Guest guest Posted May 2, 2003 Report Share Posted May 2, 2003 My sister Alix insisted that she be known to her nieces and nephews despite the many miles that separated her from all of them. She had my brother's daughters to stay with her every summer for years; she had my other sister's son live with her in summers while he worked in restaurants in NYC until he was practically a big brother to her two children. My children were harder. Lou did not like me to associate much with my family and he discouraged holiday visits partly by creating a rich family tradition in our own house (which I do not regret). So Alix had to use other ways. She wrote letters to my children (those who could read) and she sent the most marvelous gifts. " Oh, " my children would say, " That is from Aunt Alix and Uncle Dick! " Seldom was her choice a failure. I talked to her when I first worried about Putter having autism. I made the case for and against, and she interrupted me to say, " But what do you really think? You know, I would think. " And I did. She sent me the first book I ever read on autism, and I opened its pages with a chilled heart and read the DSM-IV definition of autism, telling myself that it could not possibly apply, and then I quickly closed it and said, " But he is so affectionate... " She visited us for the last time when Putter was three and a half and, before she ever even entered my house, she sat down on the swing outside on a bright and shiny autumn day and she played with Putter making patterns in the dirt with her feet and somehow persuading this distant and avoidant child to interact with her as he laughed and messed her patterns up (I have those shoes to this day, and I remember that day every time I see them.) That day she told me that she could tell that something was wrong for his eyes were blank when he wasn't laughing. For Christmas that year she sent Putter a mini trampoline. I do not know how she knew that this was a near perfect gift for a small child with autism (as well as being a near perfect gift for the parent of a small child with autism), but I imagine she read and researched and thought about it in these her last living months for that was always her way. Putter adored the trampoline. It has had a very hard three and a half years of use. I have taken good care of it as I have of all the things that she has given me; her roses on my front lawn, her clothes that I have worn a bit too long (I looked a little ragged in her turtlenecks this winter; I think it will be their last, but I looked so nice the first winter after her death). On the trampoline, I notice when the threads on the webbing begin to tear and I sit and sew them back on securely with carpet thread and a big needle. I hate sewing. It makes my nose itch, and I hate the peering and I hate the pricks I always get with the needle. But I did not want to replace THIS trampoline. Last night, as Putter and Robbie were bouncing from the slide to the trampoline to the ballpit, I noticed that the webbing was starting to tear. And I shouted at Putter and Robbie to get off, " It's broken! " I said, " I will fix it! " Not so long ago, I wouldn't have bothered shouting at Putter. It would have had no effect and so I would have physically removed him and hidden the trampoline somewhere in the basement. This year, O Blessed GIft of Receptive Language, Putter got off the trampoline. He covered his ears and hummed a second, but he understood and he obeyed. And he stayed off the trampoline. Until this afternoon. It was apparent that he had simply forgotten for he got off again immediately. I sighed. I was annoyed that I had forgotten to sew the webbing while Putter was in school. Not so long ago it would have been impossible to sew the webbing with Putter around. He would have shouted and cried and tried to set the trampoline upright. But today he asked a question of a sort that Putter has never asked before. At this point in time, Putter asks only " Where " questions, and only about things that he has lost, like the " Where is Dartie? " that he asked of me a few minutes ago when he wanted to cuddle his favorite cat, or the " Where is submarine? " that he asked last night and I could not understand him and so he had to write it down for me. But today, as I was sewing he came up to me and said in his oddly inflected speech, " Is it broken? " It took me a minute to register what he had said, such a NORMAL thing to say, and then, though my mouth at first fell slightly open with surprise, I calmly tried to answer him, " Yes, but I am fixing it. " And he was satisfied and went off to play. A small thing to an NT child but a big thing to Putter. And I thank my sister and her trampoline. Salli Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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