Calling through the window

This morning A. called from the window across the street (about a car width and a bit more).

I waved and we mimed that he would go swimming. He is here on holiday as he has been for the past few years.

The first time I heard him I was writing and he was throwing a mega tantrum below my window. I wondered why his mother couldn't control him. Later I learned. He was brain damaged at birth. Motor co-ordination problems, temper tantrums, were the rules of the day. I still carry the guilt for my unkind thoughts, and hold his mother in awe in what she has done to help her son.

Over the years he has turned into a teenager. The tantrums are almost gone. Two summers ago he picked up a bike and rode it as we looked on with tears in our eyes. Now he rides throughout the village. He has made great progress in school.

He and I have a ritutal where he calls goodnight and good morning through the window and try and communicate with our hands. I try to be home for these times. When we are on the street we use a Danish/English speaker to translate for us.

Usually I am here during his entire visit, but I am heading for Paris to spend time with another friend during her holiday, bad planning on one hand, great on another. It is a choice between too many good things, but there is a sadness at not being in Argelès when the village overflows with life from a group of talented, funny and amusing Danes...

His mother has told him that tomorrow is the last morning we will be able to wave of this holiday. A nodded his understanding, but I feel a loss. Next summer I will schedule differently Inshallah.