Silence and Chaos
April is Autism Awareness Month. If you’re in my circle, I imagine you’re pretty aware of autism.
We live and breathe autism.
My son Michael has always been loud. He’s always made his presence known. He’s larger than life.
I dare you not to smile when he signs “more tickles, please”.
As anyone who has ever met him will tell you, it is impossible not to fall in love with him. I know as his mom, I’m biased, but he’s the cutest 3 year old in existence.
The thing that no one tells you is how loud nonverbal autism is.
Before Michael, I would have thought nonverbal meant quiet. No sounds. No noise. Nonverbal autism is anything but calm and quiet.
Michael is often really loud. He squeals and screams. He babbles constantly.
Every once in a while, he’ll say a word. Sometimes it will make sense in context (Too COLD! when the water in the bath isn’t right), and sometimes it won’t make sense at all (lately he’s been babbling the word ‘baby’). But the time in between?
It’s a lot of noise. Belly laughs that sound like his entire body is being tickled at once.
Laughing loudly at his YouTube videos in the dead of the night on a car ride back from Grandma’s, while his patient, stalwart of a brother tries to sleep next to him.
Frustrated screams because it’s his only way to communicate that he’s upset.
Nonverbal autism is loud. It’s really loud.
Except in the moments when it’s not. When it is painfully quiet.
Sometimes in those same car rides, its exceptionally quiet. I rarely get to pick Michael up from ABA, because of my job.
On the handful of times I get to pick him up and he doesn’t immediately fall asleep (because we’ve just asked a 3.5-year-old to put in an 8-hour day of therapy)…the silence between us is deafening.
I talk. I ask how his day was. I ask what he liked. I ask what he didn’t.
I ask the same things I asked his brother when he was 3.5 years old.
The difference is that now, I don’t get an answer.
Michael is happy. He looks out the car’s windows with pure joy on those rides.
He’s happy I’m with him, and he tries to get me to tickle his feet while I’m driving, and since Michael refuses to keep his shoes on, I can’t help but tickle those tiny toes.
I look back at him at every stop light, just to connect, and get that mischievous smile that only Michael has.
Therapy has helped with eye contact, and it’s something I’m truly grateful for.
It’s between these two things that is confusing as an autism mom.
Sometimes, I just want the noise to stop. To have calm. To breath. To take a moment and be still.
When it is calm, and quiet, and silent, I pray to the universe to give my baby boy his voice. To have him communicate. To tell me the best part of his day.
Maybe that day will come. Maybe that day won’t.
Either way, I’ll keep asking.
Written by, Ashley Jacqmain
My name is Ashley and I am the mom to two amazing boys. Clayton is 7, and Michael who is 3.5 years old. I’m married to the most wonderful husband and father, Adam. Together we work hard to raise these two very different boys. Clayton is neurotypical in every way, and excels in everything he touches. He skipped a grade, and has always been my little helper. He’s an old soul. Michael is our sweetheart, and was diagnosed with severe nonverbal autism last March (2018). He’ll melt your heart into a puddle immediately. We switched jobs, sold our house and moved 2.5 hours away last year to be able to get Michael the ABA therapy he needs. He’s making great progress, and we are so proud and amazed by him everyday!
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