Saturday, 17 November 2012

Dear Alex, An Anonymous Donation...



Mitzi moo, missing her daddy lots at the moment...


17th November 2012

Dear Alex,

Fruit tea in a pot, glass cup, screen and keyboard. Candles lit, four children sleep, hair still wet from bath. This time of year, so dark, always night! Yet for us, there’s the sense that this is the lying down of something, shedding of the old, sad, lost, but a new journey together, a new family set up. And only we will know what it will mean for us to be family, to be together again, so long separated, so long our lives ripped apart.

Hydrotherapy is starting for you next week! I am taking you, because I have a car now I can take you in. An amazing thing happened just a few weeks ago. Somebody, who I do not know, who wanted to remain anonymous, donated enough money to buy us a new car that we can all get into. It was delivered Thursday night. I had been praying for a car, somehow to be able to acquire one (I had NO idea how!) And before I had to do the hour long drives to where you have been moved to, A nursing home in Amersham. I got it Thursday night! Not a second too early, a second too late, just perfect timing. It’s incredible. How can that be?? Someone did that for us, and the timing, just amazing, Most High timing.

We don’t need things before we need them, do we?! And it’s about trusting there’s a plan, a purpose, even when we cannot see. I have decided not to get distressed, torn up, by the fact there is NO house, but trust that somehow the Most High will hear, listen, provide, I have the car to prove He hears! You are ready to be at home, poison darts sent firing into my heart each time I am with you at the moment you ask to come home with me…"Not yet, my angel, but soon... trust me” I have to say.

I am moving the dining table and chairs into the garage, and a hospital bed should be arriving next week. At least this way you can have an overnight stay.

The move has gone well to the nursing home, you seem unperturbed for the moment. Funnily enough it’s our little Mitzi moo who is the most unsettled. She hates leaving you, she cries and says how much she wants you home. She lingers in the door way after giving you a kiss and a cuddle, watching you to check you're not upset we are going. She runs to inform the staff we are leaving, “please can you check on Daddy because we have to go now?” she requests. Her bottom lip quivers, big fat sad tears of missing her daddy, no matter how you are now, you’re her daddy and she wants you home, roll down rounded red cheeks.

We will get you home my angel. We need to get on with our lives as a family unit now. Very different it will be, but a new venture we all need to be a part of.


…Oh to have you home…


me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thursday, 15 November 2012

Dear Alex, I Promise...



15th November 2012

Dear Alex,

Quorn tikka masala, microwaved and done. I finally sit, and drum the keys...Time to think, time to write, time to eat...It’s all finished now at the O.C.E, your last sleep there and then to Amersham to a care home with rehabilitation tomorrow.  The end of intensive reeducation, but the Home is comfortable, the staff friendly and good at what they do. .. If only I could have you home…

I await a house; I just know you need to be home. I know too it will be a huge adjustment, nothing will really prepare me for it, I’ll just have to do my best. You wake in the night; I’ll have to be there to comfort you. You get distressed at times in the day, you’ll need comfort, changing, help, rest, stimulation…I promise I would try so hard to get it right.

We will certainly need to adjust, adapt. For the moment, as the staff are keen to support you having overnight stays, we have worked out a way of getting a hospital bed in the dining room, I’ll put the table and chairs in the garage. It’s the only way, whilst we wait to be re-housed.

Tomorrow you move, I’ll be meeting you there. It’s been an emotional day, leaving the O.C.E. the therapists and staff have been just wonderful. I keep telling you one day we will walk back in there and thank them, together, you standing tall and strong...

I sat with you today reminiscing how you were when you first arrived. Hoisted in and out of bed, not able to hold up your head, you would sit flopped over in the chair. Fed through a gastric peg, sleeping still a lot. You couldn’t talk, let alone even make a noise at that time. You had no control over movements or hand gestures. Still having epileptic fits. You were shaky, trembled a great deal.

Now as I look at you today, feeding you your pureed lunch, I cannot believe how far you have come. Eating pureed food, the occasional seizure, fits are under control. You no longer tremble, you hold your head up proud! You sit for minutes, alone, unaided…they have you walking, three support you, with a huge walking frame, but you get upright, you practice. And you tell me you love me, I have that! I have that wonderful, wonderful that! To hear you love me, how lucky am I? To have your voice again, your smile, your laugh…You cuddle me with the one arm that works, I have your touch…

No, you’re not exactly you, who you were, or how you were, yes it’s all totally changed, the dynamics, well, it’s all changed, but my love for you, your love for me has not…


I have you, different, but a new, different you, and oh how I am blessed…

I love you Alex Wood, let’s keep pushing, keep going, keep on till you’re home.


Me xxxxxxxxxxxx

Monday, 12 November 2012

Dear Alex, Monday mornings



This was Alex with a new born Esmie Rose...2008



11th November 2012

Dear Alex,

Day of home and chores and children and friends round. Day of church going, lunch slow cooked, morning’s preparation left to stew. Day of no you. No visit.

I began the 'Sunday homeday' with the kids a few months ago, for them. A day where they don’t have to rush anywhere, do anything in particular. I started it because I thought it was best for them.

I’ve got used to it, but the Monday I am speed, I am haste and I am with you as soon as I can be through the school drop off and morning traffic.

We have a fresh coffee together, made by us both. I get you to focus, straighten your head, and reach for the cup. I read the headlines, your reach has improved, your orientation around this has too. I am so, so pleased…

I think, I think I feel this raw open hole is not so scary anymore. I think I feel it’s pain, no more or less than before, but I went there, I let myself fall into it, and now, I’m not so scared of it anymore.

I feel more able to help you, a renewed strength, which you in turn are picking up on and absorbing and strengthening mentally…

So Monday approaches, it’s late, I won’t sleep that well, you know, I so rarely really do. But I’d like in my dreams to see you…


See you tomorrow honey, I can not wait…



Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx