Jesse has two new women in his life these days. Ms. Brandy, his speech therapist and the other is Ms. Mary, his occupational therapist. These two ladies are the ones who are going to help teach my son how to talk, to play with other kids, and a number of other things he's not able to do yet, but should. I'm not too sure how I feel about that. Isn't that a mother's job?
I watch him as he walks through the therapy gym with big cushions, rubber play mats, a ball pit, a big swing and lots of fun things that even I'd be happy to play on. And he just kind of wanders, content with holding onto the block he brought in from the waiting room, not really looking at anything or anyone. Peering through the tinted glass, I look at his face to see if he's having fun or if he's anxious about being in a room that isn't his own, hoping he doesn't get so overwhelmed that he has a meltdown. Even though I look at that beautiful face every single day, I still can't exactly decipher how he's feeling. Listening to Brandy talk to him in her kind voice encouraging him to sit on the swing with her and watching as Mary scoops him up and brings him into the ball pit with her happy voice, I have no doubts that he is in good hands. These two women sure know how to make that boy feel like a king. That makes me smile.
But I still really worry for his future. It's just seems so much more...well, up in the air. What if he is never able to talk? Will school be twice as hard for him? How about when he's finally grown? Will he be able to live on his own? Will he be able to provide for himself? Will he find someone who understands him and loves him because of, not in spite of, his differences? Besides his mom and dad, of course. How different will it be once he's evaluated and diagnosed? Will the diagnosis be what I already think it is or will it blindside us?
My sister asked me recently if I've been doing anything besides studying the 'what ifs'. Excellent question. I wasn't before he started therapy. But it got me thinking about what Jesse really needs. It's true that 'what if' questions are a good place to start, but, no doubt, a bad place to stay. So, besides therapy, what does our beautiful Jesse need? He still needs his mommy to love on him even when he doesn't want it, because that is what mommies do. He still needs his daddy to get him all riled up just before bedtime with chasing and tickles...because that what daddies do. Beyond that, we've got to remember that he's our fun and goofy little boy that loves to be tickled, loves Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber, REALLY loves King Julian from the Madagascar movies, loves dancing to any and all music...even the music plays on the weather channel during the "Local on the 8's", and he gets really calm while standing out in the rain because he likes the feel of the raindrops falling on his head and arms.
Taking a deep breath, I look again through the tinted window. The boy-king himself is now running across the playmats with the blocks still in hand and scream-laughing, looking back to see if Ms. Brandy or Ms. Mary is going to catch him. Stifling a laugh, I sit back down in the chair in the hallway. That's when I remember what I read in Nancy Wiseman's book, Could It Be Autism?. No matter what diagnosis a child may receive through evaluation, they are not a label. I like that. No matter what the doctors tell us about Jesse, he will always be our son. He's a person, an individual with likes and dislikes. He's fun, frustrating, loving at times and distant at other times. But he's the same as he's always been and no label can ever make him change. How cool is that?
