Leo Clement

"Suffering passes; to have suffered, never passes. One could say the actual experience passes away, but to have gone through an experience, never passes away. We are made into other people through an experience once received; even if we forget about it later, even if consciously we are no longer aware of what happened to us once upon a time." -Met. Anthony Bloom It's so easy to get caught up in the "infinite moment" of trauma, and forget that tired old bag of a cliche: time heals all. Because in my experience, it really doesn't heal anything. Time just gives us breathing room to grow in understanding and acceptance through whichever woe is upon us.  Lately I've been seeing and hearing a lot about the specialness of hurt. In the special needs world there is a general consensus of feeling misunderstood, ostracized, and in some cases, despised. These feelings often spur a rash of articles and writings around the Internet about the mistreatment and

I can sympathize with war vets, who upon returning home just sit and stare out the window day after day, trying and failing, to assimilate the events of the past so that they can partake of the present. Of course, we don't have it THAT bad. I mean I didn't happen to kill anyone though there was a moment or two when I did consider it. (The shunt clamping episode comes to mind) And thank the Lord that Leo is home and recovering, so that's all good. However, who ever knew emotions to be practical thinkers? Nah; emotions just fly chaotically from the part of our brain that is covered with lizard skin. Rationality doesn't even venture near that neighborhood. All's well that ends well sounds like a good idea, but it's awfully hard to put into practice. Perhaps this time we are a bit older, or maybe it has to do with this brutal cold winter we've been having, or the fact that our cars have decided that this was the perfect time to start acting up and breaking d

So yesterday, true to their word, we were set free!  Leaving the PICU is always strange and sometimes anticlimactic. After all the snafu of the past week and half, you would think that there would be a fanfare, or at least a parade with kazoos as we triumphantly march Leo through the doors, instead of the quiet nod and wave from the nurses at the nursing station. But I get it, because it's a place where not everyone gets a lucky getaway. Walking across the unit to the WC, it was impossible not to peek into the other rooms and wonder about the stories of suffering of Leo's little neighbors (though there were some teens in the unit too).  Discharging took forever, as usual, and by the time we were ready to go it was already the afternoon. When we told Leo it was time to go home, he started crying he was so worried we were pulling his leg. He couldn't seem to believe that his tribulation was over until we actually got him into the car. And then he couldn't stop giggli