Our One Day

"I love you,"
"You yuv mee."
"We're a happy family"
"Wee a gey bee huh"
"And a kiss from me to you"
"Won yoo say"
"You love me..."
"Choo.."

Today. I sing the first line of the ever famous Barney song. Garret sings the second line. And so on and so forth. We are lying on the bed on this rainy afternoon, my left hand holding his and we are singing. Together. Wait, let me rewind. Let me repeat that in case you missed one crucial point-- Garret is singing the lines, actually verbalizing the words. We finish the last notes of this song and my heart is twisted in knots marveling at how far my little prince have come.


July 18, 2013. Three weeks ago. My little Prince said the most beautiful word to my ears for the very first time. "Mama". When he said it three times, yes not just once, but one, two, three times, my world literally spun that I didn't know where to put their bug spray and their bag. I was stupefied, amazed, awed. All the synonyms of that emotion that leave your mouth hanging open and heart bursting at the seams would pretty much describe how I felt at that time until now.

I have heard too many testimonies of how when mothers saw their children for the first time in their arms, they cried and felt that one unbreakable bond in an instant. And even more stories of their children's first words at 10 months old or younger. Words as significant as "Mama". When I gave birth to Garret, all the testimonies and stories I heard remained just that-- narratives to me. Of course there is no question, I love him with the whole weight of the universe but somehow I couldn't connect to him the way I expected to. I don't know if Autism caused this "disconnection" that I so deeply felt but wanted badly to deny, maybe it did. And when the months went by until he turned 3 years old, when still no "mama" or "papa" was heard from his lips, questions began to pile up in my head and in my heart waiting to be hurled to the universe of which no answers were heard as well.

From the time Garret was then diagnosed at three years old hence, and a slew of therapies and special education commenced, life began unfolding in ways I could not even predict or sometimes even understand. What was clear in the years that have gone by was the one undeniable truth of how my little prince was teaching me the ropes of life. And not the other way around. Acceptance. Gratitude. Courage. Strength. Resilience, And Love above all. Among the questions that piled up was the one that bore the heaviest load, "Why Autism? Why my sons?" I only have to look at my Garret and my Morgan and see the joy in their faces at the simplest things and see the courage in the full breadth of their souls to face everyday hurdles in living in this normal world of ours and I find the answers I am searching for.

To be honest, my faith has seen countless days of wavering strength. Frustration came in all forms. Anger directed at the universe of the "unfairness" of it all. More questions--"Why couldn't my son still not talk? Will I have the strength to carry on?" How did I get through days like this? I just let go. I asked the hard questions and allowed myself to weep and be angry. And then when everything that was toxic and dark and not good went out of my system, I gathered whatever strength there was left and pooled the support and love of friends and family and used it to support my weight long enough to stand on my own two feet again. "Mama said there'd be days like this. "

And days of bliss...

Just when I was about to give up, the tide turned. Our One Day came. Let me tell you the details of what transpired the day my world spun:

I was blow-drying my hair, getting ready for school a.k.a. work a.k.a. teacher-momma mode. And in the mirror, I saw Garret approach me, wanting me to be done with whatever I was doing because he wanted to go already. I turned off the blow dryer and looked at the mirror, I cupped his face and said, "Look, Mama and Garret." I pointed to our faces in the mirror. He then said, nonchalantly, "Ma-ma". I was dumbfounded so I brought him outside and told his father, "He said, Mama." His father said, "Maybe it was ma-na (finish in our vernacular), as in he wanted you to finish blow drying your hair." I told Garret this time, "Garret say, Mama." To which he said, "ma-ma". I requested that he say it again. And he said "Mama" Twice. And that was when my world transformed into a roller coaster of joy and tears.

8 years. A slew of therapists and therapies. One word. "Mama." Miracles happen. Breakthroughs are possible. The Universe certainly knows what it's doing.

As I am typing this now, Garret approaches me with his pack of biscuit. He says, "A-ma Bea, O-wan." I open his biscuit and hands it to him, I cue him, "Tha--" He continues, "Chan-chyu."

Mama Bea. Open. Thank you. Five words. And more coming.

It has taken me a long time to write about this fateful day. Because I wanted to give it justice by writing it when all my senses are attuned to celebrate and laud my little prince. Because as much as this is about him saying the word that fills my heart with the greatest joy and content, this is about him breaking through one seemingly unbreakable wall of autism. One being this wall of apraxia that afflicts most kids on the spectrum. This is about my little prince Garret's courage and strength. This is about him experiencing the world as never before, being able to communicate, to explicitly express himself. One day, it won't be his mama anymore telling his and his brother's story. One day he will tell you himself. One day, Morgan too will tell his story. And I believe this with all my heart.

And this day wouldn't be possible at all without the love and dedication of his therapists, teachers and doctors and the unfaltering support of family and friends. I thank all of you. You know who you are. I will be forever grateful for your kindness and love you give to my boys and my entire family.

