I never thought I would be writing about NBA. Or any kind of sport for that matter. But I am. Although in a non-conventional way. Because with all the heat and excitement of Game 6 yesterday of the NBA finals, I cannot help but be overpowered and drawn by the hype. So bear with me. But of course, mostly, this will be about the two little men in my life who are way more gorgeous than Tony Parker.
Babbles, utterances, single words that most of the times serve functions other than what it's meant for, these are what my boys have in their language bank. Often times I wondered whether they actually mean something by them or whether these are just one of the many repetitive behaviors that are characteristic of kids on the spectrum. As an autism parent, it is second nature for me to anticipate my boys' needs even before they realize it themselves so much so that I fail to recognize and realize that despite their language impairment and cognitive delays, they still absorb everything they hear, see and feel and that they are always, always communicating something important. Admittedly, I have been too afraid to hope that the time will come when my boys can communicate with me as clearly as other kids do with their parents. Having been disappointed so many times, where my patience is constantly tested, where every bit of hope and perhaps even my faith exhausted, I forget that every little thing I do as a parent, as a mother, as a teacher to my boys does bear fruit.
No matter how long it may take.
Simply because miracles happen.
And, because they're called miracles, they seem to not come very often as much as I want them to. They come at the most unexpected moments. They come at the most opportune time where I am barely hanging on by a thread of my faith, just when I am about to give up. And maybe the old adages are right in that miracles come simply when the time is right. When we have worked our asses off that we're pretty damn sure they're literally falling off. And what does this imply? It means we work for it. I have to work for it. Miracles. The truth may be that we have to earn it. I have to earn it.
This morning, as I was helping Morgan get his drink of water, I did the usual prompting and commenting, "show give" (for open palm gesture) expecting him to reply with the usual "Mmm", because no matter how many times I prompted him in the past days to say "drink" no response ever came close. So when he suddenly said, "ding" before putting the bottle to his lips it took two or three seconds to register that he meant "drink" in my dumbfounded brain, I was ecstatic! I quickly ran out of the room to tell their father which elicited a kind of joy on his face only a father can have that surpasses the joy had the Spurs beat Miami in Game 6 of the NBA finals. (Wink!)
And now as my two thumbs are furiously punching the qwerty keypad of my phone, Garret is constantly asking me to open his pack of eggnog cookies. I pause every now and then to do the work, "Garret, say 'Open'." He looks at my mouth and with all the darn apraxia his brain could manifest but with all the strength of will of my little prince could expel, he looks at my mouth, looks at the ceiling as if in concentration, and says an emphatic, " Ppphuh!" Again my heart soars and again I quickly went to inform my better half. And again appeared the face that confirmed how no matter who won the NBA finals, it doesn't matter. Because all that really matters is that his little man said " Ppphuh".
This is what I learned today:
One, my boys' babbles and utterances do mean something. They are absorbing everything I teach them, they are feeling every facet of life I show them. They are communicating to me and the world around them. I just have to pay closer attention and listen more carefully.Because when I do, I am able to give value to my boys' manner of communicating. And when I am able to give value to what they are telling me every single day, I am able to give more importance and more meaning to our connection. I am able to have a deeper connection with my boys. And maybe even a relationship with them not unlike neurotypical parents and their neurotypical kids where conversations and out of the box ideas flow freely. Maybe an even more profound relationship if I haven't already.
Two. I mustn't lose hope. Because as Tyler Knott Gregson says, "I do not believe there is a more destructive and dangerous force than hope but I do not believe that there is a more necessary and perfectly beautiful one either."
More than a mother with a strength of a thousand armies when it comes to loving my boys, I am but human though, I do what I can with the best of my abilities and through my frailties I get impatient, arrogant and easily discouraged but when it comes to my boys this I should always, always carve in my heart, I shouldn't and mustn't give up. When it comes to my boys I mustn't give up. Because to love them unconditionally is to always believe in them and to give them the ultimate gift of the human spirit--hope. Hope in themselves, hope for better things to come after every struggle they will surely face and hope in the best of people they may encounter in their lifetime, no matter how many times they fail, no matter how many times they get disappointed, no matter how dark and winding the tunnel of their life map may seem.
Three. Faith. I have to believe. Because miracles do not work if I do not believe. Every day. 365 days a year, until my last breath. I need to trust in the universe. That everything is working according to a higher and deeper purpose. That the outcome of my journey as a mother, as a person, the end mission of my boys' journey and their autism and the journey itself, are by and in themselves miracles in every essence of the word. Good things come to those who wait, the saying goes. And better things come to those who work for it. With faith comes patience and discernment. I need to believe, be patient and reflect on things that have come to pass and pray for whatever will come to pass.
If by some miracle the Spurs do win the NBA finals, I'm sure Garret and Morgan's papa would be very happy. He usually pushes for the underdog. Me, on the other hand, I could care less about basketball and all that hullabaloo. All I know is that I'm rooting for my two "underdogs" in the world of normalcy and neurotypical development, always. Because in my eyes, with every struggle they face and overcome everyday living in our "normal" and if I may add, chaotic world, they are champions, in every sense of the word, miracles even from the moment they were conceived. Of course, without having to say it out loud, but affirming it nonetheless, for the father of my boys, if Tony Parker, Manu Ginobli and Tim Duncan would be few of the San Antonio Spurs' hands holding that elusive NBA championship trophy, for him, that would just be an added bonus to the challenges our little men overcome everyday.
No comments:
Post a Comment