I was thinking this morning about my three children and all the wishes, dreams and prayers I have for them. Some of them are universal: peace, joy, happiness, love and safety. Others are specific to their talents, skills or even fears: Tyler's love of music and his need to build and his shyness, Riley's tiny body and his ferocity on a soccer field and his charm and soft heart, Scooter's sensitive heart and his need to draw and create and his constant struggle to navigate the world.
Parenting is such a crazy experience. There are so many moments that meld one into another, you think you will go insane from the boredom and the looming horizon of forever. Bedtimes, baths, homework and chores. And when something happens that is out of the ordinary, you think you will never forget it. Because it was unique and different. But the truth is, what you remember is the ordinary, the mundane. As the children get older you long for the moments that you did the same thing over and over again, a long, long time ago.
There's a video/poem thing racing across the web this week where a father focuses on just those emotions. He basically says cherish this very moment because you don't know when the last time is coming for each "event". You can't know when the last time will be that you carry your child or they crawl into bed with you or run to your arms. It's the last time and you don't know it until it's gone, and you can't remember the exact last time.
I kind of hated this video. ( I had a few reasons, beginning with the fact that it is NOT a poem, it's a monologue ... but that's an argument for another day.) It was sweet and poignant and everything but there was something about it that bothered me. I think I finally figured it out this morning. All of the things this father focused on were things you do with every child, things I did for all my children. And it's true, we focus so much on the 'firsts' because they are special but we have no way of knowing when the last time we do anything is going to be until it's long gone. But what if you can't remember some of the 'firsts' either?
And that's what I don't like about it. This stupid video made me realize that I can't quite put my finger on the moment that things shifted in our world. I can't remember the first time that Scooter turned his face from me and wouldn't let me kiss his cheeks, eyes or lips. I don't know when the first time he balked at a photo being taken happened or when he refused to walk on sand the first time or when he ran from the smell of bread. I can't recall what the first food was that he stopped eating. I don't remember the very first moment that Scooter's 'mask' fell across his face. Those first times, they were last times as well. They were the end of 'typical' in our life and we had no idea at all that our little world was changing so drastically.
It's Scooter's 9th birthday, and just like every birthday and holiday I'll ask him a question. Same question every time. "Scooter, it's a special day today, can I kiss your face today? Just once? Very light, I promise. Just one kiss on your lips or your cheek?" I'm not holding my breath ... it's been a very long time since he's said yes. I don't ask often because I don't want to badger him with it or make him feel less than he is because he can't handle this bit of affection. Just birthdays, Christmas and an occasional special moment that feels right. But I keep asking because I will always want just one more and I never want the last one to be the last time.
I do remember the last time. It was on my 40th birthday, I talked him into it as a gift for me. I got one brief, very special moment where Scooter allowed me the pleasure of kissing his cheek, just below the cheekbone but not too near his mouth. He pointed out the spot I was allowed after some negotiation on just how far I could go. I will hold on to that moment forever, or at least until he allows me another chance and I'm hopeful that he will someday. And as special as that birthday was, in so many ways and thanks to so many people, the kiss was the highlight, trust me.
There are also last times in our lives as parents where we almost celebrate the chance to forget. Scott and I were thrilled last year when we realized we had spent our very last night sitting outside Scooter's room, within his view, while he fell asleep. Late last spring Scooter had his very last assist from the van with an aide and finally took his first walk into school of his own volition. I look forward to forgetting the last time Scooter fights me about going to school or throws a fit about someone sitting in his spot on the couch.
Right now I remember the last time I tucked Scooter in as an 8 year old. I remember the last time he told me he loved me, just a few days ago. I remember the last time he let me comb his hair or hug him tight or kiss the top of his head, they were just this morning. I remember the last time he made me laugh, after dinner yesterday. And I remember the last time I planted a kiss on the only place allowed on his face, just next to his hair line, right above his ear. That was yesterday afternoon.
I cannot tell you how many tears I've cried for my children or how many prayers I have prayed for them. I would never venture a guess at which of my three beloveds has received more of either. But I can say that I remember more specifically the cause of the tears and the purpose of the prayers on more occasions for Scooter. I think that's because although he changes and makes progress and triumphs, there is a part of him that never moves forward, or moves so slowly it's hard to detect. Those prayers and those tears linger with me because his struggle is ever present and those prayers don't change as much in content as the prayers for my other two do.
I'm sounding fairly melancholy today, which isn't my intention. I just want to remember how I feel in this very moment. Grateful. Grateful that although I can't kiss my sweet boy a million times in a million places, he is affectionate ... So many children on spectrum cannot handle even the slightest touch or expression of affection. My heart aches for those mommas and I pray for them all the time.
I am grateful that Scooter is in a school with people that strive every day to help him succeed. I am so very grateful that Scooter is healthy and happy and has friends and loves to play legos and read silly stories and tell jokes and play games. Grateful that even though our lives are alphabet soup and non-typical, they are blessed beyond measure with love. And, as always, I am eternally grateful that God chose me to be the mother of this amazing, special, smart, funny and BRAVE 9 year old.
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God Bless.
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