Peace and Joy
“Dad, can you take Mito down to the pool? He’s been looking at it from the window and he wants to go. I want him to go.” The wife said.
Truth be told, busy with my match, her words barely registered.
“Ok. So why don’t you take him?”
“It’s my over-rest day!” she responded. She knows she can get away with things like that.
“Shhh!”
“Please?”
I was busy, I was doing my thing. But. The wife needed me.
I went to our room, where my son was already on the jacuzzi, waiting for it to be filled with water. He was splashing around, laughing at his antics. I held him for a second, waiting for him to look at me.
“Do you want to swim? Let’s go to the pool so you can swim?”
It took a moment, then it registered. His face — his always joyful face — lit up. Brighter. Happier.
There’s my prize.
He ran out of the tub, where his mom was waiting. “Dad’s taking you down? Wow! Daddy is so kind!”
Prize number two. I. am. killing. it.
We go down to the kiddie pool, and my son fills the otherwise empty facility with squeals of joy. He loves the water. Maybe it’s a sensory thing — autists have sensory needs that few of us neurotypical folks consider. Maybe it’s a water thing, where his weight is reduced and he can splash around easily. Or maybe it’s just fun.
An hour later, when he’s spent his burst of energy and I’m just guiding him to a floating position by holding his hands and spreading them wide while he lies down on the water, I see it. I see the moment.
Parents of kids with special needs are compelled to think several steps ahead in every situation — you have to, because you’re watching over someone who typically has limited danger sense. Then there’s the ‘mama bear’ mode of watching out for judgmental eyes of adults and mean children who have no patience waiting for other kids who simply can’t keep up. And then there’s the ever-present dread of the future. A future where you might not be there to watch and protect and provide for this preciouswonderfulbroken child in your arms.
But in that moment, I was simply there. With my son who trusts me enough to try a weird position unlikely to make sense in his mind. He trusts his dad to hold him, while he does the impossible feat of floating on water. I see the trust. I see the contentment. I see him living in the moment. I see him.
I would have missed these things had I not been present to do my duty — had I ignored my wife’s words. Instead, I witnessed, simply because I was where I was supposed to be.
‘Rest, and be blessed.’ If I were a fanciful man, I would have sworn I heard the Holy Spirit. But I didn’t need to. I only needed to show up.
