When Cyndy was reunited with her mother after four years in foster care, she was ready for her mom to relapse, and she was ready for the world. She had learned what to expect. If Cyndy had used words to express her life’s motto, it would be, “It’s better to hit first, and hit them with all you got.” She got her message across without words.
When she was referred to Carson’s Therapeutic Recreation program, she liked the sports. There were all these pesky rules about not holding or pushing, but she could hit, kick or throw that ball as hard as she liked and people seemed to like that. Bicycling was boring. There was no point of contact—no tackle—to make her come alive. But still the steady push, push of the pedals moved through her body and kind of evened out her internal agitation.
After a year, the Rec program invited Cyndy to join a small group that went to a nursing home to help prepare the food trays and assist the elderly with feeding. Cyndy brought her tray over to a lady with pale white hair. Cyndy had no grandparents in her life and had never been close up to an elderly person. The name tag over her bed read, “Mrs. Monagan.” The skin on Mrs. Monagan’s face was like tissue paper and spotted. Cyndy feared the unfamiliar cloudiness in her eyes. Momentarily, Cyndy felt braced for hurt, as she usually did. Then all at once, she knew that this woman could not hurt her.
Cyndy sat down in the chair, placed the tray down, and didn’t speak. She was overcome with the feeling of not being afraid.
Mrs. Monagan was in no rush. She smiled softly at Cyndy and waited. Cyndy picked up the soft peaches in the cup, spooned some out and held it gently to Mrs. Monagan’s mouth. When they made contact, Cyndy felt an infinitesimally small mouthed hope in her waken and leaned forward. Like Cyndy, Mrs. Monagan didn’t need many words. She watched Cyndy feed her, carefully and efficiently, without pause. She studied Cyndy’s straight back, squared shoulders, set jaw and the two tears running down her face. Mrs. Monagan reached out a single finger to tap tap Cyndy’s wrist in tacit acknowledgment of them, to which Cyndy replied with a barely perceptible nod.
Over the years, Cyndy became a mentor in Carson’s Rec program, helping others begin, stepping forward as a peacemaker for those who stood ready to fight. Cyndy became a teacher, had her own children that she taught to ride and play. All through the years, even with graduate school and the babies, even now, she volunteers at the nursing home.
By JAC Patrissi
