Dinosaur Underwear

The kitchen table was littered with overdue bills, toast crusts on plates, and a cold cup of coffee. Our silent breakfast was finished and it was time to pay the bills. Children’s voices were murmuring in the background as they played quietly on the computer. The clicking of the computer keys kept time with my fleeting thoughts. We all did our best to occupy our minds and to distract us from the unpleasant reality of our lives. Quiet was a necessity in the house now. Dad did not like all of the rambunctious behavior that came with small children. The hearty laughter, which came naturally to children as they played, had to be stifled or it would upset ‘him’. The children adopted solemn faces these days; their bright smiles were seldom seen. The faint laugh tracks playing on the Disney Channel in the background reminded me of the days when our home was filled with laughter and love. The ache of despair and hopelessness seized my heart.

The disheveled mess on the table mirrored the chaos within my heart. My life no longer made sense. I stared blankly at the clutter, trying to gather my thoughts. The chill of the early morning made the table cold to the touch as I gathered the bills into a pile. The rancid taste of coffee on my tongue reminded me of the bitterness that had penetrated my soul. I tried to hide my misery from the kids by forcing the happiness inward. I pasted a smile on my face each morning and attempted to force the cheerfulness it belied down through the skin to my heart. It wasn’t working. My spirit was like a deflated balloon.

It had been a banner year for our household. Changes in our lives came swiftly and unexpectedly; one crisis after another. First, there was ‘the accident’, which alone would have been enough to bring the strongest of heart to their knees. My husband’s accident resulted in a hospital stay that lasted for many months. He had narrowly escaped death. This tragic incident was quickly followed by dad’s cancer diagnosis, mom’s two open-heart surgeries within 11 months, and the house catching fire. It didn’t stop there, things continued to spiral downward. Before I could regain my balance, I learned my husband of 15 years had been involved with another woman before his accident, I found a lump in my breast, and our finances had bottomed out; in fact, the sheriff had recently posted a tax sale notice on our front door. In a little over a year, all of the security, happiness, and stability of our former lives was wiped away.

My thoughts turned to the day we brought my husband home from the hospital. The beaming sunshine on that hot summer day symbolized our high hopes. The jagged scar zigzagging across his skull from multiple brain surgeries was still prominent. The feeding tube tucked beneath his shirt and the skeletal skinniness did not deter our hope for a complete recovery. Propped in his wheelchair, I proudly pushed him through the maze of cars in our driveway to the front deck. Hand-painted signs were hung from the double-doors to our home, the scent of stain hung in the air from the newly stained deck. Family and friends were gathered to greet him like a soldier returning from war. The celebration was complete with pizza from his favorite local shop and cold drinks dispersed in coolers. Children were running about playing tag and baseball. Their laughter and squeals of delight reflected the happy mood of all those gathered. Adults were munching on the plentiful snacks and chattering, waiting for their turn to greet the solemn figure. Relief and gratefulness was etched on every face as they congratulated the wasted figure of the man they once knew.

But the celebratory mood quickly changed when the angry outbursts began. Flailing fists and cuss words burst forth from our hero. Happiness quickly turned to confusion. The expectation of the happy reunion was dashed. Worried men ran to my defense and scolded the childlike figure in the wheelchair, but the angry outburst was only worsened by the intervention. With heads hung low, the formerly jubilant crowd dispersed to alleviate the tension. Maybe he was tired from the long ride home. People shuffled off to their cars promising to return when he felt better. But that day didn’t come. Even after the months wore on, the angry outbursts did not stop. Our life did not return to ‘normal’.

I was grateful for my husband’s recovery and for the fact that he was still with us; however, a severe traumatic brain injury had transformed him into a complete stranger. The merry mischievous glint, which had once been in his eyes, was replaced with a hollow steely gaze. His affectionate and playful manner disappeared beneath a distant and angry façade. The voice, which was used to encourage and sooth us through the hardships of life, became the tyrannical cadence of an unreasonable dictator. The humor, the hugs, the stories….they were lost…. The doctors’ words still echoed in my mind, “There is nothing more we can do.” There would be no cure. This was it. All hope was gone. Final.

As I flipped through the stack of unpaid bills, I tried to wrap my mind around the reality I was facing. I had been praying for a miracle, but I was now surrendered to the fact, I was not going to get the miracle I was expecting. I was overwhelmed with a sadness that seemed to permeate everything around me. The sorrow seemed to cling to every piece of furniture, every surface, every nook and cranny of my household. The tears were always lurking just below the surface ready to make an appearance at the slightest provocation. The air surrounding me seemed to be heavy with the weight of an invisible force. It was smothering me.

