At home for a quick weekend, I was walking across the newer Dalton park when I spied Clifford sitting on a bench, taking in the game of pickup softball. It was Sunday morning and the sun was clearing up the sky and warming things up at the church picnic. I sat down on the bench and we held conversation. We talked about school, summer camps, and shoe sizes.
The most noticeable thing about Clifford right off is that he has cerebral palsy, and then his his goofy grin and his ready hand shake. It wasn’t until I sat down and enjoyed his peaceful presence that I realized how much I missed him and his brother Chad. I had visited them often over the course of a few years several years back. I had attempted to teach Clifford how to play Search and Rescue on the computer but even I couldn’t rescue anyone with that silly chopper. As Clifford got older we practiced shaking hands instead of his preferred lingering bear hugs.
Clifford is 18 years old with only a slight scruff under his chin. As I sit there on the bench I feel very comfortable – the silence in between our conversation is unhurried and soft, like his hands. Perhaps this is merely because he is not a threat to me – or perhaps it is because he is a tangible expression of my own inner imperfection and chaos. The more I can learn to be at peace with him, the more I can be at peace with myself. I miss him a lot.
The most noticeable thing about Clifford right off is that he has cerebral palsy, and then his his goofy grin and his ready hand shake. It wasn’t until I sat down and enjoyed his peaceful presence that I realized how much I missed him and his brother Chad. I had visited them often over the course of a few years several years back. I had attempted to teach Clifford how to play Search and Rescue on the computer but even I couldn’t rescue anyone with that silly chopper. As Clifford got older we practiced shaking hands instead of his preferred lingering bear hugs.
Clifford is 18 years old with only a slight scruff under his chin. As I sit there on the bench I feel very comfortable – the silence in between our conversation is unhurried and soft, like his hands. Perhaps this is merely because he is not a threat to me – or perhaps it is because he is a tangible expression of my own inner imperfection and chaos. The more I can learn to be at peace with him, the more I can be at peace with myself. I miss him a lot.
2 comments:
i'm motivated by your love for those boys.
it was good to see you over the weekend.
Mm. A lovely post. Simple and touching just like Clifford.
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