This week, guest blogger Scott Newport tells how one member of the team helped Scott and his son Noah find pockets of joy even when Evan’s death was imminent.

Little Moments that Last

A couple of weeks back I found myself sitting alone in my woodshop. Silence was present except for the click-clack of a ticking clock. The sturdy bench I was sitting on was a project I had just completed, constructed out of reclaimed redwood. My Die Hard leather boots were resting comfortably on sawdust and the cobwebs hanging from the corners of the room were doing a slow dance as a summer breeze caressed its way through the open door. My work bench was clear except for my handcrafted mallet. The upright maple handle was glistening from an inquisitive ray of sun sneaking past the cracks of a broken window. A long shadow let me know it was getting late.

“Hey Scott, is it okay to come in?” A woman’s voice spoke from the door behind me.

As I shifted my body around, I saw it was Linda, the social worker from Walk with Me. As she entered through the door I was a bit embarrassed. She had to step over an extension cord and push a piece of scrap wood away with her foot. I am used to maneuvering around my shop but I wasn’t sure if she would be.

“Hey Linda, I almost forgot you were coming over. We can go up to the house to talk. Is it my turn?”

“Yep, it’s your turn, Scott. Remember? Last time I was here I did some art work with Noah.”

“Oh, that’s right,” I recalled. “Noah’s such a great big brother.”

“Why don’t we just sit here and talk,” she gently said.

I unfolded a lawn chair I had garbage-picked, wiped off the dust, and we started to talk. As our conversation went on that day, thoughts that had been hidden away somehow emerged, and Linda just listened. For a moment I couldn’t understand why I was speaking words that I thought shouldn’t be said. Linda reassured me through my tears that it was okay to feel and say what I was experiencing. She explained to me about little moments. She called them “pockets of joy.”

I don’t know how long we sat in my sun-drenched woodshop but as we wrapped up our time together, I thanked Linda. She made her way to the door but I said, “I think I’ll sit here a bit longer. If you want to see Evan, he is up at the house with Nurse Jalinda.”

After she left I realized what an amazing woman she is. Talking in the midst of my environment made the difference. Turns out her dad was a carpenter, too. So I guess she was more familiar than I thought about maneuvering around my place.

After pondering for awhile on that dusty bench, I soon found myself writing this poem for Linda.

A Book about Me

Conversations with you are like learning to read a book about me
Listening reveals father, son, husband, and hurt
Watching you paint with Noah helps words find meaning
Each brush stroke from his heart opens mine to the future
Penni’s hands on the crib ready to touch
Your hand ready to catch each tear that drops
Helping us walk with Evan, circles us all to share
Preparing for his death brings us closer to life
Your presence sweeps the fear away and
Allows us to gather the fleeting pockets of joy
When we get where we’re going, your work will be done
But your memory will be engraved in a book about me

Where Do You Find Pockets of Joy?

How and where do you find pockets of joy while caring for your child with special needs? Please leave a comment in hopes that your strategy will help other parents cope, too.

Do you like what you see at DifferentDream.com? You can receive more great content by subscribing to the quarterly Different Dream newsletter and signing up for the daily RSS feed delivered to your email inbox. You can sign up for the first in the pop up box and the second at the bottom of this page.