I have been asked by my counsellor to write down how I feel about James, in the hope that it might enable me to process my own state of grieving, in relation to the inevitable fact that one day, James is going to die. I can say it out loud, and I can verbalise that I have come to terms with it, but if I am honest with myself, I don’t think that I am ready.
But how do you describe the indescribable? How do you capture it in a single descriptive word?
The joyously uncomfortable headaches that make me feel like my head is in a vice, that arise from the hours of continuous side splitting laughter that we share; the tears that could fill a bucket as they stream down my face from laughing so hard; the sound of both our laughter which leaves us gasping for air as we forget to breathe. The laughter is infectious, neither of us can stop.
James becomes as animated as a Walt Disney cartoon when he is at his happiest; he defies his quadriplegia by kicking his legs and feet, bending his arms and lifting his head up. Then out comes the special reverberating sound from his tracheostomy that is his laugh. I comment that he hides that from me: “where have you been hiding that?” so just to prove how clever he is, he makes it again – looking directly at me, incredibly proud of himself! I love his smile – the more teeth I can see the better. “Look at those teeth” I say… and his smile becomes even bigger (it could definetely rival that of the Cheshire Cat)! His eyes shine, as if a light behind them has just been turned up.
He glows.
He is a miracle and I will carry his light with me always. At the moment I don’t even need to do much to make him laugh - clap my hands above my head and spin around in circles, preferably with bells on my wrists if I have them to hand! Has shielding done this to us, or are we just both in touch with our own inner child?
Is the indescribable word that I am looking for "attachment?"