Happy Father's Day and look, I still have a blog.
Ironic enough that I just spent the first hour or so of this, my 5th Father's Day (It's the 6th, if you count the pregnancy, which The Lovely Steph Leann does not, but I still want to give credence), getting my crying kid to go back to sleep.
The Lovely Steph Leann left earlier today to head to Salt Lake City for a Young Living convention, not to return until after next weekend... so that's a whole lot of Campbell & Daddy time between now and then. (if you are one of those snakes who like to rob people when they think the home will be empty, just know I work from home, so joke's on you, loser).
Aunt Becky is scheduled to come into town for half of the week, but with her age and lack of mobility, that's really just an extra eye on the little guy while I get shower at a decent hour. Hashtag unnecessary rhymes.
The afternoon has been fine... Campbell & I both had lunch, and while he played, I watched a movie ("The Death of Superman Lives", an excellent documentary on the ill fated attempt at a Superman revival in 1999 starring Nicholas Cage. Yes, that Nic Cage). In the early afternoon, he and I visited Let's Play, a local indoor play area, and then ran some errands to Wal-Mart and dinner. He was pretty beat, which was according to plan, but I made him hold out until after I finished the documentary I was watching in the evening (Part 4 of the also excellent ESPN 30 for 30 film "OJ: Made in America"), and by 8ish, he was dead to the world.
For those of you who are reading this and are unfamiliar with my 4 year old, he's on the spectrum. Most of his 4 years have been spent being rocked to sleep, so I thought I'd turn on some super daddy skillz tonight and after his bath, after putting on his pajamas, instead of rocking him, I just laid down with him in the bed. It took him a little while to sleep, but sleep finally came... out like a little light.
I came downstairs, then knocked out the final part, Part 5, of the OJ doc, then cleaned up the kitchen a little bit... the usual, with dishes, getting food ready for tomorrow, dishes, spraying and wiping down counters and of course, dishes. All of this while starting on the final 8 hours of the 21 hour audiobook "Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows" (it's a race to the finish now, as I've gone through the other 6 books in the last few months, and their length is really slowing my pace to finish 43 books this year... it's mid-June and Deathly Hallows is only Book 16! Where was I? Oh yes...)
The kitchen cleaned, I sat down in front of the laptop to open it for the very first time today and was just making a slight change on a Disney trip for a family (if you didn't know about Campbell, you probably didn't know I plan Disney trips for a living. #ShamelessPlug), and was listening intently as Harry was questioning Mr. Ollivander, the wandmaker, about the Elder Wand when... I heard crying.
I paused the iPod, left the laptop and everything on and ran upstairs. There was Campbell, sitting up in bed, in pitch dark... the diffuser I had going earlier had gone out, so I fumbled for the small bathroom light to turn on. I flipped the switch, and he just looked up at me with a pitiful look... sniffling, he reached out to me.
I got on the bed with him, stroked his hair, laid next to him and let him cry for a minute. What about, I have no idea. See, Campbell can't tell us these things yet. He has no way of vocalizing if things hurt, if he's scared, if he doesn't feel good... all we can do is just comfort and make guesses.
I asked if he had to "go potty", and his body language said that while that wasn't making him cry, he could probably go about now. We went to the bathroom, he went, and we came back to the bed. I re-set the diffuser so it's light could replace the bathroom light, and could also fill the air with some oil that may help him if he was congested. Then I lay back beside him.
And he cried and cried. No tears, so I suppose it could be night terrors, or it could be hurting somewhere... or he could just decide that it was time to cry, right now. I lay there with him as he cried and sometime screamed in my ear. I had some patience, but regrettably, it was wearing a little thin -- The Lovely Steph Leann is always so much better at this than I am. And she's gone. I never resent her trips unless this happens, then I wish she'd never leave.
When I've rocked Campbell to sleep before, I usually will pray out loud for him. I pray for his health, I pray that he will find Christ in His timing, I pray for his development and I always pray that Campbell will begin talking -- not just the words that he can say here and there, or repeat back when we ask him to say something, but to actually communication.
This time, however, my prayers were a little more forceful. I challenged God. I asked God "Why won't you help him? I'm not asking you to make him a typical child, or to suddenly increase his development, but You know You could snap your fingers and make him talk. You know You could blink Your eyes and he'd be asleep, without any pain he might feel right now.
God, I have a kid who can't even tell me and his mom that he loves us. I can't play LEGOs with him, I can't enjoy milk and Oreos with him, I can't take him to see Finding Dory, when I'm at Let's Play, I have to watch him even closer than most parents watch their kids because he doesn't understand whats appropriate around other kids... why won't You help him? Why do You refuse to?!"
It's questions I think I've struggled with subconsciously for a while. Just... why. Keep the autism, that's fine, that's who he is and who God made him to be. But just fix that part. That talking part. Please.
It was at this moment I noticed Campbell was quiet. He had nestled into my left arm, which was holding him, with his head on my shoulder. Even in the dim light, I could see Campbell's eyes open. Big, wonderment-filled eyes. They looked around before finally looking straight into mine. Campbell and I laid there, eyes locked for probably no more than 30 seconds, but it was enough.
And in those eyes, God spoke to me.
He said, "d$... your question to me is 'Why won't I help him?', but what you are really asking is... 'Why won't I help YOU?' He knows nothing of LEGOs and Oreos and movie theaters. These are all things YOU wish to experience with him, for him. These are not bad things... in fact, they are wonderful things. But these are not things for the two of you to experience. You will have your own experiences that other fathers and their children will know nothing about. Because this is the plan I have for him. And for you."
|As I finished this blog post, I ran back up to take this pic... and he was in|
the exact same spot that I left him. Cute little guy, ain't he.
Well... I'd love to tell you that Campbell went right on to sleep... but he didn't. He rolled over, cried some more, jerked his whole body so that he essentially butt-punched me in the stomach, accidentally (I think) smacked me in the face, and cried a little more. But finally... finally, he closed his eyes for the final time tonight (I hope) and was gone.
Which allowed me to come down here and shut everything down... allowed me to jot down my thoughts here before I did. I've this is my 4th re-read of the Harry Potter series, so I know that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Griphook are about to take on Gringotts (#NerdAlert) so no need to continue that tonight.
Happy Father's Day to you fathers out there. Take a bow. And to those who are mourning the loss of their own father, I grieve with you, as the man who raised me passed 16 years ago. And to those fathers who have lost loved ones, I nod to you as well.
Dads... remember... this day is about you. But it's always about them. And always will be.
(ps... because it's now 207a, my usual terrible lyrical style was made even more terrible, so please excuse the bad grammar, misspelled words and lack of proper punctuation)