I will remember you

When I come downstairs for breakfast, I see you kneeling at the kitchen window, still, riveted to the miniature drama that occurs in our backyard in creatures most of us ignore.   You  are there after breakfast.  You are there after school, before and after church in your dress.  I will  remember you just like this. 

But you are not completely quiet.  I cannot pass without being summoned by your loud whisper,   "Look! Look!"  And why not?  They were your first words, the words that are so descriptive of you and what you are.  You want us all to see the beauty you see.  Your world has such minute detail and vivid color that the rest of us miss.  

 

Several years ago when we learned about your diagnosis, I determined to give you as much information as I could to help you understand yourself better.  I remember laying in bed telling you about Einstein, Edison, and other famous people that are believed to be Aspies.  I remember driving to school when you asked me if you would still see the same beauty and detail if you did not have Asperger's.  I responded that you would not... that it is one of the compensating gifts you've been given.  You said you wouldn't trade it even to be normal like other people. 

I will remember your endless creations of strings, cage, and birdseed, your joy of sharing your discoveries with others and your pleasure in caring for the world's feathered creatures.

Yes, I will remember you like this for I do not think you will stop saying, "Look!  Look!"  nor do not think I will stop trying for just a moment to see the world through your eyes.   

 

The End of the Rainbow

I watched Ladybug sing her heart out during her year end concert. No one watching knew what emotions stirred Briz and I as we watched our miniature pre-teen. The countless hours of encouragement, frustration, and song requests to a seemingly mute child will remain unknown to all who watch my seemingly normal little girl. But we know . . . and our hearts just about jump out of our chests when we hear her sing.

Elisabeth has full blown Autism. She is assisted to the mike and proceeds to sing The End of the Rainbow. She does a beautiful job. She remembers every word. The crowd is moved. Several wipe their eyes in recognition of a mountain crossed.

But I have eyes only for her mother. She mouths every word. Throughout the performance she mouths animated encouragement and gives thumbs up or clasped hands. She is connected to that little girl as though they two were the only two on the face of the earth, as though no one else mattered. In her face, I see the thousands of hours of work, worry, and love that have gone into Elisabeth. In her eyes, I see that she understands that this three minute song is the pay check for years of effort, the pot of gold at the end of the elusive rainbow. I understand.

I see her, I know her . . . I see myself.

Intellegence Quotient

I seasoned the flank steak and left it to sit while I made the chimichurri sauce. I heard happy squeals and immediately looked out the kitchen window to monitor my little women. Ladybug had designed a zip line from tree to tree and was whooping as she flew down to meet her sister who was holding the line taut.

Test and educational scores land my little one squarely in the special needs category. But daily she demonstrates her brilliance. I am constantly clearing the yard of debris left out from amazing building projects, dog training runs, or animal traps.

I am fascinated with children in the autistic spectrum. They are able to access areas of the brain that we ignore. They say Ladybug sees computer and TV images in 3D. Imagine the possibilities each of us carries in our own brains. I hope our culture advances to a level where we can appreciate and utilize the gifts of those like my little Ladybug. Until then, I look to projects like these, not the scores from those who don't know her, to measure her intelligence quotient.