Oblivion

Can you tell me what this is? The occupational therapist waited a few seconds to see if Paris made any reaction. Her eyes were open. She was sitting nicely in her chair, apparently paying attention, looking at the object that had appeared in her field of vision. But she made no reaction. No response. No movement. No change in her expression, or lack thereof.

Can you tell me what its used for? You used to use it every day!
Paris looked at her therapist for a moment, then back to the object which her OT was now waving in front of her face. Not much progress in the past two weeks, but that did not seem to change the cheerful, optimistic tone in her therapists voice. After a few minutes of this, Paris began to lose attention. Its your hairbrush, said the OT, in the happy way one might talk to a two year old, not to a sweet sixteen. You use it to brush your hair like this...

Two months before Paris had lived in a different world. She knew what a hairbrush was in that world, and how to use it. That was before the accident. No one had been there to witness her life changing event. No one knew why her car had gone over the curb and come to a sudden stop against an old oak tree. She had her new drivers license with her, in her new little purse. There was nothing else in it. She had been wearing her seatbelt. She had not been drinking, or talking on her cell phone. When she was found, the only sound came from the crashed cars radio, playing some old love song, playing to the deaf ears of her unconsciousness.

Her distraught mother sat at the hospital bedside for the next few days. She wept at the thought of her beautiful baby girl, with such a bright future ahead of her, a future now in question as the coma wore on to its third day. Family members and many of Paris friends sat vigil in the waiting room, in surreal disbelief. How could this have happened? It wasnt supposed to happen. Why did God let this happen? Surely things would turn out fine in the end. Right? ... a jumbled mess of empathetic but useless thoughts.

Paris woke up, sort of, a few days later. For a short while, everyone was ecstatic. She was alive and awake! That was a wonderful start! But it soon became apparent that Paris was not entirely there. It was impossible at that time to realize that the Paris everyone knew was gone forever. In bad situations, even as time goes by, it is difficult for some people to rightly balance hope and reality. For the rest of her life, Paris mother would always believe that her old Paris would someday return.

The occupational therapist lovingly brushed Paris hair. Stroke after stroke. Paris clearly enjoyed it, watching in the mirror as her hair was being brushed. The OT then placed the brush in Paris hand and asked her to brush her hair. Paris looked at it... and thats all. After a minute her hands dropped to her lap, still holding the brush. The OT thought she saw a faint smile on Paris face, and imagined a faint thought in her head, but maybe not.

Paris left the rehabilitation unit a month later. She had made a little progress. With some assistance and reminders, she could put on her clothes and even brush her hair. With encouragement, she could do simple tasks. On her own, there was little to no motivation. Yet she looked calm and settled. She was not anxious, angry, sad, or wanting. Perhaps she wasnt happy either, but at least she did not appear to be suffering.

A few years later, everyone had settled into new routines. Paris old friends had moved on with their lives and no longer came around. Her mother had easily accepted her caregiver role, for as long as it took. She had organized a small job for Paris as a bagger at the grocery store, where from time to time she would run into some of her old friends. They would say a friendly hi how are you, but had learned to not expect much by way of response.

And thats that.


There are lessons here, right?
There is a purpose and a reason for those who are handicapped, right?
Theres more to this than just being at the shit end of the bell shaped curve, right?
The Spirit is at work, even in this, right?

I pray that someday I am given the wisdom to understand.