Whatever Normal Is.
A normal day, every weekday. Before the sun has crested over the horizon, a quiet house sits nestled before the corner of Lansing Avenue and Territorial Road. The structure slowly comes to life.
At 5:45 a.m. at the flick of a switch, the kitchen fills with an odd green cast of the overhead light, spilling over to the dining room, filtering through the opening of the living room.
Rives Junction resident Sue Riker works on waking her son 15-year-old son, Cory, up. He'll need to be getting ready for school, out the door by 6:35 a.m. She yells up the staircase a couple of times while packing his lunch.
A pot of coffee starts a slow drip at 7 a.m., waking Ron, her husband of 42 years, to get the other kids out of bed. Both Sue and Ron quietly slip into Bryan’s room. The 16-year-old will take more coaxing than Cory. The light is turned on. Bryan's bed, tucked in the corner, is decorated with cut-out pictures of basketballs and footballs. They'll need to hurry to get him dressed, fed and to his 8 a.m. bus ride to school.
This morning, he's squirming. Ron and Sue take off the covers and change Bryan's clothes. He needs to get up. A sound from the other room alerts them that their three-year-old Nathan is up. Ron heads off to comfort Nathan while Sue continues to stir Bryan.
The TV fills the living room with flashes of blue. The top headlines stream across the daily news channel until Nathan hops in front of the screen. The channel changes to Nickelodeon.
Ron returns to Bryan's room. He still doesn’t want to get out of bed. Fully dressed, but they still need to get him food and brush his teeth. Ron picks Bryan up and sets him in his chair. Positioning the padding and adjusting Bryan's legs, they hook him up to a feeding tube and Sue takes care of the daily hygiene.
Bryan has Cerebral palsy, a physical disability that directly affects motor control centers of the brain. His joints and muscle tone are tight. He's stiff with Scoliosis. Confined to a wheelchair, he can hardly even hold his head up. It falls to one side. His posture looks, feels uncomfortable. He doesn't want to get up because he didn't sleep well. Yet another symptom.
As Sue connects Bryan to his feeding tube and brushes his teeth, Nathan scoots around the floor, pushing himself along with his left hand. His other arm is tightly held to his chest. A funny sight, perhaps, but as soon as Bryan is finished feeding, Nathan will be next.
He has Cerebral palsy as well. His is different though. While with Bryan, the Riker's know his condition and his limits, but with Nathan they're unsure. He's still growing. The shunt leading to the missing part of his left brain is not. It can shut down. Something can go wrong. According to Sue, it's something that is always at the back of their minds.
And they still have to think about Cory, too.
His Cerebral palsy is less severe. His mobility is limited in the right hand and leg. He doesn't have the same flexibility or range of motion he has in his left.
"We just always try to tell them it didn't matter. You're in our family. You're our son or daughter, brother or sister," Ron said. "We're family. We're all together."
When 8 a.m. comes, Ron wheels Bryan out to the bus that will take him to school, the Lyle Torrent Center. Nathan is feeding, and his clothes are changed. Finally, Ron and Sue can take a moment to themselves. Their phones light up. Their 23-year-old, Tammy, has sent her daily text message with an inspirational quote or a bible verse.
"He's taught our family a lot. We just take for granted the things we can do, just a simple thing like holding your head up, Bryan can't do totally. Our kids have learned, through Bryan, to appreciate the things we can do, and don't take anything for granted," Sue said. "He's been a real blessing. It is a challenge, but when he smiles or says something, it's all worth it."
Ron added, "I wouldn't change anything.”
"Oh, I wouldn't either," Sue responded.
