D&C 35:17 ". . . and in weakness have I blessed him."

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Speaking the Same Language Without Speaking At All

         Dave came home from his respite activity crying. I heard him from all the way down the driveway. It was such a sad, distressed cry. The kind of cry that made my gut churn to see the one I love so heart-broken.
         Apparently he'd been crying like that for the past half hour. His respite worker reported he'd had a good, happy day apart from the last half hour. She wasn't able to identify any particular event that had brought on the tears.
         With no words to tell us why he felt so sad all I could do was guess. Maybe he wasn't feeling well. Or he was tired. Or hungry. Or one of his sensory sensitivities had been triggered.
        Not knowing the cause of the upset makes it so much harder to help him.
        After speaking to David's worker, I quickly shepherded him into the bathroom. Anxious to keep to the rigid potty-training schedule and avoid an accident.
        I sat on the edge of the bath tub just in front of the toilet ready to help him get into position. He entered the bathroom a few steps behind me.
        Still crying.
        When he saw me he reached out his arms and said, "Ma, ma" (his version of mama). Then he lunged into my open arms and pressed his head into my shoulder.
        I wrapped my arms around him and rubbed his back as his little body shook with loud sobs.
        My insides turned gooey. Not only did he say my name, but he initiated a hug—at the same time. 
        A rare treasure.
        One that instantly warmed me up. Filling me with love and joy.
        Time stood still as I felt David take comfort from my embrace. Nothing else mattered. The toilet and everything else could wait.
        Crowned by the title of "ma" I was giving my little boy the solace he needed. I didn't feel the fears of inadequacy or the nagging voice of guilt—that somehow I wasn't enough or wasn't capable of comforting my child. At that moment I didn't need to be anything else or anything more. 
        I was enough. All that my son needed me to be. 
        I felt so connected to him. There was no distance or frustration. No guessing or trying to anticipate his needs. We were on the same page.
        Finally speaking the same language.
        Without speaking at all.