I interrupted Trevor's morning ABA session to administer his meds.
It's 9:30 and he's already had three seizures this morning. Two in the presence of his teacher. It's obvious she is profoundly moved each time she sees one, no matter how mild.
There has been much talk by him about his imaginary friends this morning: Shimmer and Shine. Evidently, these are some new Disney characters?
As he swallowed his med-laced-applesauce, he said, "Shimmer and Shine have to drink their smoothies today."
"Yep," I replied, "Even imaginary friends needs their healthy breakfast."
He was quiet a moment.
"Shimmer and Shine don't feel sick all the time."
He didn't add the words "like me" but they were there. Hanging in the air.
His therapist caught my eye and we shared a moment. I'm feeling emotional today anyway. It's a miracle I held it together when I saw her eyes wet too. Selfishly, there is a part of me that draws comfort having someone outside of our family see and feel with me.
If I must find a silver lining, it is this: I am persuaded his is infecting her heart with true feeling and she will be a better therapist and person from having lived this time beside him and our family.
Comments