The Mighty Viking

Conquering those things we must, one story at a time

Sean’s Mom

“Hi, I’m Sean’s mom” 

The words carried the kind of lilt that only a mother can give them. A precisely indeterminate kind of lilt that sweetly invokes your middle name and implies unspecified doom if you don’t pay careful attention to whatever comes next.

The doctor smiled back, knowing already two things before he had closed the exam room door: first, that Sean, whoever he was, was someone special and second, that the wee lad had a special mom.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s mom”

Again and again, through a maze of specialists, technicians, and departments, she spoke in that space where his voice should have been. There were no text books for Sean, and he had no words of his own to tell them.  And so, she became his voice.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s Mom”

The words pushed back against a wave of busy educators, who mistook Sean for a child without a Voice.  And so they listened again, and looked again, and what they discovered in Sean changed them – that beautiful Being that had almost been overlooked, simply because he couldn’t speak for himself.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s Mom”

Sean met the grocer, the baker, the teachers at school.  They met at the local pizza joint, bowling alley, the Church and the pool.  And each when they heard it saw Sean afresh, this time as a person.  They learned to converse with him with other senses than their lips and ears.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s Mom”

it was a plea, a demand, a push – gentle but firm – that drew people in to experience for a moment a pure state. They remembered how to skip over the choreographed lies of social interaction and just be together with someone.  People experienced Sean only because of her.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s Mom”

Doctors said they didn’t know anymore what to do for the seizures that took from him strength and years, and paid him in pain.  She spoke at once as Sean, and as a dedicated mother.  She told of his symptoms, and interpreted his movements, made him real to the doctors nurses.  And once they had truly met Sean this way,  each one learned a little more how to feel, to see more in their patients than flesh, bones, computer blips and beeps.  Each one of them uncovered themselves a little bit, and re-learned what it is to be human.

“Hi, I’m Sean’s Mom”

In the hush of the night a prayer escaped her heart, as it had ten thousand times before, for the relief that Sean could not.  And in her grief and dismay at his failing body, Heaven wept.

“Hi, I’m Sean”

A young man walked innocently into the brilliance of a new Spring Morning.  

And the Good Lord smiled back, and said, “Yes, I know.  You’re Dianna’s Boy.  We’ve heard all about you.”

“…We’ve been waiting for you.”

And a peal of Sean’s laughter radiated with that Morning light like through a prism, and set the heavens ablaze with color

 

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3 Responses to “Sean’s Mom”

  1. Brig says:

    How beautiful, the sadness will fade, but the love will go on. You all have seen heaven in Sean. Blessed be Sean’s family.

  2. Bodie P says:

    This makes me cry. How sad, and how beautiful. How lucky you all were to have Sean–and how lucky Sean was to have a mom like Dianna, who spoke for him in ways he could not speak for himself. We should all be so lucky.

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