What It All Means

You have been able to talk for so very long now.  You used words almost as soon as you could walk.  You called me “mum”.  You called mama “mum-mum”.  Like you were a little British boy.

There is video of you when you were not quite two years old.  You are playing in the yard and you hear an airplane fly overhead.  You look up and point.  You say “airplane go to France aunt Lynda and uncle Barry”.  That whole mouthful for such a little person.

From the moment that first word was uttered you haven’t stopped talking.  You always have something to say, a story to tell.

And yet, here I sit.  Frustrated.  Sad.  You can’t tell me how you feel, or why.  You can’t put to words the things that are bothering you.  You use anger out of your own frustration.  You hit, you throw, you break things.  You are just as frustrated as I am, though you show it in different ways.

From the outside looking in you have no disability.  Those who don’t know you see you as just an angry child.  A child prone to outbursts.  A spoiled child who pushes buttons to get his way.

The rest of us know the real you.  The you who loves to learn and strives to learn everything he can about the topic at hand.  The you who gives ocean wave hugs with the most love and loves to be tightly squeezed in return.  The you who needs to talk about your current favorite topic, whether or not anyone else cares.  The you who can draw dragons so beautifully.  The you who can’t share his feelings without getting angry.  The you who sometimes cries and you don’t know why.  The you who loves to read.  The you I love with all my heart.

This crazy disability grew inside your mind and made you who you are today.  I love you for all that you are and strive to help you continue to survive in this big bad world.  For now, you are realizing that you don’t often fit in.  That most kids like you for a short time but quickly move away from you.  You are realizing that you are different and you aren’t really sure what to do about it.

So today you cling tightly to what you know.  You want to bake with me more.  You want to read out loud with mama.  You want to do all of the things that comfort you when your whole world is out-of-place.  You want to do what makes you feel normal.

That feeling alone reminds me that you aren’t really all that different.  When I’ve had a bad day I want the comfortable too.  I think we all do.

Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always.
~ Hippocrates 

We continue to move forward.  Together as a family.  Learning right along with you.  Figuring out the ups and the downs.  We will continue to laugh together and cry together.  In the end we will survive and you will be all the better for it.

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About Brotherly Love

I am a mom, partner, teacher and a lover of life. I have two fabulous boys who define my life as I know it. One of my children has been diagnosed with a sensory processing disorder, Asperger's and anxiety disorder. I blog as much about him as I do about my life and the lives of my immediate family.
This entry was posted in anxiety, Aspergers, PDD-NOS, SPD. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to What It All Means

  1. Debbi Henry says:

    Hugs Heather, you are a wonderful mother, and are doing a wonderful job!!!

  2. Elastamom says:

    This made me sad. :( Thinking of you and Eli.

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