As David and I were leaving the food court today, we saw a woman sitting on a couch, a child's head in her lap, and a stroller parked nearby. Since it's move-in day for undergrads, I figured she was babysitting a sibling while big brother/sister moves into the dorm. As we passed, I saw immediately that the "child" was in fact a young man, with facial hair, and with obvious physical disabilities. We walked into the hallway and stopped, both of us struck by the scene. This woman was caring for her son, perhaps, while another of her children went about the business of beginning college life. David said, "That's something I need to see every day" - things like that give much-needed perspective to parents like us. We stood there for a moment, just recognizing the intensity of the situation, then parted ways. I told David I was going to walk back by, just...because...
As I approached the corner of the room, I saw that the woman had taken her son into her lap - his small body curled, arms bent into his torso awkwardly - and she was lovingly patting him, much as any mother would pat a baby. The love on her face was obvious, and I was compelled (introversion be damned) to stop. I reached out to her and said, "I just want you to know that I am touched by you." I told her I had a son with severe autism, we shared a quick, warm glance of mutual sympathy, and she said something like, "I know you have a hard time, too." I squeezed her hand, asked her if I could get her or her son anything, and she assured me they were fine. She lifted him and put him into what I could now see was a special stroller, and began to get him situated and comfortable. I walked away with tears in my eyes, and caught up with David in the bookstore. I cried as I tried to relate the last few minutes, overcome with emotion and feelings I couldn't even put into words. As I left, I passed the mother pushing her son through the bookstore - she had pinned a cloth under his chin to keep him neat and dry, and she had a large bag of his things hanging on the back of the stroller. On her face I could read the story of her life - sadness, disappointment, weariness, but yes, love, gentleness, patience, and even joy.
It was like looking in a mirror.
Seeing this quiet woman holding her grown son in her lap, caring for him with absolute love and devotion, brought a change about in my heart. For every tantrum Stephen throws in the middle of Publix, because he couldn't have the fries off someone else's plate at IHOP, we get a hundred smiles. For every messy diaper we have to change we get a thousand delighted giggles and belly laughs. For every hour spent planning even the simplest shopping trip, we get to bear witness to the pure, shining joy of my baby boy, dancing through a store, thrilled with his $5.00 DVD. His interaction is sorely limited, yes, but there IS interaction. He walks and talks and inhabits his Stephen-world with nearly constant happiness.
This change in my soul won't be permanent. I'll come back here, and be fed up with autism and its worries. But maybe a vestige of today's experience will remain lodged in my heart of hearts. I know that the love I saw personified today is the love we have for Stephen, and for Kerry, and that every parent's patience gets stretched thin. We must stretch to the breaking point, and relish every tiny interaction. Every time I feel that I just can't take it anymore, I'm going to call up the mental picture of those tired and capable hands cradling that young man with the vacant expression with such love.
One change that IS permanent is our new house - we have been in for about 2 1/2 weeks, and are settling in nicely. Stephen seems to be dealing fairly well with all his changes - a new house and going back to school, which he still adores with a fierce passion. Kerry is off to a good start in middle school, and we continue to adapt to our new home as a family. I had been grouchy lately, feeling overwhelmed with "things" that seemed of the utmost importance.
Today I was reminded of truth, love, and devotion, and it was a reminder I sorely needed.
