Rani went into mourning a day after her mother visited. She lost her appetite; she cried and cried at bed time. It took us a day to figure out why she just wasn’t herself. One night she was calmed for a while by playing with the running water in the bathroom. We walked with her; we passed her back and forth; we lay with her. The other choto bacchas seemed to know, or at least Bornali did. She is the one who stopped eating when Rani was in the hospital. We had two sad children. We had someone with Rani constantly, holding her, singing to her, letting her watch Barney all day, giving her whatever she would eat. Something deep inside her had connected, some kind of memory that made life different for her.
Friday I took Rani and Bornali for hydrotherapy. It was Rani’s first time. I’m not sure hydrotherapy will do much for her, but she loved the time in the water. She clung to me, just a bit scared as I carried her into the warm water at the IICP pool. She had fun; she giggled; she has been better since then. In fact, she has been much better, enough to stir up that hope against hope that one day she will be normal, that her slow waves will get faster, that her encephalopathy will disappear.
Is it good for her mother to visit? I have no idea. Is it bad to have a reminder, to mourn? I don’t know. Maybe it helps heal; maybe it opens the wound. But it does tell us that her mother is a part of her life in some way, that there is recognition of some sort. Her mother may find comfort in that. We don’t know; we can’t know; That’s just how it is.
Of course, I do have my entirely emotional opinions that it is good for her to see her mother. Maybe some connections will be made, will become stronger, will help her put thoughts together. Maybe she will join us fully one day and smile and talk to us. I have absolutely no reason to believe this will be. I am glad she is with us at least, and I’m glad she saw her mother.
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