Hey Everyone!
My friend, Kate, is back with us today. She decided to share with you a bit about what her experiences have shown her about coping with hard times. Kate, take it away!
Kate:
He looked at me, his brown eyes infinitely expressive and reached out a hand that seemed to grow larger by the day. I reached back, my own hand nearly the same size as his fourteen year old palm and something in my eyes must have expressed concern because he said “I know, Kate. I know.”
Then he collapsed into a grand mal seizure in the Jr High Hallway and time stood still for us both. I dropped to my knees and grabbed the magnet that we used to help stop the seizures and keep him alive and started to count. Call his name, one two three...call his name, turn him over on his side, please dear god, please let him be breathing. I swipe the magnet, his body seizing upwards under my hands, his mouth open gasping for air before his body convulses in on itself. And I say “Come on buddy. Come on. We just gotta get through it.” A teacher rushes from their classroom asking if they can do anything and I just manage “Count. Count for me.” And the minutes count down with a swipe every thirty seconds as his body bends, convulses and looks as though it has turned to water from the waves of the seizure that blast through it. Every swipe I look down and even though I don't believe in god, I do in those moments. This child, this young man, this nearly impossible to deal with individual is not going to die with my hands on him. It will not happen today.
The teacher counts “Four minutes” and I manage “At five, we call an ambulance” as I swipe him again with the magnet, starting at his collar bone and going diagonally across his body. And suddenly, his body goes still. I am perfectly calm, my voice never raised, my breathing exactly the same as when he went down. I reach over and he is still breathing, I pick up the boy who now weighs nearly a hundred and fifty pounds and with a nod to the teacher I simply carry him back to the classroom. I lay him down on the sofa and cover him with the blue blanket that I brought him a few weeks back. He sleeps, looking more peaceful than he is when he is awake. After forty five minutes he opens his eyes and I hear a small, rather child like voice say “Kate?”
I walk across the room towards him, knowing he can't get up yet since his legs will literally not work for a while. I sit down by him, offering him my hand which he takes. I smile at him and quietly say “Hey dude. Welcome back.” He squeezes my hand and then says again “Kate?” And I respond “Yes?” Then, this boy, this young man that the school will eventually have to refuse to serve because of how violent he can become when angry, this “monster” looks at me and says in the smallest of voices “I love you, Kate.” And in that instant, I finally feel my body relax, the muscles letting loose in my shoulders. I know I strained my back and I know he will have injuries tomorrow from the carpet when he went down but we are on our way back, he and I.
I smile and reply “I know, buddy. I like you too.” And I do.
It seems as though professionals are constantly reminding us to make plans, create goals, talk about the future. These things are important and I do not want to discourage them, but sometimes, we make it through the moment. Sometimes we do not need to demand of people or ourselves that we make it through the next year or the next lifetime. Sometimes, we just need to take someone's hand and stand with them in one instant of time. The next time something seems impossibly overwhelming, just take the hand of someone you know and agree to make it through right now and let that be enough.
He looked at me, his brown eyes infinitely expressive and reached out a hand that seemed to grow larger by the day. I reached back, my own hand nearly the same size as his fourteen year old palm and something in my eyes must have expressed concern because he said “I know, Kate. I know.”
Then he collapsed into a grand mal seizure in the Jr High Hallway and time stood still for us both. I dropped to my knees and grabbed the magnet that we used to help stop the seizures and keep him alive and started to count. Call his name, one two three...call his name, turn him over on his side, please dear god, please let him be breathing. I swipe the magnet, his body seizing upwards under my hands, his mouth open gasping for air before his body convulses in on itself. And I say “Come on buddy. Come on. We just gotta get through it.” A teacher rushes from their classroom asking if they can do anything and I just manage “Count. Count for me.” And the minutes count down with a swipe every thirty seconds as his body bends, convulses and looks as though it has turned to water from the waves of the seizure that blast through it. Every swipe I look down and even though I don't believe in god, I do in those moments. This child, this young man, this nearly impossible to deal with individual is not going to die with my hands on him. It will not happen today.
The teacher counts “Four minutes” and I manage “At five, we call an ambulance” as I swipe him again with the magnet, starting at his collar bone and going diagonally across his body. And suddenly, his body goes still. I am perfectly calm, my voice never raised, my breathing exactly the same as when he went down. I reach over and he is still breathing, I pick up the boy who now weighs nearly a hundred and fifty pounds and with a nod to the teacher I simply carry him back to the classroom. I lay him down on the sofa and cover him with the blue blanket that I brought him a few weeks back. He sleeps, looking more peaceful than he is when he is awake. After forty five minutes he opens his eyes and I hear a small, rather child like voice say “Kate?”
I walk across the room towards him, knowing he can't get up yet since his legs will literally not work for a while. I sit down by him, offering him my hand which he takes. I smile at him and quietly say “Hey dude. Welcome back.” He squeezes my hand and then says again “Kate?” And I respond “Yes?” Then, this boy, this young man that the school will eventually have to refuse to serve because of how violent he can become when angry, this “monster” looks at me and says in the smallest of voices “I love you, Kate.” And in that instant, I finally feel my body relax, the muscles letting loose in my shoulders. I know I strained my back and I know he will have injuries tomorrow from the carpet when he went down but we are on our way back, he and I.
I smile and reply “I know, buddy. I like you too.” And I do.
It seems as though professionals are constantly reminding us to make plans, create goals, talk about the future. These things are important and I do not want to discourage them, but sometimes, we make it through the moment. Sometimes we do not need to demand of people or ourselves that we make it through the next year or the next lifetime. Sometimes, we just need to take someone's hand and stand with them in one instant of time. The next time something seems impossibly overwhelming, just take the hand of someone you know and agree to make it through right now and let that be enough.
