I love my autistic son. I know he loves me also. He likes to tell me between 2:30 and 3:30 in the morning by turning on the lights to my bedroom and giving me a giggling belly flop before ducking under the covers. The rest of the night my hand is his knee pillow and my head pillow is stolen. I know I love him for sometimes those belly flops turn into a kamikaze head-but into the ball sack! No one can tell you, “You don’t know what love is” if you can still make sure your attacker still has your pillow and is tucked in under the covers with a kiss on the cheek after taking one of those. My son is also deaf. I have a saying I made up.
I believe a mischievous angel convinced God into giving me an autistic child, and God said, “Well we better make him deaf too because there is going to be a hell of a lot of cursing going on.”
Believe me, a head-but to the nuts during a restful sleep in the morning hours leads to a lot of “F-Bombs” being dropped.
The above doodle is the hand print of my son in peaceful blue. Over top of that is mine in a more restless red. I call it “Hand Over Hand.” It is how we teach each other.