James had been institutionalized since he was nine years old. When we met him, he was almost thirty-seven. He was born with limited use of only his upper extremities and so relied on a wheelchair.
For several years, he had refused speech therapy and was adamant about not participating in occupational therapy programs. He read constantly but spoke very little to others.
This was Animals As Intermediaries’ first of a series of visits to this chronic care hospital, and we arrived with an October program, bringing the theme of changing seasons, clouds, and winter winds. James sat, silent, giving us only the token presence of his body. He slumped down in his chair, staring at the floor. As the program began, Sarah talked about the kettling of hawks, their soaring and rising with wind currents, and about different types of clouds.
Looking up from his lap at one point, James saw the clouds Sarah was conjuring and became animated. In a tremulous bass voice, he called out, “Cumulus!”
At first as he told us about clouds, he was difficult to understand, but as we listened, he became even more animated, determined to communicate his knowledge of clouds. His knowledge, gained by extensive reading, had not been shared before. “Seeing” our clouds, however, sparked him to turn outward and share his inner knowledge. His inner clouds became a connection with the outer world. From that day on, James began participating actively, asking staff at the hospital when we would next arrive. When we were there, he spoke to the animals and, through them, to us.
One day, a ring-necked dove climbed gently onto his shoulder. He grinned. “Look!” he called out, engaging everyone. “Look! There’s a dove on my shoulder!”
Ten years later we received funding to go back for one visit to this same rehabilitation unit. I was amazed to see James with twenty other people waiting in the hall for the program to begin. I recognized him from the stories, and from some of our original video footage. I introduced myself to him, saying, “James, you know my mother. Ten years ago she came with doves to visit you.” In my mind I was seeing the video of the dove walking up his shoulder and then after a moment flying up around his head. It was poignant to meet him.
James lifted his head. Nothing in his eyes indicated that he had understood me. He looked blankly at me, strapped into his wheelchair. Then with his left hand James traced a walking path up his arm to his shoulder, patted his right shoulder and clearly said, “Dove, dove on my shoulder.” In a wide movement he threw his large hands into the air with a flutter, saying, “Dove flew.”
Ten years later. We had the same pair of ring-necked doves with us on this fall program. He held one cupped gently in his hands. Quiet.
Read other stories: Emerald Green Moss | Inner City
All stories excerpted from Bring Me the Ocean, copyright 1995 by Rebecca A. Reynolds, with the permission from publisher Quick Publishing LLC, St. Louis, MO (314-432-3435).
