I slowed down today. Stuck my wheelchair on its slowest speed for the morning. Although I didn’t go around much, the result was astounding. A quantum leap in observation. I noticed pot plants in my office that I didn’t know I had, mannerisms in other people jumped out at me. The world seemed to move in quick time around me. My thought processes seemed clearer, my priorities realigned. I felt more efficient.

The tortoise against the hare.

try it.

I thought I would post something  with a touch of humour, not only to appease those who knock me for seemingly always being negative, but also to show you that there is some laughter and accomplishment in our lives.

We are a family of competitiveness and tonight we broke our family record!  (Well nearly)

Arriving home from a lunch out with friends the Family Soper topped “The Dispatch Tom from Van” in record speed of 11 minutes…

Ciara: eldest daughter, (normally child sitting shouting orders) holding her Dad so tightly so he doesnt rock side to side in the van he hates so much, says: “Ready!”

Erin: youngest daughter, (normally child holding father as above, so lovingly and oblivious to the road rules of wearing a seat belt), fast asleep in double seat of van…

Sally: Mother, wife, driver, of van/ET: screams up driveway at breakneck speed and haults 2 cms (no lie) before the garage door.

Ciara: vaults to the front of her Dad, (Erin still asleep), to unclasp the 2 front harnesses at the base of her Dad’s wheelchair. Hand up! Done!.

Sally: rushes round to the back, opens the tail gate, presses the control to deploy the lift.  Lift Deployed. Leans over, unclasps (with difficulty) the bottom two harnesses. Then releases the next two shoulder harnesses together with Ciara, at her Dad’s chest, (Erin still asleep on the front bench. Not to knock her! as this is normally her role!)

Tom, Dad: reverses onto the lift that has been deployed. The call, “30, 20, 15, 10, 5cm… stop)…..”  And then lower….

Our record was not broken because I couldn’t find the **** keys for the back door so we could get inside the house…….!!.

Watch this space……….

Team Soper

My car (not me – as the calibration is wrong!) ran out of petrol for the second time the other day and I sat on the side of the road staring out the front window with such sadness.  I wasn’t sad that this was an inconvenience, I wasn’t sad that my new car was faulty, I was sad that in this kind of event all I could think of, was what every other wife would do in this situation. They would more than likely phone their husband.  Or if they didn’t, they had the option to.  And so I cried.  I cried because I didn’t want to inconvenience any of my friends, who I know would rescue me in a heartbeat.  I just cried because I wanted Tom to come and save me, even after shaking his head!  I phoned him.  Jimmy, his driver, saved me.  There was no shaking of his head just a glorious smile. As I drove home the song from Ghost Busters came into my head…. “So who you gonna call?”.  It made me think of so many instances where I need to call Tom.  And then I thought it’s strange how things happen, Tom married a very practical girl who does all the DIY jobs……. damn I wish I was a girlie girl and maybe this wouldn’t have happened to us?

The girls and I headed to Kariba on a houseboat with some friends for a couple of days before Easter.  The day before we left Tom gave them a lesson on fishing – how to “tackle up”.  I sat outside with them, in silence, listening to how he described to Ciara the way to secure a sinker on the end of the fishing line and how to thread a hook.  I was so proud of them both as she mastered it pretty quickly from his instruction.  But then I got angry. Why do these girls have to be told how to thread a hook and not physically shown?  The frustration of both father and daughter when words just don’t say enough when the use of hands would have clinched it in seconds.

It’s a sick kind of cruel because it feels like a carrot being dangled……  there’s your Dad but you can’t have him.  He won’t be able to thread the worm on your fishing h00k or take the fish off that you’ve just hooked! And he wants to desperately.  That job is now mine.  And I don’t really want it.  On one of the days I spent a couple of hours doing exactly that, the girls were fishing off the houseboat so they were catching a little tiddler every few minutes.  The experience for them was awesome but I became so overwhelmed at being this “one abled parent”,   I had to walk away and really pull myself together.  Literally physically hold my head in my hands and say “this is for them, this is for them”.  Tom sent me a text and I received it just as we were leaving the harbour.  Sal, be the Dad for fishing and the Mum for loving.  I’m tired and lonely and angry and bitter.  But seeing the girls reel in those fish was all about them.  So I juggled the video camera to catch the moment for Tom, under my arm, with a spare hook in my mouth and a slimy worm in one hand and dislodged a small tiddler with my other, oh and a beer tightly squeezed between my legs!  Yes their first experience of a houseboat on Kariba was with their Mum and not their Dad.

I keep thinking of those kids who don’t even have a dad and I immediately feel guilty for even showing or mentioning my sadness or anger for my girls.  But this is OUR reality and no one else’s and this is how I feel.

The last time I was in Kariba on the same houseboat was with Tom.  And the picture of Tom on his website was taken then.  It haunted me. I saw him on the speed boat calmly holding a fishing rod and sipping a beer with his huge smile.  We had the best time ever with our framily the Malloch-Browns and Greenways, in fact I would say those few days bonded us all so tightly in laughter and framilyhood.  Forever. So where was he this time?

A while back Tom wrote about what inspired us.  Ciara and Erin are my inspiration. 2 children’s lives changed in a breath.  A traumatic accident leaves them without a Dad to hold their hand to the classroom, to practice a golf swing, to turn the page of their homework book, to pick them up and squeeze them so tight it takes their breath away, to dance, to swim, to wipe a tear, to take them for breakfast, go for ride, cuddle in bed.  But to remember how he did these things and know that can never again.

I question why they have had to watch and learn how to help their Dad cough, wipe his nose, his tears, empty his urine bag, lock the house, operate a chair lift, feed the dogs, scream for me because they hear their Dad making choking sounds, worry if Dad will be ok if we go away without him. Accept that Dad will never run cross country at school with them, never take them skiing, or cycle round the block. The inspiration comes in the form of innocence and acceptance by these two precious girls.

I suppose this is what our new life is now…. a question of scales and balances. Sometimes tipping heavily to the side of pure sadness, sometimes perfectly level when it just doesn’t matter, and sometimes crashing down on the other side from love and laughter.  Yip I think that’s what this is, a life of scales.

It’s 2 years since Tom lost the use of his body from his neck down.  2 years that I have cried every day. 2 years since Keeks and Roo physical life with their Dad was abruptly halted.  But it’s been 2 years of incredible hope.  2 years of extraordinary friendships. 2 years of sheer amazement.  2 years of acceptance. 2 years of learning. 2 years of new ways. 2 years of unbeatable grace.

And 2 years extra.