Where Love is -- (Author) BrownOwl

[llsadmin]

############################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################################
Author: BrownOwl
Timestamp: Oct 14, 2024 at 10:26 PM
Content: Note:

This came off of a transcription from an audio file I've done my best to clean it up through several rounds of editing.. Nonetheless some typos and missing words may remain. I'm a good editor, except when it comes to my own work.

Here it is the moment some of you have been waiting for.. The day BrownOwl finally shows off his writing chops. I've been a writer for several years now. Several Magazine publications under my hat, but never have i ever written for this genre. This piece is fiction but it uses several of the "realism" techniques common in non fiction narrative. I'm not entirely happy with the pacing toward the end but I've been fiddling with this for two weeks. Almost talked myself out of posting it. Today was my self imposed deadline, Here goes nothing.

Disclaimer

This is not a true story, although it is based upon real events. The characters are an amalgam of several people. Any personally identifying details have been fabricated.

Story
It has been said since time immemorial that, if one loses one's sight the other senses will rise to compensate. Scientists believe they have disproved this old wives tale. But I will just bet that none of them were ever born blind. For while acuity might not increase that much, experience using and navigating the world with only four senses does yield some interesting benefits.

For example I can tell a lot about your diet and general state of health by simply smelling your poop. Don't get me wrong this is not something I do regularly, but after forty years of living I can tell a vegan from a carnivore.

Vegans, for all they are self righteousness, and general lack of public deportment have dung, that barely smells at all. At least not in comparison to the trucker who eats three Big Macs a day and washes it down with bud light. Those guys stink like someone set a dumpster full of asphalt on fire.

I tell you this not to gross you out, but to kind of set the stage for the day my life changed irrevocably for the better.

The day was like any other late nineties day, it was Saturday as I recall, early summer or at least late spring the smell of my grandmother's lilac tree, lately replanted in my mother's garden; and the lack of any moisture in the wind prove that. Or at least it would if I could be sure I am not misremembering the day.

However, it is not the weather that stands out in my memory of that day. Nor was it the episode of Mister Wizard's World, on how videogames worked. That I had woken early to watch.

No, what I remember of that momentous day, was the smell of artificial lavender, and human manure , or "doo doo" as I was forced by circumstance of age to call it in those days.

You see the birth defect that robbed me of my sight, did far more than just that, it made my nervous system and muscles shall we say a little bit unreliable.

My balance was off, I was less coordinated than a drunk goose, that according to the finest child neurologist in the state, and of course I was prone to randomly crapping my pants.

My parents of course, did not want to accept that a child so intelligent as I was, would be incapable of using the toilet. They duly spent several years trying to teach me to do so with some limited success. Nonetheless fudge happened, and except for that brief reprieve I got during puberty, it has continued to happen all throughout my life.

As I said my parents, engineers both were of a mind that "failure was not an option". So, my life from about age four to age seven was a quite unsatisfactory existence so far as toileting went.

I would give it my best shot of course, and quite often that would be enough. But at the times when it wasn't, my parents would employ all manner of ingenious devices, from alarms to chamberpots and everything in between. this in addition to a generous amount of "behavior modification"; which my parents lexicon meant punishment for accidents.

However on this day in 1997 and armistice of sorts in the bathroom wars would be signed between me and my mother.

Which brings me quite neatly back to the smell a poo in lavender, the sound of a leaky faucet and the feel of a texture grab bar as I held on for dear life all bent over and doing my best impression of a ballerina. All the while my mother tried to clean my backside from my latest misadventure. My dung that day, smelled a little like peanut butter.

"Hold still" my mother snapped, she then inhaled in an effort to keep temper. But as that was a stupid thing to do under the circumstances she ended up aggravating herself, even more.

I of course was trying my hardest even though my ankles were shaking and the pain from my legs was immense.

She then muttered something under her breath, something which I don't think she quite intended me to catch. But, she was always forgetting that my hearing was better then average.

" Five years of doing this, almost eight years old and four accidents a week. I ought to put you back in diapers."

If self preservation had ruled me on that day, as it had in so many of these situations in the past. I might have let the comment pass. But I was tired, in pain, and anticipating punishment. My thought at the time was I might as well earn it.

"I wish you would!" I said
"What was that" Mama replied
" I said I wish you would, diapers would be better than this."
"Remember, when we talked about appropriate use of sarcasm. This isn't!" Said she
"I wasn't joking" I said

Then came one of those ill advised intakes of air and then my mother to take hold of me by the shoulders and turned me around to face her. A long silence that ensued.

