Bear William

My name here is not William. Or Willy or Will or Wills or Woobers.

Hold up your ring finger, middle finger, and pointer finger, as if you were counting to three (or, in this case, making a W). Tap your pointer finger on your temple a few times.

This is what I am called here. This too is my name.

Hazem knows it.

After working with him for a month or two, I could tell that his mind had made a connection between my face and my name sign. Another month or two later, and I could tell that his mind had made a connection between my face, my name sign, and memories of our time together.

His smile upon feeling my face when we met told me so.

Every time we met, all year long, Hazem first felt my face and then performed my name sign (perhaps with a little help). And every time we parted, all year long, I signed William finished and then prompted him to do the same.

A few days ago, I signed William finished for the last time.

The night before, I went to the store and bought a stuffed animal: a bright green frog, about a foot and a half long, with very soft skin (fur?) and disproportionately large limbs, which are perfect for swinging and dangling. (This is the sort of thing you think about when you work with a deafblind child.)

I gave it to him halfway through our last day together. Since he refers to all stuffed animals with the sign for bear, I took his hands in mine and signed Bear William, then prompted him to do the same.

The bear-frog remained with us for another hour or so, during which I repeatedly told him the new stuffed animal’s name, hoping that it would stick. …Ultimately, hoping that I would stick.  

Honestly, though, it probably didn’t work.

I fear that my last-minute Bear William effort won’t keep those happy memories alive for very long. I fear that they’ll either slip away or, even worse, engender only sad confusion. 

But it was an effort. I did my best to say “good-bye” well. And that’s all I can do.

...And that’s been my year. 

Through sorrow and joy, through anger and peace, through exhaustion and thrill, through loneliness and togetherness. As I enter a phase of reflection, I can confidently say that, through it all, I did my best.

Or close to it.

And praise be to God, grace makes up the rest.