I am the cliche'...

I’ve always felt pity for the adult who says that a child is the strongest person he or she knows. How unfulfilling of a life, must that adult had that a child is the strongest person they know.

I’ll make the assumption that the imaginary adult I speak of is at least 30 years old. Has at least graduated high school, if not college, grad school even maybe. Traveled possibly…knew more than one language, okay. Has a current passport somewhere, though it might not be accessibly ready, nor even contain one stamp. This person has a passion and has started working their way through their passion. They have life experience. And maybe, not always, but for the most part has enjoyed life and what it has brought their way.

The imaginary child is no greater than 5. Has maybe walked a pre k graduation, complete with miniature cap and gown. He has no true-life experience, except for maybe a character building session on the playground with a bully or two. He has traveled to Disney World and possibly met the mouse, but that would be the highlight of his travel experience. Passion in his world consists of the Backyardigans, Wonder Pets or Caillou.

So again, I ask of you…how is it possible that the strongest person an adult could possibly know, be a child?

I am the cliché. I heard a song this week for the first time. ( If you have read any of blogs, you will notice a consistent link to music in almost all of them. ) Fighter by Gym Class Hero’s is by far my favorite song of the moment. It’s my little boy. It’s my fighter. And he by far, is the strongest person I know. 

Two Months. Two Days.

I stare at the wall that is ever so daringly taunting me. I have imagined since January 27^th what it would be like to stand on the other side of this wall. My mind has gone to great lengths to imagine what was on the other side. Yet my subconscious, like a dog’s choke leash, has only let it venture to what it has presumed to be safe distances. Don’t get to far ahead of yourself. I don’t know the engineering qualifications of Jericho, but this has been my own personal Jericho.

Does the sand burn your skin as the wind blows, like it does on this side? Or is there even sand at all. Is there even a need for the mirage that I swear I see or does water flow freely? Hydration, not even daring to be an issue. And nourishment. Must I hunt on the other side or does a buffet table of only the finest delicatessens await me?

Two months. Two days. We’ve resided on the inside of our Jericho, for just as long as we resided on the outside of it. I wish I could say that hours and days go by and not once does the thought of cranio enter my mind, but that is so far from the truth. I guess I should be grateful that my subconscious only let me venture only so far as to wonder what was on the inside of these walls.

In the same way that a new tattoo is permanently with you for life, so is cranio. Seen or not, it is there. It is elusive at times, but its presence is always known. It announces it’s consistent arrival dutifully every night as I shampoo Nathan’s head. The few times he snuggles with me on the couch and I feel every piece of fabricated metal. And especially when he reminds me that he’s 100% boy as he trips, falls, bumps his head and I instantly check for pupil response and that every piece of that fore mentioned fabricated metal hasn’t shifted locations.

Two months and two days. We’re ‘on the other side.’ Yet just because we’re on the other side, doesn’t mean this side doesn’t have it’s challenges too. We’re just learning to live again. Learning to live again, with these challenges.