A Heart Story
Jack has made no bones about the fact that he’s happy in our new home. Every day he tells us how much he loves our house, or his school or the city itself. Even a simple outing for pizza downtown becomes a “pizza adventure” worth discussion for days.
It’s not unusual for autistic children to touch too much or hug too tightly or talk nonstop. Jack is no different. In addition to deep hugs and constant chatter, though, Jack loves to wax poetic. He has a flair for language and really enjoys sharing his feelings. Jack is not just an open book, he is a recorded encyclopaedia on autoplay. If you’re not paying attention, you could miss something outstanding.
Recently, during one of Jack’s more passionate orations, he stunned me.
Jack: “My heart is so happy.”
Me: “Why, baby?”
Jack: “Because you made a story of it. You made a priviledge of telling the story.”
Me: “About what?”
Jack: “You told me a story about my happy heart. It wasn’t a bedtime story, it was a heart story. You made my heart so happy, mama.”
Me: *sniff*
I don’t know what story I told him. I have no idea what he meant, honestly. I do know that he stopped me in my tracks and brought me to tears.
As much time and energy as I spend trying to “manage” our lives and “deal” with our unusual life with autism, I wouldn’t change a second.
Bring on the chaos, the stress and the insanity. I told my little boy a heart story and made his heart happy. I am speechless, and I, too, am happy.
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