There were a cluster of thoughtful presents under our tree. Mercy gifted me with sustainable cloths to make the daily task of washing dishes more pleasant. They are organic and dyed with pomegranate and turmeric. You know you are middle aged when you are excited to get a wooden scrub brush. Okay, older than middle aged. Hope sent chocolates from the bakery across from her apartment in France, which are as sweet as the sentiment. My granddaughter painted tiny flower pots, and planted wee cacti for each of the people on her list. Aurelle stayed up all night long creating slippers that are stuffed with rice, such that you can pop them in the microwave for a bit and they will keep Zack's feet warm. Micah gave coupons to be redeemed for an hour in the clouds once he is a certified pilot. Lukas elevated Benjamin to the next level of generosity, by mailing him the ingredients of gifts for the family. 

 

Aurelle was delighted with the poster of Love spelled in forty four different languages, many of which she can decipher. She long ago surpassed my linguistic threshold, which does not allow me to order lunch in any tongue save my own. 

 

Hosanna is a Ben whisperer. She has brought him down from the ledge with nothing more than her soothing voice and a hard earned understanding of how he thinks. Not that thinking happens much when he unspools. She created a white board for him that includes magnetic phrases, and the names of both friends and characters he adores. There are the three circles of a Venn diagram in the corner, for him to label at will. 

 

He spent the next hour arranging words into sentences, with the repetition he relies on. It afforded him one more tool for mastering his emotions. Later in the day when the lights flickered, which is a trigger for him, he picked up the board and rearranged the sentences to make meaning. I did not look over his shoulder, but maybe it was about how Pocohantas thwarted uncivil war. 

 

I fooled myself into assuming that Ben would forget that this was the second anniversary of his last time in a locked facility. He who knows the presidents in order, and is happy to recite the sequence of shapes for the twenty four chocolates in his advent calendar. He who remembers dates such as the last time we went to Uncle Roy's house, (Thanksgiving 2016) and when our family went to the beach (June 2014). It turns out that his recent obsession with rewatching Lady and the Tramp is to console himself that people (or dogs) who get imprisoned against their will are released in the end. 

 

Perhaps there is a better strategy than crossing my fingers and hoping that the disasters have slipped his mind. Maybe we can harness ways to clothe them in language that brings meaning.