Hiatus

My son's round of constraint therapy is complete. The little blue cast is on the shelf like a figurative notch on his belt and he's back to his normal routines and activities. Our house too is starting to rediscover it's old patterns and schedule. It feels that we've had a difficult guest for the last month who has finally left for other environs.

There's been some benefit. We all see it. Some of the improvements are visible in his therapy sessions; greater willingness to move his arm and even to grasp with his left hand. Some of the improvements are noticeable outside of those sessions; I've noticed that he'll now position his arm correctly for the sleeve opening when I put a new shirt on him.

But we're all exhausted; and foggy; and irritable. I feel like I do sometimes when I've had a lingering illness or injury and health is just starting to return. I don't want to trust the change; I still have a tendency to protect what was weak.

And although winter hasn't released it's grip on us yet, the light lingers longer at the end of the day. When I get out of my office at night, there are days that I still catch the gold and the yellow and the muted orange on the edge of the horizon and am surprised by how the hope seems to startle me like something that has fluttered suddenly to my shoulder.

I hope to return to writing a bit now more too. I know when I'm ready to write, that I'm feeling stronger and more hopeful. I feel like a tree that's stood amid the snows and suddenly, surprisingly feels the sap rise when it seems least likely.

Good night.