The residents of the Keep

Warden

How do you describe me?

Have you seen an old scruffy Tomcat?
        He always seems to be lying in your way doing nothing. Yet every time he looks at you his eyes tell you he knows everything. Besides he is always there. You need to move some furniture. He is in the way. You need to find something on the shelf. He is underfoot. He never seems to do anything but he's always there.
        The old Tom also seems to be a push over. He's on your chair. You give him a shove. He's in the middle of the hall. You give him a nudge. You can scratch his armpit and he goes limp. You can rotate his flaccid front leg 180 degrees. It is nearly disconnected from his limp body. You know he is a creampuff. Except for that one time. The time the neighbor's German Shepherd came into the yard unbidden. The dog left with blood dripping from his nose and ear with patches of fur scatted through the yard. And there's the old scruffy Tomcat lying on the front porch stairs blocking the way in.


My wife is a teacher and a mother.

        A workaholic she does 60 to 80 hours per week with her teaching and spends the rest of her time wrapped around Ben's little finger and loving Sheena.


Ben, the young

        Ben is testing the world outside the keep. You can see his interest in the world but he craves the safety of the keep. The steps outside are tentative.

        He is at the age where parents are becoming smart again. He still falls back on teenage habits of requiring chores to be ordered and not just done.

        He is now past my chin but to look him straight in the eye still requires stepping between him and his computer and games."


Sheena is as cute as a button, rolling in her wheelchair or peddling her tricycle.

Sheena

        She slowly trundles down the hall with her platform walker. A quiet squeal is her greeting, an off focus stare as her eyes track to the side to see your face. Her skinny arms grab with unanticipated force as she pulls her 65 pounds of body and 5 pounds of braces into your arms.
        Sheena is an unknown. The syndrome she was born with is unknown. This drives the welfare department and medical professionals' crazy.
        The welfare department and other government agencies like to classify. If they can't place someone in a category, they think you are lying. If they have a diagnosis, aid and help comes fairly readily. Otherwise, proof is required usually twice a year. We have become very familiar with government statutes, forms, appeals, and legal aid.
        Doctors and hospitals have their own forms. Forms have little places for a diagnosis. Medical people consider it a personal affront if a form doesn't have something in every space. Some doctors want to test and test and test until something is found no matter the cost. Others will write in whatever they can find in the past records even if it has been proven wrong. Only a few know what they don't know and accept the empty space.
        Sheena's squeal is silent. Her crooked smile is a faded dream. Like Alice's cat, the grin is the last to disappear from memory. The laughter is lost. All that is left is an echo.

HII'm busySee you
NORD has information on rare diseases

Pacer is a good spot if you need help for your child.


As with all good keeps we have a Spirit.

        
Jessie is a quiet spirit. You barely know she is there. But in your mind in the back corner behind today's events she sits. Her presence tells you nothing about what she is, was, or could have been. Her tiny spirit is just there.

Thus ends the human residents of the Keep. The others both domesticated and wild will be here waiting unannounced.


Children!Children!

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