Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Original Fiction FDK: Cold Shoulders are Warm (1/1)

WHAM warning: This is not a happy piece.

Although in real life, I have a son and not a daughter, the thoughts of the narrator are ones I have often had myself. When my son was at his worst, he was pretty much a zombie. I could clap my fingers an inch in front of his nose, and he wouldn't even blink, let alone startle. If I rubbed his back, his muscles would not relax or even become more tense. He was entirely in his own world; if you put him down and left him to his own devices, he would just sit still for hours on end. (Note: The last sentence is a bit speculative, since I wouldn't give him the luxury of being left alone to zone out for any substantial length of time; I kept trying to get him to come out of himself and join the rest of the world.) Even when he started come out of his months-long waking trance (for want of a better description), it was a very long time before he would interact with any other human being.

When I was pregnant, I had thought that being a mother was its own reward -- that I wouldn't expected anything in return for taking care of my child. I realized during my son's zombie stage that that wasn't quite true -- I had expected and wanted the reciprocity of his making eye contact with me, smiling at me, hugging me, and otherwise engaging in age-appropriate interactive behaviour with me. The period when he did none of that was especially hard, on many levels: I was petrified about what his behaviour meant for his own future (Would he ever interact with anyone or would his functioning always be barely more than that of someone in a coma?), I was concerned for his physical well-being (his physical special needs were at their worst during this phase of his life), and -- yes -- I was hurting emotionally, as well.

I am happy to report that although my son is still severely impacted by autism, his zombie phase only lasted a few months. He now makes excellent eye contact and will even smile at people. But as short as that phase was according to the calendar, it made a profound and life-long impression on me. In this short story, I tried to capture a little of what I went through during that time.

All comments appreciated.

I feel for you, Lynn. It's hard to see a child or grandchild with any degree of autism. It's harder for me, I think, because it was probably inherited from me.

That knowledge has kept me up for more than a few nights.

Hello Terry,

I strongly suspect that my son got his autism from both of his parents, so I can relate to the complex feelings that that involves.

I am so sorry that you have literally lost sleep over it, though. It sounds like you are blaming yourself for your (grand?)child(ren?) having autism. If so, please remind yourself that you did not deliberately pass along that aspect of yourself. And weighed against any possible genetic component are the following:

- Were it not for you, they would not even exist.
- Once they did exist, you did what you could (I have no doubt) to help them have the best lives they could have.

And yes, I'll admit that I have told myself the very same things I am writing here to you. And yes, I'll also admit that while I absolutely intellectually believe these things about myself and my son, I still struggle to believe them in my heart. It's a lot easier to see these facts clearly when they relate to someone else.

Please be gentle on yourself.

Take care,
Lynn

I feel for you, Lynn.

I think that most mothers expect motherhood to be different than it actually is. Thankfully, most of the time, reality is not nearly as difficult as it was in your case. I consider myself blessed that I have two healthy children.


Actually, my reality was the opposite of yours. My daughter acknowledged my presence all right. So much so, that for the first six months, I didn't have as much as 30 seconds without her. She didn't accept anyone but me, not my husband, not her grandparents. Feeding her was a disaster, because she wouldn't breastfeed without wailing for at least half an hour before finally latching on. When we'd finally gotten through the ordeal of getting her fed, she would be hungry all over again. And of course she wouldn't drink from the bottle.

While she took up all my time, everyone else seemed to ignore me. They would gush about the sweet baby in my arms, but I felt like I had ceased to exist. I think I came pretty close to having post-partum depression, then.

It was a though time. Rewarding, but at the same time demanding so much.

I hope your son is giving you something back now, in his own special way that is so difficult to read for outsiders.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

Hi Barbara,

It sounds like the first half-year of your daughter's life was a challenge for both of you. You must have been utterly exhausted; I know from first-hand experience that sleep depravation can make it hard to think clearly or to feel as upbeat as one might otherwise be.

Wouldn't it have been nice for both of us if we had had a happy medium between our two extremes?

My son now does make good eye contact. He smiles. He will interact to the extent that he can, and sometimes not just to get something he wants. For example, if I am reading a book he knows, and I stop before the word "nose," he will point to his own nose.

But by far the best thing he has ever said to me was "Fuh fuh fuh fuh fuh." It was when I visited him after a long time apart due to COVID. He held my hand for almost the entire visit. At one point during the visit, he held both of my hands in his, and we stood facing each other and rocking side to side (an activity he enjoys). He made perfect eye contact with me, and he kept repeating, "Fuh fuh fuh fuh fuh" with an intensity that made it clear he was trying to communicate something to me. I wasn't sure at first what he was saying, and I hadn't heard him making the "f" sound in years. We had the following exchange:

Me: Are you saying, "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom?"
My son:<Shakes head no.>
Me: Are you saying, "Home, home, home, home, home?"
My son:<Shakes head no.>
Me: Are you saying, "I love you?""
My son:<Nods head yes.>

Needless to say, "fuh" is now my favourite syllable.

Joy,
Lynn

Lynn, I’ve read many of your short stories and find them to be some of the most powerful and poignant compositions I have ever read – especially in such limited words!
But I must say, the narrative describing this visit with your son may be the most beautiful work you have ever shared!

My prayer for you is that you will be blessed with many more "fuh" moments.

Thank you, Penny_Lane. Your kind words have made my day.

That visit with my son was one of the happiest memories of my life.

He hasn't repeated his utterance since that time. This isn't surprising; it is highly unusual for him to initiate any sort of spontaneous communication that does not involve him requesting something -- that rarity makes his utterance even sweeter. Even if he never says it again (and it is quite possible he won't), just knowing he said it once is enough to lift my spirits every time I think of it.

Thank you for your prayers on our behalf; all such are much appreciated.

Joy,
Lynn