It's been the week of the second round of the stomach bug for the year. It has been going around through school, church, and the community this winter; and I counted us lucky to have escaped with only one episode of it, back around Christmastime. However, this week, my littlest guy and I came down with a vicious bout of what he unceremoniously (and quite accurately) referred to as "the puke-ups." He earned an early morning trip to the emergency room with him after he had been vomiting most of the night and my husband and I became concerned about him possibly being dangerously dehydrated. We spent a few hours in the ER and came home with medication to calm the "puke-ups." By mid-morning, he was finally resting comfortably; and I frantically cleaned up the bathroom and his mattress; and washed bedding and unlucky articles of clothing that had happened to be in the line of fire. It seemed, as I worked, that speed was of the essence. i had an uneasy feeling in my stomach which turned out to be very accurate. By afternoon, I was not feeling spectacular, and by evening, the kids were asking me if I needed a bucket. They are not used to mom making a beeline for the bathroom with her hands clamped over her mouth. Blehh. It was not a good night. I kept thinking, "My poor little boy. No wonder he was so miserable." I spent the next day laying as still as possible in bed, with the window open beside me, for lots of cold fresh air to do away with any possible smell of food from downstairs (where my husband was nobly picking up my slack and doing dreaded things like cooking). The open window and the laying as still as possible were necessary to avoid more mad dashes for the bathroom with my hands clamped over my mouth. (At one point my husband unhelpfully suggested that he might barbeque some chicken under my window. It sounded like some highly refined torture technique at the time. Said chicken aroma fortunately never materialized.)
But finally, the next afternoon, I began to feel slightly like a human being again; by evening, I had finished a few chapters of the book i was reading, as well as checked email and caught up on some blogs I have recently discovered. It was good to be back in the land of the living.
One post i was reading especially jumped off the screen at me. We do not have other friends with autistic children whose behaviors are similar to my son's. So I am used to seeing first and foremost the differences between my youngest son and other children; as I read this blog post it was just pretty awesome to read something and think, "hey, you're describing my kid, too!" The author's autistic son is most likely more severely handicapped than mine; but the similarities are there too. When she described the love she saw in her son, I realized that i have seen the same love in my son's eyes. Sometimes--many times--it is when he looks at me; sometimes it is when he gazes on the face of someone else he has fallen in love with. He has an almost uncanny ability to recognize a kindred spirit instantly. My son, also, will grab my face at times and turn it toward his, giving me hugs and kisses out of the blue.
I am moving from grieving over the reality of my little guy's limitations to looking at him with new eyes. Yes, the autism still is what it is, but it is sweet to read what other parents of special needs children have to say and realize that my son's autistic behaviors, which may sometimes seem annoying or a matter for impatience, can also be what God uses to help us see Him more clearly. See the link below to the post, titled "Angels Unaware," from the blog Special Needs Parenting.
The day I was sick--after my little guy was beginning to feel better--at one point, he came up to my bed to "tuck me in." After pulling my covers up around me, he said, "Just a minute. I have one more thing." He bowed his head and asked Jesus to please make his Princess Toadstool feel better, amen. How can I miss the love wrapped around me here?
Special Needs Parenting--Angels Unaware
One quote from the post reminded me especially of my boy...
"How often do we miss out on the gifts people with disabilities bring
just because they come gift-wrapped in a different kind of package?
Because we are uncomfortable holding their gaze?" --Kathleen Bolduc
Sometimes I see someone draw back from my son's gaze. At times it's another child, or children, who do not realize how much my son wants to play with them; and how he does not understand that they might not share his fascination with volcanoes. It hurts him that he has been called "odd," or "creepy." He is neither. He is his own man, in his own little world. At times it's an adult who may brush off his interests--"oh, we don't have a wii, my kids play outside!" My son plays outside too, but the invitation he just extended, to hear about his beloved SuperMario Brothers game, was an invitation to enter his world, not to judge his mama for letting him play video games. At times it is someone who stares as he be-bops around a room humming to himself; in constant motion for the time being, just totally unable to sit or stand still that day. That person, drawing back from his gaze, usually gives me "the look." I have not yet learned to interpret "the look." Is it pity? Criticism? Curiosity? Maybe all three, or something i have not yet figured out.
I can understand some of the reactions. People don't always know the whole story, and all they have to go on is what they see. Probably, sometimes, i do look like an annoying mom with an unruly child. i am far from the perfect person. i am far from the perfect parent, to any of my kids. One thing that bothers me are all the times, before i realized what i was dealing with, when i've brushed off, or tried to curb, my little guy's fixations. For that matter, I can think of a lot of ways i've failed all three of my children at times. I have done my best to apologize and make things right with my kids when i have been wrong. And they still love me and tell me they are glad i am their mom. So, since i have received grace, I need to figure out how to handle other people's less-than-kind reactions gracefully and tactfully. Probably one of those things that comes with time and practice.
I guess not everyone will understand. I will have to learn to be okay with that. Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," while He was being nailed to the cross. So i am confident that He will help me to figure out how to get past the frustration with those who don't, or won't, understand.
But for everyone who doesn't understand, or who offers judgmental or condescending looks or comments, there are those who embrace my son--and our whole family, for that matter--and love us for who we are. Our family--on my husband's and my side--who have never even hinted at rejecting my son, no matter what his needs. My friend from church and her family who have invited us over, many Sunday afternoons, so that our kids could play together. Another friend from church who saved a video of jellyfish on her phone for over a year, because she remembered that my little guy was fascinated with it. My husband's coworkers who have hosted us at their home and have also made the long drive to visit ours; they always make me feel welcomed and at home with them. The moms and dads and grandparents of the other kids on my older children's baseball and football teams--my older kids have been cheered on, and my youngest welcomed with open arms, at practices and games.
As I have written my blog entries about depression, I have pondered the question of whether or not I would appreciate the good days if it were not for the hard ones. I found myself wondering if anyone who had not endured the darkness could truly be grateful for the light. Now it is beginning to dawn on me that, with autism come gifts I had no idea of, before; and again a whole new window of gratitude is opened for me. The gift wrapping might be different, but the gift is no less precious.
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