Simply enough, earlier today Fredrick and I conspired to have a exciting movie night this evening, complete with ice cream, red vines and popcorn. We were planning to watch the special edition of The Wizard of OZ. A righteous seventeen minutes in to our journey over the rainbow, I'm through my pint of Ben & Jerry's and Fredrick is snoring through the Munchkin's welcome fiesta. We are wild and caaaahrrrazyyyy guys! In all seriousness, he deserves some R&R after today's shenanigans.
Fredrick woke up this bright morning so resistant to any course of action that I was sure it was to be a day of strife and several tantrums. As has become his ever increasing habit, Fredrick stood to prove me wrong. After a slightly down trodden morning hygiene routine and a spirited discussion about his "skipping" his rehab today, Fredrick appealed to his most trusted ally, his nurse. Much to my relief Fredrick's attempts to sway him were all in vain. True to his unfailing character MB explained that the ball was far from in his court, and with his typical warm exuberance, admittedly a manner that sometimes causes even me to attempt reach for a star, he urged Fredrick to climb back up into the old wheelchair saddle and give it another go. Throughout the day he gave it several more go's as fate would have it.
I find myself regularly inspired by Fredrick's incredible feats but I can't recall having before felt the tight, effusive sensation that grew in my chest this morning as I watched him engage in a remarkable transformation I could have never anticipated. As we entered the music therapy room I noticed him slowly inching toward the piano without prompting.
Music therapy is without a doubt Fredrick's favorite part of rehab. Up until this point his interest has been limited almost exclusively to learning the lyrics of Disney songs and listening to the music therapist play her guitar. This small advance my seem unimportant, but his desire to engage in a more physical way peaked my interest.
I watched from a hidden vantage point as the music therapist joined him on the piano bench and the two of them reviewed notes and scales, transiently conferring their significance. Out of the music room there began to flow a soft melody I found unfamiliar but pleasing, it paused intermittently but carried on for the better part of a half an hour. I crept into the room to observe his expression and body language as I was sure this was yet another passion of his I had never witnessed. Sure enough, his pleasured concentration and unmitigated delight, forced an unyielding shock of emotion through me. Here was music at it's best. No one would call it refined or symphonic but it was indeed all but earth shattering for me in that small moment.
What had caused this dramatic change? The thing I find most intriguing about Fredrick is his capacity for creativity. I feel as though his monotone speaking voice and consistent lack of emotion when expressing himself allow him to be perceived by most as a simple, spark-less being. His preference for strict schedules and repetitive activities often cause others to assume his interests are bound by his habits.
I confess myself often among the ignorant, but I have never been so earnestly abashed as the instant he rolled himself toward me after the session, smiling, asking "Did you hear that? I wrote that." To which I had to respond, "Yes, Kiddo, but I felt it too."
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