The grief of losing the man I knew and loved overshadowed my intellectual comprehension that he could not control the changes within him. How could I ever move forward when all I wanted was to go back and hold on to what I used to have? My anguished heart silently cried out, “Oh Lord, I am so broken; I can’t find my way out of this despair. Oh God, this pain is too much to bear. Will I ever be happy again? How do I walk this path? Teach me how to have joy in the journey if this is what I must accept.”

Within seconds my 2 year old daughter pranced into the kitchen. This small child had no awareness of the sadness that surrounded her. She was perfectly content and happy. The pure joy that exuded from her presence was almost tangible. I instantly wanted to reach out and capture its essence, to bottle it and save it for later. I wanted to soak it in and soak in it! The oil of joy was thick and dense. It poured over my sadness and cloaked it in an impenetrable blanket, if only for a moment. I had to uncover the source of this treasure. She was barely clad as she was in potty-training mode. Her little 2-year-old pot-belly protruded just above the waistband of her new underwear. With all of the vigor of a Latin dancer, she proudly swayed her hips from side to side as she sauntered across the floor.

She continued to frolic in this manner as her voice rang out with a sing-song tune declaring her delight, “I’m sooo happ-y-y-y….I’m sooo happ-y-y-y!!!”

Amazed by her display of innocent felicity, I inquired, “Elizabeth, why are you so happy?”

With all the festive gaiety she was feeling in that moment, she declared in a staccato song, “Be-ca-a-a-a-use….I….ha-a-a-ave….din-o-sa-a-a-ur….under-we-e-e-ear!!”

Oh, the sweetness of her innocence was a like a fresh breeze blowing through me! To be so completely satisfied with such an ordinary pair of underwear, how is that possible? The humorous simplicity of her pleasure struck me. If only it was that easy to be feel happiness again. Is it really that simple? Even as I sat there contemplating whether it was possible, the delight she expressed somehow began to bubble up within me like an artesian spring. The elusive joy dove into the depths of the anguish I was feeling a moment earlier. Then I laughed. I laughed until I cried.

The laughter released the pain and, in that moment, I surrendered my sadness. The force of the release was like a newly tapped oil well spraying into the sky! As the cleansing tears flowed down my face and clear liquid streamed from my nose, my body bobbed and heaved in a comical display of conflicting emotions. Laughter followed by sobs. Sobs followed by laughter. Through my laughter I could hear the sounds of chairs hitting the floor and children’s feet racing down the hall. Eyes were wide with curiosity and eager looks upon their faces; they stared in wonder at their Mom’s sudden outburst. Through my tears, I pointed at Elizabeth’s tiny figure flittering around the table like a well-trained performer. Her exuberant smile and happy chatter began to work its magic on them. Their eyes followed her around the room and the weight of the sorrow began to lift from their faces. Then the miracle happened. They began to laugh too. The hilarious laughter became contagious.

Elizabeth continued her song and dance and we continued to laugh until we were spent. The spontaneous hugs and eager chatter began to chase away the heaviness clinging to us. Our life had not budged, yet here we were, enjoying a simple song. The miracle was not an external change in our surroundings, but rather a miracle which changed us on the inside. Nothing in our world had resolved, but in those moments of release, a light began to flicker. We seized that moment and held it close to our hearts. A pair of dinosaur underwear had sparked a revival.

The hopelessness and despair, which weighed us down, began to relinquish its hold on our lives. Our eyes began to recognize the simple pleasures that surrounded us. That day, our lives took a turn for the better. Not because problems disappeared, but because we began to cherish the ordinary events of life. Sharing stories and looking for humor in life's unexpected challenges has become a signature of our communication with others. We look at the clouds and find the hidden pictures; dragon or horse? A toothpick to dislodge that stubborn piece of food, a warm blanket on a cold day, the unbridled laughter of a child, the sweet scent of the air after a rainstorm; these all, small hidden treasures that revive our spirits.

That day, where sorrow ruled our life, was almost 15 years ago. My husband never did return to ‘normal’, but my dad beat cancer. My mom survived for 12 more years. My lump turned out to be begnin and we never did lose our house to the sheriff sale. Life continues to be challenging and, at times, I can still be overwhelmed. But I don’t think the despair of my past will ever gain control again. The kitchen table continues to be my favorite spot to sit. It seems to hold the memory of that day too.

I will never forget the magic of dinosaur underwear and how it changed my life. Whenever I feel like all hope is lost or there will never again be a reason to smile, I remember ‘Dinosaur Underwear’ and the miracle returns.



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