Hand Signals

Needs: our hand signals

We have a secret language. It came from necessity, privately, publicly, urgently, in a hot moment when we needed to be connected. Without warning, something was said, something that didn’t sit right with them and it didn’t sit right with me. My dudes’ eyes reached out to mine, for an anchor and in a tap and a nod they knew, yeah that wasn’t cool, that’s not who we are, and I whispered “not Creanish” for the first time. 

Fast forward. I didn’t get advance notice that an authority figure was going off script. I could see the kids drank it like a milkshake. Why shouldn’t they, their parents had driven them there and expected them to listen. I leaned over quietly and tried to give them a look like “Not this, I am ideologically opposed to this” because my eyebrows are all that and my son gave me a nod that looked like he understood and said “Yeah, pancakes”. After, in our car, I turned to them and said when someone, anyone says something I’m not cool with, I will give you this signal and I tapped two fingers on my arm and their arms. It’s our secret language. Two fingers tapped on my arm means “Not Creanish.”

Fast forward. I’m sitting in the hospital with my girl and a doctor we have never seen before is doubting a working treatment plan and washing her regular doctor in negativity.  My girl is trembling as she hears the things she knows for certain become translucent.  Water hits the tissue paper of her medical identity. She’s on rocky ground and I lean across and tap her arm with two fingers. I’m kicking him off her team.  My girl smiles and turns to give her full attention. She’s protected now. There is nothing he can say. She knows he’s “not Creanish”.

Fast forward.  At school pick up. Another Mum is insistent about the Father’s Day breakfast.  It is important, to her. My kids have slowly circled from their classrooms. Minutes pass and the Mum is not even breathing as she rattles off information. I am looking for a gap to leave and they are searching for a gap to plead. Their eyes are fretting. We move too late. “It was the worst day ever, I couldn’t hold on anymore, why does she want to talk when I need you”. Sobs. I get down low and swim in those tears. “You’re absolutely right. And when you give me this signal (tapping 3 fingers) it means “TO THE CAR”. She lets out a breath. He taps three fingers on my arm. TO THE CAR, like TO home, TO just the three of us.

Fast forward. We were going out, well we were going in but we were at the movies. It was still a dark room with bed like chairs but a movie was the whole world that day. I tried to reassure her. We would be fine. Just a family movie. She tried to say something. I tried to reassure her again. Sometimes I don’t hear her, like my super focus blurs other details. I heard the hurl hitting the popcorn. We all hear that. It sounds violent and brings a side serve of mother guilt. Wipes out. Hair back, jumper change and then we saw the rest of the movie. After the film, she was dancing beside her seat as the credits rolled, vomit forgotten, just joy. When we got to the car, she turned around and said “hey guys when I give you this signal, (tap 4 fingers) it means I’m going to throw up.”

Fast forward. I’m saying goodnight. I’m saying I love you so much. I’m saying I love you more than all the hairs on all the bears. I’m saying I love you more than all the sand on all the beaches.¹ And he says breathily “I wish we could say this all the time, anywhere, any place.”  A long sigh escapes him and I can almost hear his brain whirring. “I know Mum when I do this, and he waves his five curvy fingers in the air, it means I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.”

Fast forward. My girl is having an MRI. “You can sit outside Mum” the tech said with no nonsense direction. I’m not his mother.  I smile big and give my girl a squeeze. “Nah, I can sit inside like last time” I half laugh as I fake my way in. I am always trying to make myself smaller, and smiley-er in those rooms. “Ok well you can sit down at the end of the machine.” A concession, a victory. I restrain my high five and feign obedience. We pay attention to directions we know too well.  Take off all metal. Left at home.  I carefully sit in the parent chair thinking of the parents before me who claimed this chair. I begin breathing all my love and strength into her. I place my hand on her foot. She is bravery incarnate. The MRI has begun. I am tapping my fingers on her foot. I…LOVE…YOU…SO…MUCH.

Fast forward. Doctors are talking and I am patting her. Doctors are still talking and she doesn’t understand. She can’t speak. It’s been a hard day’s night. There is a new team reviewing the images.  I give her five finger taps over and over.  I…LOVE…YOU…SO…MUCH I…LOVE…YOU…SO…MUCH. I am asking if we can order all her blood tests from the one draw, if the different teams are talking to each other, if they have her current medication.  She splays 4 fingers out.  I pass the spew bowl just before she needs it, before Doctors realise what’s going on. She taps me with 5 fingers. In an instant, our eyes lock. They can keep talking. We’ve got this.

Fast forward. Christmas concert. He’s pumped. He is a tree. He is carrying on the family tradition of starring as trees, rocks and lamps. He comes out on stage, I love him. He curls 5 fingers down by his side. He’s too cool for a wave. I see it. It’s our language. Wherever, whenever we need each other. I…LOVE…YOU…SO…MUCH.

¹Wonderous Maggie Dent, thank you for that one. www.maggiedent.com