64. Third Parties

I was the type that didn't want anyone to "know my business", so I didn't talk much about our problems! My husband, however, decided to discuss it with anyone who would listen. I wasn't happy about this. My parents were called numerous times -not by me- and informed of all of their daughter's wrongdoings. Oh, the list went on and on. Luckily we lived far from my closest friends, besides Pat, otherwise he would have called them too. I was embarrassed for him.

By the time the counselor was called in to do damage control, I was emotionally turned off. I knew that I needed to at least give counseling a try, though. The counselor that my husband chose was a Baptist preacher. He knew him from his work in some way. The sessions were about an hour long and free so what the heck? I remember one session in particular. Near the end of it, my husband said, "I am concerned for her spirituality because she said she wanted to throw our son out the window and that she hated God."

I tried to put that loaded statement into context before he ended the session but all I heard was:

"Times up."

I was stunned. I was pissed. This counselor knew very little about the effect that autism had on all of us, not just ME. When we were going through it all I had discussed my brutally honest feelings with my husband and he seemed to understand. He lived the life too and had to walk away many times for fear of hurting Sean.

With little time to defend my long ago spoken words, I left the office realizing that it wouldn't have mattered. I knew in my heart that my love for my son kept him safe. I knew I had to give air to my thoughts so I talked about them. I couldn't let them sit inside my head long enough for them to convince me that they were justified. As for hating God, I did, but only temporarily.

63. A Silent Message

Friday nights at home were the nights when the beer flowed way too much and way too easily. It was the routine. It was a ritual. It was the way it was and the way it was was the way it WAS. We settled into the weekend as most families do but apparently we felt the need to numb our pain in the process. We watched movies and drank. We had fun. Why shouldn't we? Why wouldn't we? Why couldn't we? We talked and talked and talked until I was the only one listening. Those Friday nights  of listening carried over into the wee hours of Saturday morning. I was a random toy stuck in one of Sean's circles - I was our pet hamster on the wheel - I was Monday thru Sunday. 

One particular Friday night Sean tripped on the mini trampoline that had to be in the center of the living room. As he was walking into the small hallway we said, (from our beer drinking places), "Buddy, are you okay?"

We saw his shoulders shake a little as though he was crying in pain but he didn't make a sound. We both looked at one another, got up to follow him and sat down with him at the end of the hallway in front of his closed bedroom door. We began consoling him at the same time, "Ohhh Buddy! I know that hurt! Sean let me see. Just rub your leg and it'll be okay...sugar honey pie, lemme kiss it!"

For some reason we, (his buzzing parents) began to argue, each of us saying things like: "Don't touch him, he's going to be fine. He doesn't want you to make a big deal out of it. Just let him get up on his own... blah blah blah!" We were in a standing position by now.

As we were arguing Sean stood up. He quietly and very slowly took my hand. He opened his door, escorted me in and closed the door with his father on the other side. Sean was looking at the floor as we stood there, our bodies facing the door. We stood there long enough for me to process what just happened before I said, "I hear you, Buddy. I - hear - you!"


My buzz was gone.