to do
it myself. By myself.”
Of
course he did. His answer made me smile
– as I simultaneously held back tears.
Henry wants to play with his friends, learn in his class, and use his
energy that way. He doesn’t want to
waste it on getting there. He just wants
to do what other kids his age do – but will have to get there with a little
help. Rest assured, he’ll do it himself
though.
It
was a busy week. Sure, we did
stuff. We quickly got the doctor’s order
for the wheelchair, discovered the best place for Henry’s needs, and are
researching brands, while letting him look at colors and designs.
The
emotional toll was noticeable too. Henry
continues to amaze me; his spirit, his attitude, and his will. I realized as well that dealing with what
might or will happen – is much different when it actually happens. Though we’ve gone over it in our heads, when
it happens, it still burns. Hurts. Devastates.
But,
I know that the look on his face when he gets his wheelchair and the pride I’ll
feel when he’s getting around by himself – will be equally strong on the other
end of the spectrum.
I’m
always reminded that we’re truly blessed.
And we’ll take this journey one step at a time – together. That’s all that matters.
For more stories about
Henry, Henry’s Hope (www.henryshope.org), and the
special children we encounter, check out Three Candles. It’s available directly on www.threecandlesbook.com and via Amazon.
