La Paz, Mexico :: Summer 2009
I went to see The Horse Boy this weekend. And boy, the first 20 minutes hit home. Hard. Rewind 12 years. I was there. I had almost forgotten. I had almost forgotten because of who and where my son is now.
He went with me. At 17, he watched this film, as the Isaacson family gave us a painful look into the daily routine of their lives. He says he doesn't remember the challenging parts of his childhood. When my now 3 year old daughter, has her [normal developing] meltdowns, Domi more often than not, is horrified at her behavior, especially if its in public. I chuckle when I witness his response, and I gently remind him this is normal development for a 3 year old, and that he did it too. Tenfold.
And then he smiles. And he tries again with her.
The inconsolable tantrums have been replaced with sophisticated conversations.
The self-stimming hands have grown into refined hands that create beautiful art.
Hands that create music with his vintage Bach trumpet and baby grand piano.
The unsociable child is now a humanitarian, surrounded by a strong circle of friends whom he loves.
Time moves so quickly.
Years ago, going to the grocery store was a daunting task, and often ended in both of us crying. Now, I'm relishing what time we have left with him under our roof. I ask for his company when I go to the store. I look forward to, and cherish, our short morning commute, with a stop for a cafe au lait and a mocha while listening to NPR. It's a routine that I've grown to love because I'm enjoying the young man he has become, and at 17, that time left with him at home, is slipping away.
Like the Isaacson family I, too, have had my own little miracle, and seeing this film, helps me remember, that my amazing son, my son with Autism, is my gift.
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