As Samuel progresses with gross motor skills, he has become more reclusive in some ways. I feel as if I have failed him these 3 days. He walks around the house shaking an ice cream wrapper that he has taken a liking to. He walks for extended, drawn-out periods, and I seem frozen, sitting..observing him. He never comes to me while he is consumed in “his play.”  He never shows me this wrapper, as if to say, “Hear this funny noise, Mama!” 

He seems content, so I allow him to stay inside himself.  I don’t encourage him to play hand over hand. I don’t sit on the floor with him and work on waving or bye bye. I don’t try any more sign language. I just let him be the Samuel that he is. I am tired.  When he is hungry, I feed him. When he is wet or dirty, I bathe and change him. When he is crying for seemingly no reason, I rock him. All the while, I talk. I talk to him as if he knows exactly what I am saying- as if, at any moment, his eyes will brighten with understanding. I still have hope, but I am tired. Grief, I suppose. Self-doubt, possibly.  Denial, partially. Wishing it weren’t so hard, absolutely. 

I make appointments and take care of an off-exchange insurance that covers autism therapy. I make sure Maggie is prepared for school. I hug her tightly when she comes home, thankful for the easiness that is her. Grateful for someone to talk to you. Loving her. 

We settle in for dinner, baths, and bed each of these nights, and we start again each morning. We do this all 3 days, waiting on Scott to return. I never knew that I needed rescuing. I never knew, until I knew autism.