We’re really OK, I tell everyone. Yet in the land where behavior is communication, there’s far more I can’t see in my challenged sons.
Mon thru Friday seemed fabulous I thought on a Friday at 6 pm as light faded to gauzy dusk. My guys showed a glimmer of recognition when watching their day program staff on our big screen TV during our Zoom remote learning sessions. My heart leaped thinking they might understand what was going on. At morning meeting Will accurately answered “what month is it” three times in a row. In the afternoon Jeff imitated arm circles while watching a peer do them on the TV – a huge leap for him – and showed promise in understanding the difference between marching, kicking, and jumping.
With Easter upon us we baked treats for our two support helpers. I tried not to choke up in thanking them for proving just how essential they are to our family.
On top of it, the hubby’s tenuous employment – for no explained reason he didn’t get a paycheck last week – appears to continue. The bank account showed his weekly amount, and his online dashboard restored him to Active status. Whew. The layoff he was told to expect last August looms, but dodging the bullet another week gave ample cause to open a bottle of red, my first time drinking in two weeks.
Mom of special kids simply cannot make the mistake of sleeping.
“Did you know Will bolted outside ?” my husband said, rousing me from sleep at 11:45 pm. Apparently I made it til 8:15 pm in front of the TV.
OMG. Apparently the hubby snoozed TV-faced just like me. At 10:30 he went to check on the men and found the front door ajar,. The foot-carpet was askew far away and the storm door in front of it unhinged from its lock. Either the HVAC contractors who were here on Wednesday left the deadbolt unsecured, or we goofed.
Hubby ran up to search for two bodies in their beds. Fortunately the men were sound asleep. My mind’s eye flashed to them, Will chewing his comforter with his recent oral fixation, Jeff cheubic- faced in PJs with the shirt on backwards.
Whether Jeff pulled Will back into the house, ever the hovering little brother – or Will departed and got bored, returning quickly – we’ll never know. The bigger and always unanswered question was why. Why does Will’s flight response activate? Because – his mother sleeps? Because he can’t cope with an hour of unstructured time at the end of his day? Because stimulating, engaging activities for him are depleted?
Or is there a thrill to self-agency in a pandemic – asserting the power of the soul in the night.
For the rest of the night and the next day, I kept wondering where he was. Is he safe. Is he happy. Then the corollary. What about me. I failed. Can I ever really keep him safe. Am I allowed a glass of red, a minute to write, reading just for pleasure. Or was the lesson that I’m meant to trust the Universe will help us somehow – when night seems impenetrable.