Two months ago, my "intellectually disabled" older brother moved in with us--permanently. "Intellectually disabled" is the new vernacular for mentally handicapped/special needs/mentally retarded--none of those terms really capture the challenge, though. And yes, it has been quite an adjustment for all of us, including him. Not just new routines and new schedules, or the obvious transition for David to move to a new home, in a different state, after 66 years of living with parents. No, it's an entirely different dynamic, for all three of us (or all 8 of us if you count the dogs and the cats). We have different sleep schedules, eating habits, likes and dislikes. David has made the whole move quite easily, mostly because we love him and accept him for who he is, and we celebrate his differences. Let's be real, though; having a mentally handicapped adult move in with us during our retirement years is not something you plan for, and it sure as heck ain't easy. We are not always patient and understanding with each other, let alone with David. Sometimes we get stressed out, and there have been a couple moments of feeling a twinge of resentment for not having the "freedom" we had before the move. Mostly, though, having my brother move in with us has had the very unexpected effect of highlighting my faults, and the weaknesses of my faith. Especially in the area of putting my dependence in ALL things on God.
The manner in which God orchestrated this change in our lives is, of course, mind-blowing. For the past 10-15 years, it has been a given that David would move in with us, eventually. That my parents would no longer be able to care for him at some point. That, obviously, my parents would not live forever. I thought I would be prepared for the inevitable, because of the very nature of it being, well, inevitable. But, when it happened, it was so sudden, so surprising, neither of us even had time to think about it. The "sometime in the future" event arrived without any warning when my dad had to be rushed to the emergency room, and nearly died. David moved here, I stayed with my parents while my dad slowly convalesced, and finally, I was able to come back home. Miraculously, and I truly mean, MIRACULOUSLY, the county vocational services found short-term funding so David could attend adult day care at no cost to us. He was able to go to a big gala funded by the Tim Tebow Foundation, A Night To Shine, even though we hadn't had the presence of mind to register him. The local bowling alley in our small town offered to have David "work" there one day a week, and they pay him by allowing him to bowl for free. He goes on field trips, is given free tickets to concerts in our area, and is just, well, generally happy.
One night Alex and I were discussing something involving David, and David, as usual, kept interjecting so as to be part of our conversation. He kept asking what we were talking about, would he be okay, what did it all mean, and how did it affect him. He was genuinely worried, and needed reassurance, so we did just that, telling him we have it, not to worry, that anything and everything he needs in life is taken care of. He kept saying, "Really? You mean it?," and then, just like that, he quit worrying about that specific issue. (Of course, five minutes later he was worried about how he was going to dry his clothes with the dryer broken. We solved that too).
How did we facilitate what should have been such a difficult change? We simply told my brother not to worry. Here is a man who has been dependent on others for his entire life. He trusts those who are responsible for him, without reservation, implicitly. He doesn't worry about whether there will be food in the refrigerator, or if the electric bill gets paid, or if someone can fix the dryer. He is TOTALLY dependent on us for everything. Every. Single. Thing. That is when it hit me. God wants the same thing out of me. Total, utter dependence. On Him. Not on my resources. Not on my intelligence, or my insight. Because, at the end (and the beginning) of the day, I know no more about what or why or how things happen, than my brother does.
God, give me the simple, trusting heart of a child. Or that of a man-child.
I'm really not that much smarter, am I?
No comments:
Post a Comment