Absence makes the heart grow

 

I went scuba diving over the weekend (a story for another time), and it was the longest time away from Jacob since that one week we'd lived apart after our time in the UK this summer. Then, he'd filled his week with family; picking strawberries with his mother, playing a tiny organ in a little church,  going to thrift stores with Izzy and eating the best strawberry sorbet in his life with his father. I had my week full too, although with no strawberries. I'd had grand plans to make that week my week of living liberated, seeing friends and having all the  solo dance parties. Instead, I contended with the layer of dust that had built up in our house, threw out a couple of dead plants, wiped away as much lizard poo as I could reach, and started work again, all while missing Jacob.

The day he came back I felt a bubble rising in my body, from my belly to my throat. I tore an old bed sheet and painted big red hearts on it and a wobbly 'Welcome Home Jacob!', and wrapped it, paint still slightly damp, in plastic before driving to the airport in an anxious sweat (it was my first long drive!). Seeing him come out of the arrival hall in his green jumper and slightly rumpled hair made my heart swell. It was so good to be together again and the world felt a little more in place. I'd made japchae to say "I love you! I missed you!" since food is a language we both understand. 

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Before I left for Tioman I had an anxious feeling, like the first day of going to school. I was going with some friends who I've known for a long time and yet don't know very well, to a place I'd never been, to do something I'd never done. To quell my fears I bought travel insurance and read Olive, Again. It turned out to be a fantastic trip. I had the independence of decision that you willingly lose when you get married. If I wanted to do something (read a book, go on a walk, etc.) there was no thought of how my action might impact Jacob, I could just do it. I spent the second evening reading and sitting and looking out to sea, watching the sky turn from blue to purple to dark. 

By the time we were on the bus back, and I'd finished Olive, Again, I was very much looking forward to giving up my newfound freedom and returning to the freedom of being around someone who knows and loves you even when you abandon him for a scuba diving trip. The trip bag was arduous-ish, with long queues at the checkpoint. Since vegan food at Tioman is not yet a thing, I was very hungry. When  we got back, finally, to the Kallang pick up point, Jacob was there. He gave me a big hug and a tupperware of still warm black bean soup to say "I love you! I miss you! You need to eat more!" 

Two funny bits for a grey day

1. Sometimes Jacob does very sweet things that make me fall in love with him more, and sometimes that happens utterly unintentionally. One night last week we were in bed, and Jacob had prepared lunch boxes for us both tomorrow. "What are we having?" I asked, and he said it was very simple fare, just black bean stew and..."Buckwheat!!?!?!?!?!??" It was like a magic word, I got so excited. Jacob laughed and laughed and said, "I should cook buckwheat more often!"

2. After his stroke, Dad has struggled to communicate because part of his brain (the language part) was damaged during the bleed. This is called aphasia, a  "communication disorder that makes it hard to use words. It can affect your speech, writing, and ability to understand language [...] it doesn’t impair intelligence. People who have aphasia may have a hard time speaking and finding the "right" words to complete their thoughts. They may also have problems understanding conversation, reading and comprehending written words, writing words, and using numbers. People with aphasia may also repeat words or phrases." (source) 

This can be hard, for him and for us; he gets frustrated with the inability to convey what he wants to while we long for unimpeded communication with him. But it has also led to some funny moments. Yesterday we went over for dinner and I asked Dad where Mum was. He gestured to their bedroom and said "Mother is doing...her steroids." (She was in fact working on the family finances.)

Pre-dinner prayer is also a choice moment for aphasia bloopers. For instance, Dad has prayed:

"Lord. It's only vegetables. That is all. Amen."

and

"Lord. We promise. Headlights. We promise headlights. Amen." 

Sometimes though, his words work just like they used to. Yesterday he said "What time is it?" and glanced at the clock, "10 o'clock already! I am surprised!" Since words sometimes mean what they don't mean directly, we understood that it was time to go.