Henry had a speech therapy session this afternoon, and according to his therapist he did fabulously. He initiated interactions. He followed directions. He grasped some fairly sophisticated concepts. He did a great job at make-believe play. It warms my heart to hear it, especially because he was a bit distant this weekend and both Jon and I felt discouraged.
Maybe "a bit distant" is understating it. On Saturday, he seemed barely aware of us -- didn't want to play with us, didn't pay attention to anything we said or did, was wandering in Henryville for nearly the entire day. Sometimes he seems like a small foreigner or alien that has dropped into our midst, and we are trying to get him to understand our language, culture, and points of reference and he is struggling to teach us his. Doubtless in a situation like this there is bound to be discouraging moments. But he's not a foreigner: he's one of us. He's our son.
When we do connect, when Henry looks at me and truly sees me and I see him, there is complete understanding between us. So much that it's eerie, and I often wonder if he can read my mind. His teachers/therapists have commented on how well I am "attuned" to him. True, when he allows it. Or his brain allows it. Or the autism allows it. Or whatever it is that keeps us, at times, estranged.
Autism can be such a frustrating puzzle sometimes. On one hand, I know when my son is in his own world, it's his way of coping with the situation. But on the other, it feels so lonely being on the other side not being able to reach him. It might get a little easier once Harry can communicate with you more.
Posted by: Lynanne | January 10, 2007 at 05:19 PM