laupäev, detsember 04, 2004
Laughing All the Way
Today I took Karl Gustav to visit his mother, and it was an incredible experience!
It was the biggest desire he expressed when we visited him, and I was so glad to do it. I was a bit nervous, though, because I went without a translator (just me and him) and the manager of the childrens home had promised to leave directions to the hospital for me, but she didn't. I had seen on the map where the town was (around 50 km south of Tartu), but had no idea how to get to the hospital. But we pressed on anyway.
On the trip down, he seemed nervous too, so we only talked a bit. It was probably because although he knows a bit of English, he feels like he doesn't speak well (although he really does fine), plus the fact that he doesn't know me too well yet and that I was relying on him to direct me to the hospital. But we made it to the hospital with only a bit of backtracking.
We walked into the place and it wasn't as bad as I thought it could be (I've heard terrible stories about these types of institutions), although I still wouldn't want anyone in my family to be there. After walking the corridors a bit, Karl Gustav spotted his mother having lunch and brought me in to meet her. Right when she saw him, her face lit up, proving the value of the trip. It had been a month since she had last seen him. She spoke with me briefly with the few English words she knows, and struck me as someone I could easily talk with if I only knew Estonian. She was a sight to see, though. She has rheumatoid arthritis, was sitting in a wheelchair, her hands curled up and her body obviously frail. I know it sounds like something from sappy fiction, but it truly was heartbreaking to see. After exchanging a few more words, I left Karl Gustav with his ema (mother).
He visited with her for two hours, and when he came out of the hospital, the whole way from the entry door, down the walkway, right up to the van, he was waving forlornly to his mother. It was a touching sight. After getting into the van, he told me that he was so happy to have seen her, but that leaving was always sad. What 12-year-old boy wouldn't say this?
The trip back is what really crystallized the day for me and will mark it as a lasting memory. Karl Gustav was so much more relaxed after seeing his mother, and although at first our conversation was a bit stilted as before, once we started talking about things like how I am learning Estonian ("Say something to me in Estonian!" he said to me) it's like things clicked and we were able to talk easily. His full charm and wit came into view when he offered me a sweet. His mother had given him a bag full of candies, chocolates and cookies, and he gave one to me. When I finished that, he offered me another. I took that too, wanting to be polite, but when I finished that, he offered another. At that point, I said, "Ei, aitäh (no, thanks). I think I've had enough." He said, "You should have just one" with such a sweet smile that I couldn't turn him down. After I took it, he said with a wide grin, "You should have two!" and when I took that he said, almost laughing, "Oh, you should have three!" We had begun a game that was to last the rest of the trip. He would give me something, I would eat it, then he would find a way to make me take more. He took such joy in this that we were both laughing out loud as we passed by the snow covered pine trees on the road back to Tartu.
It showed me his genuinely generous heart, and an innocence that was strikingly wonderful in an age where children grow up too quickly. I feel I am not doing the experience justice with my feeble words, but to have been there and seen his glowing face and heard his laugh would have melted anyone's heart.
I know that there are many children just like Karl Gustav in Tartu, and my hope is that one day we will reach others. Today, helping him to realize the simple wish of seeing his mother made anything seem possible.
--Tim
Today in prayer we remembered my sister's youngest girl, Bethany (meaning "daughter of the Lord"). Also, it is Peter's nine month birthday!
It was the biggest desire he expressed when we visited him, and I was so glad to do it. I was a bit nervous, though, because I went without a translator (just me and him) and the manager of the childrens home had promised to leave directions to the hospital for me, but she didn't. I had seen on the map where the town was (around 50 km south of Tartu), but had no idea how to get to the hospital. But we pressed on anyway.
On the trip down, he seemed nervous too, so we only talked a bit. It was probably because although he knows a bit of English, he feels like he doesn't speak well (although he really does fine), plus the fact that he doesn't know me too well yet and that I was relying on him to direct me to the hospital. But we made it to the hospital with only a bit of backtracking.
We walked into the place and it wasn't as bad as I thought it could be (I've heard terrible stories about these types of institutions), although I still wouldn't want anyone in my family to be there. After walking the corridors a bit, Karl Gustav spotted his mother having lunch and brought me in to meet her. Right when she saw him, her face lit up, proving the value of the trip. It had been a month since she had last seen him. She spoke with me briefly with the few English words she knows, and struck me as someone I could easily talk with if I only knew Estonian. She was a sight to see, though. She has rheumatoid arthritis, was sitting in a wheelchair, her hands curled up and her body obviously frail. I know it sounds like something from sappy fiction, but it truly was heartbreaking to see. After exchanging a few more words, I left Karl Gustav with his ema (mother).
He visited with her for two hours, and when he came out of the hospital, the whole way from the entry door, down the walkway, right up to the van, he was waving forlornly to his mother. It was a touching sight. After getting into the van, he told me that he was so happy to have seen her, but that leaving was always sad. What 12-year-old boy wouldn't say this?
The trip back is what really crystallized the day for me and will mark it as a lasting memory. Karl Gustav was so much more relaxed after seeing his mother, and although at first our conversation was a bit stilted as before, once we started talking about things like how I am learning Estonian ("Say something to me in Estonian!" he said to me) it's like things clicked and we were able to talk easily. His full charm and wit came into view when he offered me a sweet. His mother had given him a bag full of candies, chocolates and cookies, and he gave one to me. When I finished that, he offered me another. I took that too, wanting to be polite, but when I finished that, he offered another. At that point, I said, "Ei, aitäh (no, thanks). I think I've had enough." He said, "You should have just one" with such a sweet smile that I couldn't turn him down. After I took it, he said with a wide grin, "You should have two!" and when I took that he said, almost laughing, "Oh, you should have three!" We had begun a game that was to last the rest of the trip. He would give me something, I would eat it, then he would find a way to make me take more. He took such joy in this that we were both laughing out loud as we passed by the snow covered pine trees on the road back to Tartu.
It showed me his genuinely generous heart, and an innocence that was strikingly wonderful in an age where children grow up too quickly. I feel I am not doing the experience justice with my feeble words, but to have been there and seen his glowing face and heard his laugh would have melted anyone's heart.
I know that there are many children just like Karl Gustav in Tartu, and my hope is that one day we will reach others. Today, helping him to realize the simple wish of seeing his mother made anything seem possible.
--Tim
Today in prayer we remembered my sister's youngest girl, Bethany (meaning "daughter of the Lord"). Also, it is Peter's nine month birthday!
