We don't really know what Elijah experiences. We do know that he doesn't experience his life the same way the rest of us do. It leaves me confused, wishing that I could spend some time inside his little body to better understand how he experiences this world.
He can see, but we don't know how much or what or when he's seeing. I'm often amazed at his ability to navigate without running into things. And at other times, I'm amazed at how much he doesn't seem to see at all.
He can hear, but we don't know if his brain is processing the information as it should be.
He can feel pain, but his brain doesn't seem to know what to do with the information. That leaves Elijah with a seemingly high pain tolerance. Which, by the way, sounds awesome, but it's not.
He can process his food, but his digestive system is a lot slower than most of us. Elijah's brain doesn't tell his stomach to empty as fast as it should.
He can communicate, but not with speech. It's often in subtle, unconventional ways and you might miss it if you're not paying attention.
He can interact with kids, but he doesn't know what to do with them. He often scares them and my heart soars and breaks to watch him trying.
You see? It's complicated. Elijah has a lots of can-dos, but they're all complicated by the brain's inability to know what to do with the information, which frustrates me. The brain is always changing, forming different connections. That knowledge gives me hope. But, the brain in it's complicated-ness makes life frustrating. It affects every single aspect of a person's life, from digestion to speech, from mobility to vision to hearing. Every.single.aspect. Whatever you do, protect those little noggins.
Because when the brain is hurt - it's complicated. And confusing. And sometimes frustrating.