Edward looked a bit shocked when he came up our walkway yesterday afternoon—an unsettled mix of exhaustion and pain. Stepping into the house he quickly dropped everything and went up to his room. A few minutes later we heard a primal, rage-filled, scream.
For the past year we’ve struggled to understand why Edward was losing interest in his day program. Some days he’d stomp towards the door when his cab arrived. Occasionally he wouldn’t move off the couch.
We tried cutting back his schedule, and it helped a bit, but soon the resistance returned. And, of course, Edward couldn’t tell us—with words—what was wrong.
It was 4:30 pm when his cab arrived that day. Doing the math, that meant Edward was in that cab for 90 minutes—90 minutes for what should have been a 22-minute drive. I asked the driver what was up, and he said he had to drop three other people off before Edward. Then I looked at the small sedan he was driving.
Over the past ten years, Edward has had a few difficult moments with other passengers—the woman who ate his bus pass, the person with uncontrollable shaking behaviours, or the man who kept shouting. I imagined what his ride might have been like—stuck, three abreast, in the back seat of a small cab, in an out-of-control situation, with no language or recourse. It would be so maddening! Remembering his troubled face that afternoon, I don’t think it’s too much to say that he seemed traumatized. When this happens, Fran and I feel so guilty—what voice does Edward have but us? So, in desperation, we decided that from now on I would pick Edward up on Wednesdays.
Soon after the scream, I went upstairs to try and talk with Edward. Sitting on the floor at the foot of his chair I asked him a few questions. “Were there too many people in the cab today, Edward?” Immediately he gave me a vehement thumbs up. “Were you in the car for too long?” His other thumb shot up. As he physically responded, he looked straight at me, with such a troubled look in his eyes.
And it became clear—these cab rides are too much for him. He needs more physical space, more choice, more ways out. So, I told him about the new plan—that there would be no more cab rides on Wednesdays, and that dad would be picking him up.
Feeling that I now had a clear understanding of the problem, I looked Edward straight in the eye and signed (and verbally said) that I was sorry. Through tears, I said it over and over. As I did, he softened.
Then he raised his pinky finger to say he loved me. As I kept saying sorry, he raised his other pinky finger and then took my hand and pulled it up to his eye and started to give me ‘butterfly kisses’. This was his way of emphasizing his love and forgiveness and that all was now good.
Sitting there, I was overwhelmed at the beauty of this forgiveness moment. Over the past year, I’ve come to see more and more of who Edward is. And surely, he’s noticing this. The more I empathize, the more he feels seen. Being seen, it’s almost as though he has more room to express himself—to say what he needs or to offer forgiveness. All I needed to do was better imagine what he might be going through.
I am so thankful for how my relationship with Edward is being reshaped. I think it’s going to keep on growing. I wonder, now that he is being more clearly heard and seen by me, if even more of his character and self will come out. This is just such a beautiful thought. Feeling how much I want this to happen, I can’t help but think of how much God wants both Edward and I to become more ourselves. God sees and understands and wants the best for us.
Shortly after my talk with Edward I shared what happened with a friend. She commented on the beauty of Edward’s capacity to be quick to forgive. I suppose this is where Edward’s childlikeness is an advantage—he’s gracious in a God-like way. And I’m quick to receive his grace.
This makes me so thankful for this ‘parable of a moment’ in our family’s life. When has Edward had the opportunity to grant such a serious forgiveness as this? Had we not understood the gravity of the situation and shown him we understood and said sorry, there would have been no opportunity for him to offer his gracious response. But we gave him the space to do that.
So now Edward knows that we know. On this cab-thing, he knows that we will take care of things. This feels so good to me—that this person who I love so much knows that I see him, that I understand, and that I will remedy the situation. This reminds me that I’m made in the image of a God who feels this all the time.
Comments