happy being trevy

Trevy had an appointment with his Talk Doctor (aka psychologist) today. We're working on identifying feelings and strategies for managing them. We were trying to create a list of calm down choices to reference when he's feeling really stressed. Talk Doctor: So, Trevy, what sort of things do you think you could do to help you calm down? Crickets Me, helpfully: Would going for a walk help? Or maybe playing a game? What sorts of things might we do to help you trap your sad thoughts so you can feel calm again? Trevy: How 'bout you, Mom? What things could you do to not be angry? Like you were today.  

Capturing Trevy's joyful soul is a bit like sighting a fairy, which is to say impossible. Oh, we grab bits of it for sure. A smile here. A laugh there. The twinkle in his eye for just a second. But capturing the whole essence of him is elusive . This harmonica playing video comes mighty close. Right here is why we often say he's magical. Such a beautiful gift it has been and is to walk beside him.

They told us it would be a long day. They warned us we'd be the first in the waiting room and the last to leave. When a late night emergency surgery swooshed in, we thought maybe we wouldn't be the last after all. We were wrong. Not a soul was left in that waiting room with us in the end. Not a living soul. The last paid employee had left for the night and shuttered the lights, not fully, but mostly. So we sat there, waiting in the dim light with a dim hope in our aching hearts. Eventually, Jonathan went back to the "employee only" section to see if we could learn something, anything. He heard that the surgeon had nearly finished closing Trevor up and we'd soon be able to see him again. The vision of his swollen face, lying so still, all wrapped in white, an almost angelic glow about him, that vision will forever be seared on our hearts. They told us it would be a long day. And it was. In some ways, that long day hasn't ended. We continue ...