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Archive for July 28th, 2016

Some of the people at the Anderson Center for Autism will email me every so often to check in and see if I have any questions or concerns.  More often than not, I’ll answer with just a brief note of appreciation, but sometimes I will ask a question or express a concern.

This past week was one of those times.  When one of Jonah’s behavior specialists emailed me, I directed the inquiring behavioral specialist to my broken post, explaining that I’d been depressed about Jonah’s seeming stagnation and asking for glimpses into Jonah’s life and happiness.  She emailed me back and asked if I wanted to talk.  We scheduled a time, and she called me.

I wonder if every parent she calls must force words past a throat tight from trying not to cry.  It seems I am always crying on the phone to the Anderson folk.  Hell, I don’t think they’ve ever heard my normal voice.  Anyway, we spoke, and she was kind, and said she saw a lot of hope for Jonah.  She told me he had, just that day, approached a new student in class who was sitting on a beanbag.  Jonah sat right down next to him, smiled, and was calm.

This behavior specialist knew I needed her to tell me something good.  And she kept on knowing it.  The next day, she sent me this email:

Hi,

I just wanted to send you a quick note.

Jonah went swimming with his classroom peers today!  He sat the edge splashing and playing for about 10 minutes before he walked to the deep end and finally jumped/dove in!  He swam to the stairs, got out, dove in, again and again!

He was laughing and enjoying himself!  Staff said the last few days at school have been really positive!

Best,

R

I felt the excitement of those exclamation marks.  Easily I pictured Jonah’s lithe form, diving effortlessly and gliding far under the surface of the water to pop up right at the ladder.  I sent R a thank you that could never hope to express how much the email meant to me.

Sometimes I feel envious of the people who get to witness Jonah’s joys firsthand.  I get so few glimpses of him that I over-record him when I see him and then watch the short videos over and over, as if to memorize his smiles and laughter.  It’s a strange thing to know that a whole group of other people have way, way, more interaction with my son than I do; a myriad of mundane activities are supervised and guided by his Anderson “family,”  for the past almost-five-years.  But all that time has trained my mind to accept this strange mother-not-mothering existence.

They’ve raised Boo’s dosage of Clozaril by a very little bit, and so maybe that’s the reason for his recent positive days.  For all I know, as I type this Jonah is mid-attack, biting and kicking and hitting.  But for now, today, I will read R’s email again and stay in that place and those moments, enjoying his time at the pool.  It’s a good place to stay; as transient and fleeting as it may be, it happened, and no one can force me to focus my gaze and thoughts elsewhere until I’m good and ready.  Even the email in my inbox (the one always from the same person, always to notify me of an incident of aggression) can sit there unopened for as long as I like.  I do not have to move on from Jonah’s swimming pool fun and nothing can make me move on from it.

Tomorrow I may be ready once again for the roller coaster.  Today I’m sitting on the bench and letting other people ride.

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