I catch myself staring at my son and drifting off to another place.
In this place I think of what your voice would sound like. I think of how it would sound if you could call me momma.
Over these past few years I’ve realized time has stood still. We have progressed into an older version of you. You look older. But you aren’t.
You are supposed to be telling me no, yelling at your sister as you chase her around the house and telling me what your favorite show is.
Why can’t you?
Why did this happen?
Why do YOU have Autism?
You don’t point. You can’t look at me while I speak. You don’t hand me objects to learn a tablet. We know absolutely nothing what is going on inside your sweet mind.
The why of nonverbal drowns me. I feel like I’m standing in a pool on my tippy toes and water is surrounding my face. Every once in a while, I start asking why and then water splashes me in the face.
A wave of depression hits me. And then I get back on my tippy toes and we continue on with life. But every now and then, that wave comes and splashes me back again.
If I never hear your voice, I’ll never accept it. That’s one thing I won’t be able to deal with.
Yes, I want functional communication and I can find happiness in life but never hearing your voice until I see you standing next to Jesus is devastating to me.
The question of why are you nonverbal and what will our future look like is the hardest for me.
Communication is the hardest hurdle for me. I can’t wrap my brain around it. It hits this momma heart hard. I wish it was different and I pray it is one day. Until then, I’ll just keep asking why.