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A Letter to Oliver Dear Oliver, One Christmas and two birthdays have passed since our last update. You were an infant, and now you are a junior, and growing up fast. The twinkle is still there, and so is the laughter, although, we have noticed that there seems to be a greater depth to it, a sharing rather than an individual response. An example of this was when you let us put a pair of silly glasses on you, you laughed instead of pulling them off, as you usually do.  The diet that your mum and dad have instigated seems to be working. You've certainly grown and put on weight, or maybe we're just getting older! The pride we felt for you hasn't diminished. You were the very best cymbal player in any Christmas concert in I998. We know, we were there.  There was just a moment, when we both thought, of all the children here, "Why you?" Negative thoughts don't stay long, but we can't pretend they don't occur, they do. The sadness is not for you Ollie, it's for ourselves. Your mum and dad had looked forward to a first Christmas when you were really interested in your presents, only to find that you were ill on Christmas day. We know you had a good time later on. Last year we had to hide our sack so that you wouldn't open the presents, such a change from the years before when you weren't really interested. When we arrive for our visits, we bring a plastic bag, now you look in; you know that there is something in it for you. We have enjoyed two birthdays with you. Last year we listened to Christmas songs in August, they were on your "Step-A-Tune," and got stiff wrists turning the handle to make the water flow in your canal. 
We bought you a timed game where bits jump off if you are not quick enough. You were brighter than the rest of us, you pushed the clock back to give yourself more time. This year you had a CD player, by mid afternoon, you knew all the songs, and which number they were. You were so quick to blow out your candles, that your mum had to light them again, so that we could take photographs. Progress all the way. An evening fireworks display turned out to be a bit of a damp squib, literally.  What other child would say, of one rocket and one cascade, "Good fireworks show"? Oliver, what a treasure you are, and how many parents would willingly swap their little horror, for you? We know a few. You came to Shropshire the week after your birthday. You worked out how to use the new video, a lot faster than it took four of us to assemble a swing. The apples still fascinate you, dropping them in the birdbath was fun, but not getting them out again, you didn't like getting your hands wet. We did manage to persuade you to wash your grapes before eating. What's the difference? Wet for a good reason? You enjoyed climbing the tree, it was fun for you but difficult for us, because you don't hold on. You have no fear of falling or the consequences. You have gained a lot of self-confidence in the last year, thanks partially, to a dedicated class teacher and assistant. You were able to walk around the bungalow alone and enjoyed walking on the wall, with help, although didn't like it when the children next door called out to you.  You still like computers, and when we recently purchased one, we had no qualms about letting you use it. The idea that you would damage such a valuable item never occurred to us. You certainly couldn't crash it as much as your computer illiterate grandparents! Receiving your e-mail has been a real pleasure for us, it has made you seem so much closer, as telephone conversations tend to be very one sided. 
As time goes by we find we are more able to forget the disability, and just see the little boy. Simple things still give us the most pleasure, an afternoon in your garden watching you play on the swing, or with your toys. That's when your mum and dad have finished testing them. They are very conscientious; we've photographs to prove it!  The highlights of the past year for us are "Hello Grandpa!" and "One for Nanna." "Hello Grandpa!" you said on the telephone on Grandparents' day. It's a shame you couldn't have seen the look of joy on Grandpa's face, or the tear in his eye.  We were playing with balloons on your birthday. I gave them to you and said, "One for Mum, one for Dad and one for Grandpa" and took one for myself, without saying anything. "Altogether, throw." The process was repeated. The third time, when I got to Grandpa, without any prompting you said "And one for Nanna." There are no words to describe the emotion of that moment. It passed unnoticed in a bevy of balloons, but it will remain in my heart forever. We are meeting slowly. Are you coming out, or are we getting in? Either way, as long as we get there eventually, we can wait. Nanna and Grandpa XX
To Oliver's other grandparents - (paternal) |