Hands are so useful, especially the opposable thumbs. He missed the ability to manipulate objects using his hands. It was a peculiar feeling to give a command, reach out to grab a book or a stuffed doll and miss the mark. He waited for attention, voicelessly, in his wheelchair. It wasn't electric since he lacked the coordination to operate any sort of control. He relied on the assistance of others to take him where they thought he wanted to go. Or, more correctly where they wanted him to be. Sometimes he felt like a sack of potatoes as he was wheeled around the school or in and out of medical appointments. He could see shapes but not enough to recognize the individual until they spoke. Luckily many people spoke to him directly, using his name so that he had an opportunity to a make a connection. If he was interested, and liked the person addressing him and the situation of contact, he made eye contact, and opened his soul. But more often than not, it was his biological mother or medical staff with needles and cold hands. They sounded nice but came with pain inducing tools. Then he shut down, looked away, or closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He could hear them, “Oh, I think he's asleep. Isn't he so cute when he's asleep.” He didn't care about being considered cute but he did want someone to read him books and sing to him. And he especially like to sing along as best he could. He couldn't form words so he tried to match the pitches he heard, sometimes with success.
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