The one dream I couldn't let go was to have Skyler understand that I was his mom.Even if I never heard him say “Mom”, I wanted to see the recognition in his eyes.
The summer of Skyler's fourth year was when it started.A smoldering (郁积的) ember of understanding in him sparked, and fanned by our efforts, steadily flamed.His first words were hardly recognizable, often out of context, never spontaneous.Then, slowly, he could point to an item and say a word.Then two words together as a request.Then spontaneous words.Each day, he added more and more recognizable words, using them to identify pictures and ask questions.We could see his understanding increase, till his eyes would seek out mine, wanting to comprehend.
“You Mom?” he said one day.
“Yes, Skyler, I'm Mom.”
He asked his teachers and caregivers, “You Mom?”
“No, Skyler, not Mom.”
“You my Mom?” he said back to me.
“Yes, Skyler, I'm your Mom.”
And finally, a rush of understanding in his eyes, “You my Mom.”
“Yes, Skyler, I'm your Mom.”
If those had been Skyler's only words ever, they would have been enough for me:My son knew I was his mother.
But Skyler wasn't done.
One evening I leaned against the headboard on Skyler's bed, my arms wrapped around him.He was cozily tucked between my legs, our bodies warm and snug as I read to him from one of his favorite books—a typical affectionate(深情的) scene between mother and son, but because of Skyler's autism, one that I could never take for granted.
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