I opened my eyes this morning to find my son staring at me from his mattress below on the floor next to my bed. I immediately sensed the preciousness of this because as a 6 year old boy with Autism, eye contact is a thing to be cherished. I think it was just the right mixture of day and night for him; light enough to see my face and dark enough to feel safe in holding his eyes fixed on mine. Again, realizing the importance of the moment, I held his gaze for the longest time, very much reminded of staring into my biological daughter’s eyes the night she was born. Long enough to imagine him as an infant staring up at his birth mother’s eyes, and wonder if she had ever had this opportunity to share in a moment like this with him.
As we stayed there staring into one another’s souls, a sort of much delayed but essential imprinting, my mind also trailed to his life between that time after his birth and before his entry into our family just months ago. So much that I don’t know about his past and that will most likely never be revealed. A strong sense, though, that it was filled with circumstances that would kill me to hear. Will my love for him eventually be enough to sweep away some of the residual hurt from the painful experiences that he has had to endure in his young life?
After a while my son turned over and gave me a negating grunt when I asked if he was ready to come downstairs with me to begin the day. Much later my husband went up to check on him and found our sweet boy standing on his mattress, turned towards my bed, his arm stretched out and the top of his body draped across the place where I had slept a while before. I might never be able to sweep away all of the painful memories from his past, but I rest in the hope that he knows he is loved, and that this will give him wings to soar and rise above them.
As we stayed there staring into one another’s souls, a sort of much delayed but essential imprinting, my mind also trailed to his life between that time after his birth and before his entry into our family just months ago. So much that I don’t know about his past and that will most likely never be revealed. A strong sense, though, that it was filled with circumstances that would kill me to hear. Will my love for him eventually be enough to sweep away some of the residual hurt from the painful experiences that he has had to endure in his young life?
After a while my son turned over and gave me a negating grunt when I asked if he was ready to come downstairs with me to begin the day. Much later my husband went up to check on him and found our sweet boy standing on his mattress, turned towards my bed, his arm stretched out and the top of his body draped across the place where I had slept a while before. I might never be able to sweep away all of the painful memories from his past, but I rest in the hope that he knows he is loved, and that this will give him wings to soar and rise above them.
Comments
Post a Comment