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Such as when 12-year-old Dale walks down the stairs or sasses his speech therapist.
Or when he snaps at one of his four sisters or buckles his own seat belt.
Or when he tells a corny joke or questions why he has to do something.
Normalcy is akin to miraculous for Dale, who nearly died while on a church trip to the Washington coast Aug. 5. A riptide pulled the boy out to sea, and he was underwater for more than 15 minutes.
Dale suffered brain injuries, the extent of which are still unknown.
The damage is obvious, but he continues to make strides in his recovery, even if they come slowly.
“Sometimes it seems like two steps forward and one step back,” said his mother, Kirsten Ostrander.
Steps back often come in the form of seizures, which wrack Dale’s body. He wakes up from them on his own now, which is progress. A family member used to have to rouse him after a seizure.
The boy still has trouble walking – relatives often hold his hand when he wants to go somewhere – and stairs present a particular problem.
It’s best if someone walks behind him when he climbs to the second floor to play on the computer or get ready for bed. Going down stairs is harder. Most of the time, a gate is locked at the top of the steps.
The boy still looks to his family when he wants a blanket, a glass of cold milk, the remote control.
“You always expect things to move faster, but it just doesn’t work that way,” said his father, Chad Ostrander. “When you’re in the moment, you don’t think it’s all that much. But looking back, it’s tremendous improvement.”
Dale attends morning classes at Bethel Baptist Christian School, where he is enrolled in seventh grade. His calendar is filled with weekly sessions of speech and physical therapy.
He had to relearn how to dress himself, go to the restroom alone and walk. His memory fails him and he doesn’t always have the confidence to perform basic tasks without supportive hands.
But the Ostranders focus on the good in their lives.
They laugh at how some things don’t change with young boys, even those who have suffered a traumatic injury.
Dale still cracks his knuckles. He still enjoys computer games and watching cartoons. He still cracks jokes, loves history and smiles mischievously when asked if he loves his sisters.
“Things are getting back to normal,” his mom said. “But there’s a fine line between being there when he needs us and feeding into his ‘I need you’ attitude.”
On a recent afternoon, Dale perched on the couch watching “SpongeBob SquarePants.” He slumped against his mother after dutifully turning off the television when company arrived.
Dale occupied himself by petting his white poodle, Peanut, and asking periodically if he could turn the TV back on. When his request was denied, the boy curled up on the couch and closed his eyes.
His mom poked him.
“You’re not that tired, are you?” Kirsten Ostrander asked with a grin.
A slow smile spread across Dale’s face as he shook his head.
“You just don’t want to talk, do you?” she said.
Dale’s smile grew.
It’s moments like that that remind the Ostranders that their son is the same boy. He may not be able to communicate as effectively as he could before the accident, but he’s the same old Dale.
He recently started asking questions about the day he nearly died, including how long he was underwater.
Dale doesn’t remember the accident or even the days leading up to his youth group’s visit to Long Beach.
The riptide swept Dale out to sea as he stood in the cold Pacific Ocean. A rescue crew pulled him out. A local newspaper photographer captured the moment: The lifeless body of the boy being carried from the water.
The Ostranders have copies of the photographs, which appeared in publications the world over. They’ve asked Dale if he wants to see them, but he doesn’t. Not yet.
He does like to browse the cards and letters of support that still arrive from all over the world.
The boy doesn’t speak often but said this new life sometimes feels like a dream “because I don’t remember stuff.”
But Dale remembers the important things, like family and friends, school and church.
“The future is looking pretty good,” Kirsten Ostrander said. “We don’t want to jump ahead of God’s timetable, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.”
Then she lay her hand on Dale’s head, and he beamed.
Stacia Glenn: 253-597-8653
stacia.glenn@thenewstribune.com
