Although four years have passed, the struggle to keep Jason engaged in life around him continues. I constantly strive to find the right balance between protecting him and urging him to participate in activities. We've learned that certain risks are simply necessary. The stairs that lead up to his mother's door must be tackled. Over the years, we've managed to safely get him into a courtside seat for Eli's basketball games. Although he no longer feels entirely comfortable in crowds, we encourage him to accompany us to church and family gatherings.
In the spirit of making Jason feel useful, I have turned over more tasks to him. He is once again in charge of killing any insect that dares enter our dwelling. He has also taken over the extremely important job of opening stubborn jars of dill pickles. He happily folds towels and linens while watching General Hospital. At times, the bass in his voice is the only way to motivate an eleven year old boy. As plans are once again underway for me to take a short break, my emotions are conflicting. I hope to ride the train to Chicago in early July. I feel extremely eager to see my brother's new house, and spend time with his family. I'm looking forward to quiet time on the train to read, listen to music, and write. Still, the guilt nudges me. Jason used to love planning trips, whether our annual summer visit to Houston, or merely a quick drive to Kansas City for the day. Eli has already started begging me not to go. While I realize that time away is essential as a caregiver, it also means leaving them behind.
