The Miracle Worker

Through a joke gone awry this evening, my husband has got me thinking about Helen Keller.  Thinking about a woman who had long been dead before either of us was born, and severely disabled by a childhood illness so that she was rendered both deaf and blind, and yet we both know her name and the name of her helper and later companion, Annie Sullivan.  Why do we know these things?  Because of the miracle.  Because in her isolation and confusion, someone reached in and brought her out.  Because she went from the almost feral child we see depicted in The Miracle Worker to a college graduate, published author, and outspoken advocate. 

I read about Helen Keller in elementary school, then saw The Miracle Worker when it was performed at my high school.  It still amazes me to think of losing both my sight and my hearing and being able to do ANYTHING other than sit in a rocking chair.  But she did it, and we continually credit Annie Sullivan with the accomplishment of figuring out how to teach her.  I wonder how often Ms. Sullivan lost her temper or cried in frustration or felt like a complete failure in the course of her teaching duties.  I wonder if she thought about giving up, that maybe someone else would be able to do what she obviously couldn't, as Helen broke things and threw major tantrums.  I don't know.  But I do know how she must have felt when that crazy little girl FINALLY made the connection between words and objects.  When she stopped having fits and started attending to tasks and making obvious progress.  I know how she felt because its how I feel.  When the car ride changes from tantrums to requests to stop at McDonald's for french fries.  When bedtime stops being a battle and becomes a search for a specific car (and upon finding said car, the child in question calmly returns to his room and snuggles down for the night).  When a day of one-sided conversations gradually turns into a series of back and forth verbal communication ("I want milk please!" "Here you go." "Oh, thank you mommy.")  And in light of these feelings and changes and frankly, astonishing development, I find myself thinking about Annie Sullivan and wondering how she felt being labeled "a miracle worker."  Because I am seeing the miracle, and I know that I didn't work it.  Yes, I've been in the foxhole since day one.  I was the arms of comfort during the evaluations that left us both feeling helpless.  I was the one making flash cards and learning sign language and talking while wondering if it was making a difference.  But I'm not the one who overcame the confusion and disorientation of living in a world that doesn't make sense so that I could reach out to those around me and be a part of it.  I'm not the miracle worker...I'm his mother.

(Where would either of us be without the speech and occupational therapists, the early intervention specialists, special ed teachers, and school district representatives who make up our team?  These people are amazing too, and I love them for their commitment to my special child, but I hope that they will not mind being labeled as witnesses to the miracle.)