My mother must have been looking at me from head to toe. She was muttering to herself, far more quietly this time I only made out one word and three. Stuff about tightness, hydration, and numbers I had last heard one of the doctors say.

"Squeeze my finger" mom said
Puzzled like complied,
"... how much pain are you in one to ten".
"about a six" I said
" based on that finger squeeze. I'd expect it to be about an eight, are you sure? I need complete honesty here."
"Maybe about a seven" I said confused once again

"All right" she said, and for the first time she exhaled gustily.

Mama then sat me down on the toilet whilst she ran a bath. And then for the first time since I was like four or something, she lifted me into it.

" Your backside is still covered so this will be quick" said she, " and no playing in the water, it's already filthy. I'm going to help you a lot more than I usually do. "

" What's going on" said I
" You're obviously trying your hardest with this, and what we're doing isn't working." Mama said
" I'm not sure what we're going to do, but I'm not going to let you suffer anymore"
" Thank you?" I said.

Ten minutes later the smell of filth was gone at last replaced by my mother's favor lavender and cherry blossom body wash it was what she did next however, that would transform this day from an ordinary one to one that would be among my treasured memories. Until I had my own daughter thirty years later.

Mama wrapped me in a big towel, I suppose all adult sized towels are big when you weigh barely 50 pounds.

Carrying me into her own bedroom, she sat me on her bed. Still only wrapped in the towel. The slight crack of her knees, and her breath on my face. told me she was kneeling in front of me.

At this point I was surrounded by her scent, so I was glad of the extra sensory clues.

Speaking softly, almost whispering she said

"Were you serious darling?"

my heart began to race, I knew what this was about. Nonetheless I tried playing dumb.

"...about what?"
" about going back to diapers." Said she

At this point conventional wisdom, and elementary school politics should have had me take a step back. But I was still rather angry, and in quite a lot of pain. Therefore I threw caution to the wind and nodded.

"Well, your sister recently moved up size and I think they would fit you as well."
"If you agree to take your medicine, early today. And take a nap. I'll let you wear one. And we can see if this is really for you."
"Will it have to be shots this time?" I asked.

Nothing not even, the prospect of the end of my bathroom hellscape would compel me to take an early shot.

"I think we can do pills, this time." she said.
"And I won't be punished for this" I asked
"No, I just wanna give you the stronger meds.. You know how tired they make you. Plus i think you might benefit from a little more help today."
"I'm in" I said.

Mamma didn't speak much over the next ten minutes. but nonetheless I knew I was love far beyond words. As her skilled hand first laid me back on her bed, unwrapped the towel. and then although I could not see it I heard plastic wrap popping open. The telltale crinkle of a diaper being fluffed out. And then I felt sensations that I had not felt in many years. As my ankles were lifted in one smooth motion, the pillowy softness under my bottom, and that all consuming smell of vanilla, and "baby". As powder was opened, dusted on, and smoothed into my skin.

Mama may have spoken little but she sang quite a lot. She was a classically trained soprano, who led the children's choir after all.

I can't remember exactly what she sang on that day. Every time I remember this day anew, I imagine a different melody from her lips.

The feeling of the pillowy softness surrounding me as the diaper, is pulled up between my legs. The barely audible semi click of the tabs closing. These memories are no doubt intensified by the number of times I have felt these sensations since.

I swear that even before, my medication was administered. My pain level had already retreated by several points. Just thanks to my mother's gentle ministrations.

The last thing she did before giving me said medication and turning out the light was to help me into my one of my father's t-shirts.

My father was a giant of of a man six foot six inches I am told. And even as a teenager his size 5XT shirts, resembled more a dress on my small frame. At eight years old and barely forty five pounds I must have been drowning in it.

Indeed that may have been the point, as even more smells and sensations dominated my senses, the ocean scent my dad preferred in his shampoo as well as his old spice deodorant.

Mixed together to make this musky chemical smell. That I would come to hate in later years, but on this occasion, it reminded me of just how loved I was.

"Have a nice nap, my little Goose" mama finally said before she clicked off the lights in and softly almost inaudibly shut the door.

My first diaper change in 6 years was complete, I would fade into dreams, my pain although never gone was far from me at that moment.

Mama learned a valuable lesson that day. A lesson which she would repeat countless times, over the coming years.
Where love is, there is no failure.