Post by Alishe on Jul 24, 2007 3:20:23 GMT -5
I watch his profile in the dimly lit room and listen to the soft sound of his breathing. He's still a little bit raspy yet. His asthma hasn't released it's hold upon his lungs entirely. But he's falling asleep. That much I can tell.
Sighing softly, I think about that profile and when I first saw it. Lit up on a screen as a tech moved her hand over my ever-growing stomach. My sweet baby. From that moment, I began wondering about and planning for our life together.
What it would be like to watch him grow as I had his sisters.
I went through the mourning process, or at the least started it, a year ago this month with his official diagnosis. The little boy I had hoped to see never emerged. And the boy I had was not someone I could connect with in the way I had wanted so badly.
Once I had actually thought he broke my heart. But in truth, he put the pieces back together. It is my greatest hope that one day I will be able to sit down with my son and talk to him the way I do the girls. To hear him respond in more than a few words spoken at random. I want to relate to him. I want to know him. I want to be able to understand him.
But even if that never comes the way I desire, he has still taught me so much. How to appreciate what I have. How to treasure the special moments that I worried would never come. How to see life in a totally different way than I ever have before. How to really live life in the moment. The now.
And for that, I'm forever grateful.
Then a hand reaches out as he turns over on his side and comes to rest upon my cheek. His way of saying, "Mine." I can't help but smile then. I whisper back to him, "Yes, yours. And you are mine as well. You always will be."
The heavy and wonderful realization comes back to me that I am likely his most favorite person in the entire world. All the tears I've cried in frustration. All the times I thought I would lose it if he screamed just one moment longer. All the hurtful stares and judging looks I've gotten from those around us as he acted out. All the pain that comes with having a child who is autistic.
It floats away with the single touch of his soft fingers.
He breaths out a heavy sigh and I can tell he's finally asleep. I slowly edge away, hoping to rise from the bed as I am not ready to doze just yet. Only to have him stop me with the rest of his arm flinging over my neck and holding me tightly against him. It says to me, "Not yet, mommy. I need you.".
I need you too Kieran. More than you will ever know.
Sighing softly, I think about that profile and when I first saw it. Lit up on a screen as a tech moved her hand over my ever-growing stomach. My sweet baby. From that moment, I began wondering about and planning for our life together.
What it would be like to watch him grow as I had his sisters.
I went through the mourning process, or at the least started it, a year ago this month with his official diagnosis. The little boy I had hoped to see never emerged. And the boy I had was not someone I could connect with in the way I had wanted so badly.
Once I had actually thought he broke my heart. But in truth, he put the pieces back together. It is my greatest hope that one day I will be able to sit down with my son and talk to him the way I do the girls. To hear him respond in more than a few words spoken at random. I want to relate to him. I want to know him. I want to be able to understand him.
But even if that never comes the way I desire, he has still taught me so much. How to appreciate what I have. How to treasure the special moments that I worried would never come. How to see life in a totally different way than I ever have before. How to really live life in the moment. The now.
And for that, I'm forever grateful.
Then a hand reaches out as he turns over on his side and comes to rest upon my cheek. His way of saying, "Mine." I can't help but smile then. I whisper back to him, "Yes, yours. And you are mine as well. You always will be."
The heavy and wonderful realization comes back to me that I am likely his most favorite person in the entire world. All the tears I've cried in frustration. All the times I thought I would lose it if he screamed just one moment longer. All the hurtful stares and judging looks I've gotten from those around us as he acted out. All the pain that comes with having a child who is autistic.
It floats away with the single touch of his soft fingers.
He breaths out a heavy sigh and I can tell he's finally asleep. I slowly edge away, hoping to rise from the bed as I am not ready to doze just yet. Only to have him stop me with the rest of his arm flinging over my neck and holding me tightly against him. It says to me, "Not yet, mommy. I need you.".
I need you too Kieran. More than you will ever know.