In the meantime, we continue to do what we always do. What my boys have taught me to do, live each day as if it were the first and last day of life, give it my all, do whatever it is that lights my fire, appreciate every single blessing, see everything as miracles and know that no matter what happens, hope is not lost.

And on this note...

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all...

-Emily Dickinson-

Lastly, as if I would forget the one who is looking down on everything perhaps in utter amusement at my lack of faith and human questioning, maybe even saying, " I told you so.", thank you, Universe.

Autism Proof

I never thought the day would come when I would be explaining to my son why I spanked him. But it did. And for me, for us in our family, this is another milestone achieved. It's not so much as me explaining to him why I had to do it as it is he understanding my explanation. As in really understanding the events that led me to him spanking him. And perhaps truly understanding the most important reason of all.



Garret is 8 years old. He has single words now here and there. A-koo (Apple), Ana-na (Banana), Graesh (Grapes), Fish, Skweh (Square) among those that are more or less consistent, clear and unmistakable. Two word-phrases still elude him though. Conversations, all the more. But I haven't lost hope. If there's one thing I still believe, it is that one day, my little prince and I will be talking under the sun, the moon and the stars non-stop. One day. And I could just imagine the things we would talk about. Or maybe I will just gape in wonder at him when the time comes and he will be doing all the talking.

Language is expressive and receptive. There can be no true language without both. Expressive language obviously can be measured by how much a child speaks and how he speaks, uses the words, etc. Receptive language, on the other hand can be partly measured by how much a child expresses himself. And this is where the discrepancy happens, I believe. Because so much of what a child understands does not necessarily translate into verbal responses. After all we have what we call "choices". Even at a very young age, children begin to practice making choices, choosing what to answer. Yes or No. Cake or Ice Cream. Blue or Red. Behave or misbehave. And it seems, as they grow older, mental mapping, reflection, pondering, processing any input from the environment all the more contribute to the quantity and quality of verbal responses and behavior, of course. I would love to cite a reference for this paragraph but I think I do not need to because these few sentences are products of what we all experience. Common sense, you may call it, don't you think?

So back to the point of this blog post. Two nights ago, I spanked Garret. Our newly-cropped ears Dobe, Riley was trying to play with him, licking him as he went out of the room,which Garret does not like. So he pinched the ear of Riley. I called his attention once. Still he did not heed my reprimand. He pinched Riley's ear again. This time I swatted his bottom with one firm smack. He looked at me, went to our room and hid under his pillows. His papa called to him. He refused to approach his father. He sobbed quietly, looking at me like it was my fault he was crying, which of course was understandable. It went on like this for 10 minutes or so until I couldn't take it anymore and approached him. He was lying face down. I did the same beside him and put my arm around his back. I stroked his hair and said, "Garret, I spanked you because you did not listen to mama. Riley's ears will get hurt if you pinch it. And I have to spank you because you have to learn to listen to what mama says." Or something like that. I tried to make my words really simple and easy to understand. He looked at me, tears in his eyes. I continued, "Mama spanked you because Mama loves you." At this, I left him alone to process everything I said. After three minutes or so, he stood up and joined Morgan jumping on the bed, smiling slowly as if nothing happened. And that was when it struck me, as in really struck me-- Garret understood me. Really understood what I just said. In his own non-verbal way. Actions do speak louder than words ever will. He understood more than any two-word phrases and sentences could ever measure. But more than anything, I was amazed at the thought that what I said got through to him. Somehow beneath the seemingly sound-proof walls that autism builds around the world of my son, my words were autism-proof. I connected with my son on a different level, and he connected with me. And that meant everything. Because just when I was up to my neck with self-doubt and on the brink of losing my patience and perhaps some parts of my faith all together, a breakthrough like this happens.

So what have I learned from this? Three things: One, language is more than just spoken words. More importantly, it is seen, clearly seen in what is not said. What I say, what I do, my little prince is taking it all in. As Morgan does. They understand everything that goes on around them in their own way perhaps even in a more hypersensitive manner. They may have autism but they may be more in tune with life than I am. So this is a note to self in my other aspects in life as well. I have to be more sensitive to body language, facial expressions, subtle nuances that people I interact with, communicate with me. Sometimes, words only serve to cover what is the truth.

Two, even if I begin to lose hope and question if any of what I'm doing as a parent is ever working, even if I forget the one true thing that gets my boys through, the one powerful force that nothing could ever surpass, the Universe does not forget and somebody up there is just taking it all in as well. And when the time is right, he / she tells me, shows me in his own verbal and nonverbal way as well, like saying, "I did not forget. And here it is, what you need. I may have had to postpone some miracles so you would learn the value of patience, discernment, reflection and gratitude always. And I did this for no other reason than because I love you." Well, what do you know, my stubbornness and know-it-all attitude is also given a firm smack on the bottom.

And three to wrap it all up in one tidy neat bow: Love, what I have for my boys, what the Universe has for me unconditionally, is autism proof always. :)