Seeing Through the Cracks

Chapter 30

Exam day comes and Jake tells me that after studying all weekend for this first test, he feels well-prepared to write it. I drive him to Guelph. We park at the university, and then part ways. I have been spending so much time at the university for the past few months that I know my way around easily. I head straight to the coffee shop with a new laptop I recently bought, while Jake heads off to take his exam. I am finally able to start writing, and I am beginning to work on a book about Jake's story. My previous writing experience has only been in creating health newsletters and articles. This challenge is a much larger endeavour, but I push forward and begin. Over an hour later, Jake returns, exam completed, and feeling positive that he did well. We pack up and set off for home; one exam down, two to go, and a book begun.

The wedding party has now returned from the Dominican, and the following day I receive an early morning phone call from Iris's daughter, Alison, that leaves me feeling gobsmacked. Yesterday, as the wedding party returned home from Punta Cana, Christine received a message and learned that Barb was rushed to hospital with some breathing issues, and is now in an intensive care unit (ICU) and on a respirator. Only family are allowed to visit, so although I have an intense urge to get in my Jeep and drive straight to the hospital, I cannot. I want to be with the family, as I am certain that it is not only frightening for them, but also a nightmarish flashback to 1983 when Barb was shot and lying in ICU on a ventilator. I immediately share the news with Jake that Barb is unwell and in hospital, but I don't tell him how badly her prognosis is, as I do not want to upset him while he is still preparing for exams.

I am shaken and am feeling immense sadness, and I don't feel hopeful about this situation. I have always clearly understood that with the seriousness of Barb's spinal cord injury, her life expectancy would not be the same as an able-bodied person. And I have always had an acute awareness that each passing day with Barb is a gift that none of us should take for granted. I fear that this incident could take Barb completely out of our lives here on earth. The thought just tears me up, and for the remainder of the day I spend my time at home feeling utterly numb, trying to shut out my fears.

I eventually manage to start the photo editing process with Christine and Ron's wedding pictures, a work activity that always fills me with joy and satisfaction. But for today I just go through the motions, carrying a heavy heart. I am constantly waiting for my phone to ring with more news of Barb, but the day and evening passes and there are no more calls.

Days pass and I feel physically-isolated from the situation of Barb and her family. I understand and respect the rules that allow only family members into ICU, but coming from a five-day, amazing wedding vacation and spending so much time together, I feel abruptly separated. I am grateful for the texts and phone calls, and I am certainly kept in the loop, but I have this innate urge to hug and hold each and every family member in person. In the interim, I hold them in my heart and in my prayers.

Jake writes a second exam, feels he did well, and now has several days ahead of him to study and prepare for the next and final test of this semester. We spend another day at the skydiving simulator. I think this activity has got to be a great stress reliever for Jake at this point. Skydiving isn't something I am interested in, but I can imagine that having the ability to just hang above a strong air current and get so close to the feeling of flying, has got to be tremendously freeing, both physically and mentally. Spending this activity time with Jake feels like a bit of a celebration. Even though he's not quite finished with all of his school courses, it's close enough. We're down to the wire, and I am certain that he will meet all expectations for this term.

During the week, as I am journaling, I notice my notes from one year before, on April 11th. I was feeling so immensely happy that day, as I was helping Jake pack up the contents of his residence dorm room for the move back home. With total confidence I had believed that Jake had completed his year, without any issues, and was coming home to look for summer work and prepare to return for year two. Wow, how more wrong could I have been? What blinders was I wearing then? How little did I know of the inner sufferings that Jake was enduring, and how little was I doing to help him? Even though I was unaware of his predicament, I was somehow enabling it by not paying closer attention to the signs. I know now that he didn't want me to fully see it, but he'd certainly dropped some clues, and I somehow justified them all. Was it up to me to probe more deeply at that point? Or was it solely his responsibility as an adult to ask for help? This predicament is the blurred line I am always faced with, as a parent, and it's one I often wish was so much clearer. Where do we draw the line between letting go and allowing, and perhaps digging and snooping further into our adult children's lives, looking for clues that they are not really okay?