A Life Less Lost: Chapter 50
...Simon was 'preaching' and his promising words were read to us by an assistant. Simon has quite severe cerebral palsy. He painstakingly prepares his services using a specially adapted computer, because he can't speak, but he was there, facing us at the front of the church. Strapped in his wheelchair, his white-gloved fingers danced and his face was alive with pleasure. His sermon was peppered with humour and he sometimes struggled not to laugh before the punch lines he knew were coming.
Simon will never know what most of us take for granted. Experiences like the sheer pleasure there is in skipping. But my tears were not for Simon. They were for all the children and adults who will never know the joy and freedom Simon has found in his faith...
Kimm Walker continues her uplifting account of her teenage son's battle against the most dreaded of all diseases.
To purchase a copy A Life Less Lost click on http://www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_ss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=A+Life+Less+Lost
And do visit Kimm's Web site http://kbwalker-lifelesslost.blogspot.com/
On Remembrance Sunday, a charity concert is held in Louise's memory. Two of the choirs, that she'd been involved with, perform. Matthew, Simeon and his wife, Erica, come up from London for the event. Listening to words celebrating Louise's life and immersed in the music that she loved, I can almost feel her sitting beside me at times. In my mind, I see again Lorraine and Louise dressed in black leotards, whiskers painted on their cheeks, singing the cat's duet or feel tears build with the haunting music from Handel's Messiah.
Sadly, Simeon's car is broken into whilst we're in the concert hall. Nothing appears to have been stolen but there's glass all over the back seat. It's been a very busy night for vandals, apparently, so he isn't able to have it repaired until the next day. It means a day's work missed for both Simeon and Matthew.
James passes his driving test, first time, and promptly goes out and has a small bump in my car. He'd got caught up in a one-way system in a car park and wasn't sure what to do. As he was trying to carefully reverse, an impatient taxi driver tried to push past and caught his bumper from behind. We know this version of events is accurate because the police just happened to be there at the time. We arrange six 'Pass Plus' lessons to give him more experience, as well as instruction in motorway and night driving.
Both boys prepare to undertake the final requirements for the Queen Scout Award, the highest award in scouting. My dad had achieved the equivalent, Eagle Scout, and they knew he would be very proud if they could do the same. David does his community service helping in my school and James, who helped out in a geriatric ward one day a week last year, switches to a psychiatric unit.
Howard and I attend an annual dinner dance, in aid of the Laura Crane Teenage Cancer Trust. Through mutual friends, we are acquainted with Laura's mum, Jacqui, and she knows some of James' story. We're with friends and the evening is full of laughter, fund raising activities, dancing and good food. There are speeches about the work of the trust and a brief history of Laura, her life and the cancers that ended it too soon.
Escaping to the Ladies room, the sudden quiet emphasises the noise-induced humming in my ears. I open the door and Jacqui turns from the hand drier. We're alone, surrounded by mirrors. She looks at me, with all the misery of loss in her face.
'Why has James survived, when Laura didn't?' she asks me.
My breath catches. There is no answer to give. I hope my eyes show how my heart breaks for her. Her daughter had been kind and loving, generously volunteering at the local hospice. She didn't deserve to die any more than any of the other children we've met.
*
We have bare breeze-block walls and clear glass in the windows of our chapel, in keeping with Methodist simplicity. I often sit by the slim arched windows and look out over the small garden whilst listening to the sermons. Beyond the grass of the church lawn, the river has carved a deep dip for itself. On the other bank is a footpath, through the trees, connecting the car park with the main part of the small town. I like to watch people going about their business in the world outside the church.
Lay preachers are used regularly in the Methodist tradition. These are ordinary people, with other jobs, who've taken some training and lead worship on a voluntary basis. It helps to spread the paid preachers further and allows the congregations to experience a wide range of viewpoints and approaches.
One Sunday in spring, warm tears wet my cheeks, as I watched two little girls skip along the path beyond the river. Dappled sunlight splashed their bright heads. I remembered that lightness of childhood, when my body was too full of life to merely walk.
Simon was 'preaching' and his promising words were read to us by an assistant. Simon has quite severe cerebral palsy. He painstakingly prepares his services using a specially adapted computer, because he can't speak, but he was there, facing us at the front of the church. Strapped in his wheelchair, his white-gloved fingers danced and his face was alive with pleasure. His sermon was peppered with humour and he sometimes struggled not to laugh before the punch lines he knew were coming.
Simon will never know what most of us take for granted. Experiences like the sheer pleasure there is in skipping. But my tears were not for Simon. They were for all the children and adults who will never know the joy and
freedom Simon has found in his faith.
