This morning, amidst our daily “getting ready for school” routine, Matthew did something so completely normal that it was extraordinary. He found the two Ken dolls my parents got the boys for Christmas and he began to play with them. The truly extraordinary thing about this was that there was nothing unusual about it at all. Matthew named the first doll Tuesday and the second, Monday. Maybe not the best names, or the most creative names, but for a child with ASD they were fantastic names. He used his imagination and created them. But I think what was more amazing, and Godly, is the fact that he proceeded to play with the dolls.
I overheard him telling the dolls, right before he went to the bathroom, that he would be right back to play with them some more, and that they should wait on the window ledge. He came into the bathroom and told me that Tuesday and Monday were fighting because Tuesday wanted to do something Monday did not. When he got back to the windowsill he had them hug and I heard him say, as if he were Monday, “Oh Tuesday, you’re back!” Just six months ago this scene would have been impossible.
I don’t think there is anything as extraordinary as a whole and healthy child. It amazes me when Matthew does things that are typical, especially when I think back to the child that did no more than spin in circles while peering out the side of his eyes. Or the child that constantly repeated phrases with no meaning behind them. “The light is on. The light is on. The light is on. The light is on the light is on thelightisonthelightison.” Sunday Matthew did something else so extraordinary it made my heart sing. He kept singing a song over and over again. I know, you probably think I’m crazy because I was just complaining that he used to say phrases over and over. How is this any different? Well, first he was singing a song. “What do you do with a scurvy pirate? What do you do with a scurvy pirate? What do you do with a scurvy pirate? Make him walk the plank!” But more importantly it was the intent with which he was singing that song. He enjoyed it as any other four year old would enjoy a song, and repeating it till their parents were ready to scream. There was life in his eyes and in his voice. He was completely present as he sang the song. When Matthew used to perseverate on phrases there was a blankness in his eyes. Matthew was not there. It was almost as if he were hypnotized, or as if he had drawn deep within himself and the words were comfort or protection. There was no Matthew at those moments. But this singing, well it was phenomenal. I think I will hear it in my dreams. Because it is what our dreams are made of. Normal, boring, childhood things that every parent longs to enjoy with their children. We are thinking of taking Matthew to the aquarium and the B&O Railroad Museum, because for the first time in his life we feel he will actually enjoy both of these. That he would be able to really see what was there in front of him. I imagine what his world must have been like before we started interventions. I think it must have been very flat, with lots of colors and lights but without meaning. He could not discern different items and if something was in the distance he had no concept of even how to shift his eyes to see where we were directing his gaze. I wish you could see the difference. I wish I could offer you a chance to go back in time and experience the old Matthew, then bring you back to today. You would be witness to our miracle.
I’m a pretty spiritual girl. I grew up Catholic and I still consider the Catholic religion to be the right one for me. So I do tend to believe that God has a hand in these things. I pray to Him ever single night to remove autism from Matthew and all children that have it. I also ask the Blessed Virgin Mary, all the Angels and Saints, especially Saint Joseph and Pope John Paul II to intercede on my behalf and recover Matthew and all children with autism. I believe that God does grant miracles and that during this Lenten Season He will grant more. All we need to do is believe.
And, well, work really, really hard. And never give up on our children!
Well said!