Chronic

            Chronic means persistent and endless…incurable; anything chronic is perceived as unfortunate. Chronic runs contrary to the neat, happy endings we all love so much.

            I often get asked, “How is Evan doing?”  People will comment on how far he’s come.  And he has come a million miles from where he was.  Truly.

            He came to me like a surly, feral 16 year-old, in a 6 year-old body.   He was determined to maintain control of everything, and he had little use for this Mama beyond a source of food.  Our first year was a 365 day, 24 hour struggle for control.  There were good times, but they were measured often in minutes, not whole days.

             Slowly, imperceptibly, things changed.  Our attachment grew.  Almost 4 years home, Evan is so much more secure, and he loves his family.  He has learned to hug, and wants to be close to me.  I still lie next to him at night so he can fall asleep.   Evan will sign to me that he loves me without any prompting. 

            He is doing well in school, and every year has brought great progress.  Evan, who had no language at all, is now signing in ASL, reading and writing.  He is excellent at math.  His social skills have advanced, noticeably.  But, we are nowhere near the end of this journey. 

            Today, I took Evan to the Laundromat with me, like I have every week since we moved to RI in June.  Evan enjoys the Laundromat because he plays with my phone, and I treat him to Subway.  Usually, Ben comes with us.  Today, though, Ben stayed with my Mother, and Evan came with me alone. 

            We went to Subway to pick up a sandwich before heading back to finish the clothes.  Evan and I climbed back in the car, and I started to pull away.  Fifty feet away from the Subway, Evan signed that his straw was broken.  There was a hole in it.  Uggh. 

            I turned the car around, pulled back into our parking spot, and signed to Evan, “Go get another straw.”  He looked back at me.  I repeated, “Go get another straw. Go.”  He hesitated.  I rolled my eyes.  Evan is not all that fond of any form of ‘labor,’ and I was not going to go retrieve that straw. “Go!”  I signed emphatically. 

            Evan opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk in front of us.  He took a few running steps towards the Subway doors. Then he stopped. 

            Evan turned to face me, his brow knit together with anxiety.

            “STAY.” He signed in a command. “STAY?” This time, a question.  He watched for my confirmation. I nodded, unable to quell the lump rising in my throat. 

            Chronic.  The knowledge that people will leave you.  Chronic.  Family can vanish.  Chronic.  Life can leave you on the streets alone. Suddenly.  Unexpectedly. 

            Oh, my dear sweet Evan, when I said yes, I said yes forever.  

           This journey will never be complete, but I am going to walk beside you each and every day through the good, the bad and the ugly.  I am not waiting for the day you will be ‘finished’ with your early experiences.  I know these will run like threads woven through the tapestry that is your life.  I hope the love you have now as my son will someday crowd out those colors and patterns from your earlier experiences. 

   Deep down, I know this is chronic…

   I know that you will only be sure…you will only truly know that your family will never leave,            when we never do.