In the earlier stages of Brantley’s Autism I struggled to imagine a world where I wouldn’t hear my sweet boys voice. A world where I wouldn’t hear my child say “mama” was both haunting and heartbreaking to me as a new mom.
As the years have passed, the weight of that initial fear has lightened, though it’s never entirely vanished. Brantley has developed ways to communicate some of his needs and feelings.
I know when he is hungry.
I know when he is happy.
I know when he is sad.
Yet, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t pray for a way to know more. I yearn to know what truly weighs on Brantley’s mind.
To know what he wants to eat.
To know what he thinks.
To know what he fears.
There are days when these unknowns feel unbearable, like a heavy weight on my chest.
Today was one of those days.
Brantley had an adverse reaction to a new medication. The hours of screams were heart wrenching.
I wanted to take his pain.
I wanted to know how to help.
I wanted him to tell me what was wrong, what he felt like and how I could help; but he couldn’t.
In moments like these, the lack of substantial communication feels more profound. It feels every bit as haunting and heartbreaking as it did in the beginning, when I was first grappling with Brantley’s autism diagnosis.
Despite Brantley’s progress in nonverbal communication, a gap still exists between us. I pray that one day we can bridge that gap with any form of communication that offers an insight into Brantley’s world. Until that day arrives, I cling to the love and resilience that help me navigate the uncertainties.
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