August 13, 2007 @ 20:54

There is a poem that I love.  It’s interpretation is, like all poetry, wide and varied.  But as I was rereading it today, it occurred to me, that it is Puppy.  Especially now that we have been dealing with his recent diagnosis of Autism.  I was thinking about how he is four years old now and how different he is from what I expected.  Not bad, just different.  Today, we sat on the couch together and he played a game, filling in the missing letters to words.  He didn’t miss a single one.  But if I were to turn his face towards mine and ask him a direct question, I’m not sure what answer I’d get, or if I’d get any answer at all.  It is so easy for me to forget what struggles might be ahead for him when I’m watching him build train tracks that stretch from his bedroom down the hall, through my bedroom, into the kitchen, around the corner through the living and then dining room and back to his room.  Our daily life is so happy.  We talk and laugh and play.  He learns something new every day.  But if you ask him how old he is, he will tell you his name.  If you ask him what he wants for breakfast he will tell you, then when you ask whether he wants juice or milk, he’ll say “No, Mommy, I want scrambled eggs.”  He lives precisely, overwhelmingly, unbendingly in the now.  The right now.  There is no later, yesterday, tomorrow, in a minute.  We struggle with any concept of time.  But we have very predictable routines.  Each morning before we leave for school, he takes his Thomas backpack and chooses which engines and tracks will go to school with him.  Every night at bedtime he says “Mommy, it’s time for sweet baby bear.”  Which is a made up bedtime song that we sing, and then we sing again.  Twice each night and then he settles in with a kiss and goes to sleep.  And I cannot grasp how a boy who so loves his routine, who know exactly what comes next, has such a disconnect from time.  So, thankfully, I will be beginning classes soon on how to be the Mommy he needs.  It is a remarkable thought, that I, who have been confident in my parenting skills, is now anxious and eager and grateful for those classes to come.  I feel as if I’m waiting for him, but not certain at all, that he will come.  But when I set my fears aside, I can believe that eventually, he will come along, in his own time. 

A Little Boy in the Morning

He will not come, and still I wait.
He whistles at another gate
Where angels listen. Ah I know
He will not come, yet if I go
How shall I know he did not pass
barefooted in the flowery grass?

The moon leans on one silver horn
Above the silhouettes of morn,
And from their nest-sills finches whistle
Or stooping pluck the downy thistle.
How is the morn so gay and fair
Without his whistling in its air?
The world is calling, I must go.
How shall I know he did not pass
Barefooted in the shining grass?

 Francis Ledwidge

This entry was posted on Monday, August 13th, 2007 at 8:54 pm and is filed under Autism?, Bear and Puppy. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.