Piano Lessons

My 7 year old has ADHD. He was diagnosed last year in September, and since then our perspectives on "normalcy" have been rearranged. I'm sure that our experience is similar to those of so many others: the confusion, insecurity, frustration, long-suffering, hope, etc. It's a huge package that's filled with the pretty little bows and also the shady, uncertain pieces.

I don't consider myself a person who is musically inclined. My mother made me pick an instrument as a child and so I did - the piano. She said it was good for me. And so now that I have children, I tell them the same thing: "Pick an instrument." And they have - the piano.

Two years ago was the first time I tried lessons for the first time with my then 5 year old. He didn't even make it in the church building. I didn't make a big deal out of it and we walked back home. One year ago, my spirited boy sat down for exactly half a lesson before the teacher suggested that he was perhaps not "mature enough" yet. After striking out two times I didn't have the intention of striking out a third time and decided that his lessons would begin when he, himself, asked for them. So this year, he asked for them. I sighed in preemptive frustration.

"Mama, come with me," he begged.

I did.

His body was literally vibrating with excitement as he saw his teacher walk in the door. He barely said goodbye before remembering his fear. I took a seat on one of the pews, out of sight, and prayed.

Please, God, let this be the right moment for this. 

Let this also be something that's good for him 

and helps him grow!

I hear the teacher speaking softly to my son. Gently guiding him in his lesson. When he tries to act out and show off, she kindly reminds him what the task is. I can't believe her. I can't believe HIM! It isn't 10 minutes past the beginning of the lesson and he is already going up the scale for Do to Do doing the cross-over with his right hand. I can't help being emotional and can feel the tears stinging at the back of my eyes.

WOW!! My ADHD son is having a real lesson and is really learning and no one is pulling their hair out. Actually, all involved seem to be enjoying it all.

This is all still new to me and I am learning every day new ways to cope and support the challenges my son faces. One thing I have learned, and I hope is of encouragement to other mothers who have similar situations, is that you have to take hope and strength in the small triumphs. You love your child as well as you can… and wrap yourself in the successes and breakthroughs you get. I felt covered in joy through this first piano lesson.

Just as I am

Herr, ich komme zu Dir, 

und ich steh' vor Dir, so wie ich bin

(Transl.) Lord, I come to You, 

And I stand before you just as I am

The security guard and I walk together through the dark night; silent and concentrated on the task on hand. The outdoor corridor which links the main building of our hospital to the morgue is long, but we eventually make it to our destination. All the way I can hear the shuffling of feet behind us as a family member of the deceased follows us. Out of compassion, I give him a "job" helping me push the gurney, so as to give him a sense of being a part of it all. Death is funny that way. It's scary and we want to run away from it. But when it's a loved one being wheeled away, we ironically stay put. 

****

(Earlier)

My shift is almost over and I'm taking shift-end vitals of my post-op patients. I'm about the retrieve the glass thermometer from under the arm of my patient when I hear the sirens. My co-worker shouts for me, "Hurry! It's an emergency!" I barely don't break the thermometer or totally drop my instruments tray as I maneuver myself out of the room. I rush into the Nurses' station, toss my tray to the side, grab my cell and don a pair of gloves. 

I can see the ambulance pull up, with its siren blaring and lights flashing. 

"Do I call the doctor?" I ask the other nurse.

"Yes!"

As I pull out my phone and dial, the back door to the ambulance is opened. It like a scene from Greys when I see two white, blond men practically straddling the patient, performing CPR. 

The doctor picks up the phone and for a nano-second I panic. I'm new. This is my first call-in for an incoming trauma. How do I explain to the doctor all he needs to know as quickly as possible? In the end my brain farts and fragments all forms of intelligent conversation: 

"Doctor! Emergency! Come quick!" 

He hangs up. 

I'm already in the ER when the man is rolled in by the paramedic and the two blonde men. I slip the oxygen mask on the patient and ask for a report. One of the blonde men tells me in learned Spanish that he isn't a doctor and points at the paramedic.

"English?" I ask him in English.

"Yes." He replies and continues to detail the sequence of events which led to the man's arrival at our hospital. 

The paramedic informs that the man was on a motorbike, drunk and crashed with a car. His apparent injuries prove this. I ask for a stethoscope and try to listen to his heart. Nothing. I reach to feel a pulse at his neck. Nothing. I open his eyes and check his pupils. Dilated. His lips are already turning purple. The doctor isn't present yet, but pending his confirmation, I call it: "Time of death: 18:34." The doctor arrives and checks the patient again, confirming his death. Instinctively and respectfully, I make the sign of the cross over the man's body. 

***

I concentrate hard on keeping the wheels of the gurney on the sidewalk. Off and on I hear them squeaking. Their rotation, along with the pounding of my feet on the pavement, form a rhythm in my mind. The rhythm translates into silent song as I recall the words to a popular German church song: 

            

               Herr, Ich komme zu dir und ich steh' vor Dir so wie ich bin. 

I can't stop my imagination as it visualizes this man literally standing before God "just as he is." What does God see? Unsolicited, I see the memory of the young volunteer from a couple of weeks ago (the young man from my previous entry) joining my jumbled Judgement Day thoughts. They stand side by side, two completely different people from totally contrasting lives. Yet similar... in death. 

Inevitably, the looking glass turns directions and I find myself looking at myself. What do I look like? Do I like what I see? Just as I am now, does He like was He sees?

Dad says that the moments of crises in life are the times when we are most malleable - most open to change. Trauma and death are definitely crises. I hate to wish anything unfortunate on anyone, but I do hope that experiences others have had or ones that you have observed from the periphery will impact your life enough to open yourself up to self-examination.

Because life is short. 

One more thought: 

What do YOU look like just as you are? 

today i had my first experience directing a choir. it's not as easy as it seems. i thought it'd be a piece of cake. Standing in front of a group that expects great ideas & leadership from me is daunting. Especially since i'm slightly hearing impaired. oh boy... I truly laugh at the... oh so true vs in the Bible... "Make a joyful noise unto the LORD!" HAHA! Jesus, it's all for YOU!!