PERSONAL NARRATIVE
Yesterday, for some unearthly unexplained reason, that same
child walked calmly though our halls, there was no growling
heard from his lungs, he never once slammed his body into the
walls, he sat in my lap for countless stories, and he told me he
loved me without being asked.
sleepily guided his body back into his room bypass-
ing my other sleeping children, I tucked him back into
his bed gently explaining that he needed to stay there
until his clock turned yellow. Though as I walked out
of his room, I saw his eyes were not going to again
shut, and all I heard was louder growling as I sullenly
acknowledged he would never return to sleep.
Drifting back to sleep rather quickly, I realized all the
more this day was going to be a rough one from what
I heard coming from his room. Praying that the peace-
ful morning silence would continue, I kept my eyes
closed for as long as possible until our baby boy now
abruptly awakened every sleeping body in the house.
He took his body and slammed it into the wall repeat-
edly as he left his room once again seeking sensory
stimulation into order to calm himself, though the
two-hour sleep deficit was enough to push his senso-
ry regulation over the edge for the day.
Lying the baby down for her protection in her own
crib to follow after my son, with tears in my eyes, I
could only watch and softly use calm words, as he
screamed at each and every food choice I offered un-
til he finally agreed to one that he approved of by
not shouting. While I was pouring the cereal into the
bowls, behind me his eyes caught notice of some
treats placed on the top of the fridge, and with one
impulsive thought, he began to scale the fridge. With
my eyes off of him for one tiny second, he used his
strength to get those tasty cookies, at what I thought
was an unreachable place, though nothing was truly
out of his reach, I had discovered.
Yesterday, for some unearthly unexplained reason,
that same child walked calmly though our halls, there
was no growling heard from his lungs, he never once
slammed his body into the walls, he sat in my lap for
countless stories, and he told me he loved me without
being asked. No screams were heard from his sweet
little lips, and his big eyes locked onto mine when I
spoke. As much as I am convinced this day was not
real and it was a dream, my husband can attest that
this day did in fact happen, and for some unexplained
reasons, it showed a very calm and happy little child
within my son’s high-functioning autistic body.
This day I speak of is why I will never stop perusing
an end to the control his sensitivities have on his tiny
persona. I will never accept, possibly against my own
best judgment, that this is what my life has come to.
I will not accept that this is the way he was intended
to be. I do not believe that he would choose to act
in the manner that he does, without these intense
sensitivities and altered developmental state. I be-
lieve it is OK to want more for my son than accept-
ing this diagnosis as something that will impact his
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