Where is the Mango Princess? is a truly touching but tragic account of Traumatic Brian Injury (TBI) and its impact on a family. As much as I respect Anne Lamont, I wonder at her comment, at least as it appears on the book cover blurb, that this is a story of `recovery.' What exactly has been recovered? And how redemptive has this been in the lives of Cathy Crimmins and her husband Alan? Surely Cathy has had to address her once `hands-off' approach to marriage and has chosen to become a truly sacrificial wife, in the process shedding much of the enlightened independence she had so highly prized. In this way, she has somehow backed into a richer `covenantal' attitude to her husband (reflected in the traditional vows she, no doubt, took). She is living much more for him, even when he does not appreciate it, realize it, or have as much to offer in return. The picture is sad but beautiful, and highly instructive. Her world is a far more blessed place as a result of her response to this tragedy.
And yet, has she `recovered?' What exactly did she `lose' and what does she have back now? Her `wellness?' Her `humanity?' Maybe it is his that is recovered? I am not sure. Because her beautiful story remains largely fruitless for her life. After much struggle, she has learned to `cope.' Her story, filled with potential power, is ultimately a lovely tragedy.
This is instructive to anyone who might seek to care for someone who has suffered TBI and to their family. I have ministered to a few, and wish I had read in advance the Mango Princess (particularly through the lens of chapter 5 of Edward Welch's Blame it on the Brain). I think of one person in particular. Looking back I realize neither he nor I coped with the results of his injury adequately. I did not really understand the ways his injury legitimately impacted her, because it was clear that he was being so willfully selfish and hurtful. And he in turn wanted to blame his sin completely on his injury. The big issue I wish I had seen better in the past: his TBI did create some very significant hidden weaknesses that needed to be recognized and accounted for in trying to help his deal with his struggles.
Families in these circumstances face special heart obstacles, as Crimmins so thoughtfully illustrates. Like Alan, the victims very often heal outwardly in a short time, causing the families frustration at not seeing a similar recovery in their mental, emotional and behavioral issues. He is walking again; he is talking again; his wound is healed up; he looks all better; so why can't he start acting more like he used to? He's not a vegetable, and he can seem like his `old self' sometimes, so why does he have to acts so impulsive or socially inappropriate? Why is his sense of humor so `weird?' Why doesn't he respond to things the way we used to (reasoning, prayer)? And if so, why can't they just do some surgery or give him a pill that will `fix' him?
The real physical impact of the injury needs to be understood if the mundane duties of living are to be carried forward, and if the heart of the person and his family and friends are to be challenged to greater spiritual maturity. Perhaps the hardest thing to grapple with (something Crimmins seems to miss) is the truth that the best explanation of post-injury behavior is pre-injury character (See Ed Welch, p. 90). Welch suggests the difficult but potentially liberating truth that the injury can act as `truth serum' to its victims. It can be deeply discouraging, but it also can be redemptively potent as people gain more open access to what was truly in the person's heart all along.
TBI calls for special care and love. A superficial attitude by loved ones can unwittingly contribute to the complex problems.
Crimmins provides a very thoughtful, sensitive, moving (if somewhat unsatisfying) account of her own deep experience.