you know, one of those cloudy rainy cold kind of blue days. Give me some Miles, give me some Coltrane, give me something that resonates with the mood of my restless, broken heart.
I'm a single mom, which in many ways is a good thing, although it can be difficult at times. MixMan and Miss Diva are lucky (and by default, I am also lucky) that The Dads (always referred to collectively) are so much a part of their lives. Both I and my two children are truly blessed, in so many different ways.
My son is turning 7 next month. He was born ten days early in Y2K after 23 hours of drug-free labor, 13 of it very, very hard. Nuchal cord, mild distress. Five pounds, 13 ounces. The first few weeks, when he would get colicky, I'd put music on the stereo (he liked just about anything, but jazz, particularly Thelonious Monk and Coltrane, soothed him the most) and we'd dance around my tiny apartment, MixMan tight against my chest. He hated the harmonica, though. My sister tried to play for him (and she's rather good) and he would scream like he was being pinched. Hard. Every single time.
When MixMan was 4 1/2 months old, I noticed a sudden loss in his responsiveness to the sound of my voice. I'd walk into a room and he wouldn't turn his head; he no longer smiled when I sang to him. But it didn't happen all the time, and his dad and I convinced ourselves it was nothing to worry about. But by 8 months, when the random noises he made should have been shaping themselves into vowels and recognizable sounds, he was still shrieking. He got hearing aids 2 months later.
My son is one of the sweetest, most loving little boys in the world. He has a deep, abiding love for animals and his people. He is generous to a fault, although not in ways you might recognize. He terrorizes his little sister, just like any good brother should. He also has autism spectrum disorder.
Watching my little boy collapse in a frantic pile of writhing limbs, screaming the same thing over and over, saying his throat hurts from all the screaming but being unable to stop, and finally covering his own ears because the sound of his own screaming is unbearable. . . it breaks my heart. So I do what any mother would: I sit down beside him. Pull him into my lap. Take out his hearing aids. Press his head against my chest and hum a riff from Miles so he can feel the vibration in his own body. Rock gently. And it's almost like the first few weeks after he was born.
Almost.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
What make are your son's hearing aids?
Your son is lucky to have a Mom like you.
My daughter has cerebral palsy. I was bitter and played the "Why me?" game for about...3 days. Then I buckled down and became a parent.
A wise person told me that God doesn't give you what you want, he gives you what you need.
In my case, he gave me a daughter who could teach me to be the man I should be, not the man I am.
I think maybe it's the same for you and your son.
anonymous: Phonak PowerMaxx digitals.
AD- thank you, thank you.
My brother is deaf. And when asked if he wanted to get an operation that might allow him to hear -some, he repsonds "NO!" He says all that noise would drive him crazy. He asks how do i sleep?
anyway, it seems to me that your son is very lucky to have such a wonderful mother, especially one that shares Coltrane and Miles with him.
who knows, someday he may realize that it's not he that has a "disability" - it's everyone else.
Post a Comment