This afternoon Freddies sister Evie & his dad were outside playing so we went out to join them. There’s not really anything to do in the garden for Freddie. We have a playhouse, a seesaw, slide, scooter & a bike but clearly way to advanced for Freddie to play with. So his dad just held him while Evie played. Freddie spent the whole time looking round the garden in amazement. He wouldn’t respond when we spoke to him as he was far to busy looking around. This got me wondering what Freddie actually sees and understands. What goes on in his mind.
In most cases it’s fairly easy to understand how a neurotypical child sees the world. Evie knows colours & numbers, she can name objects & holds conversations with me she tells me when shes sad or when shes happy & plays as you would expect a 2 year old to. So i can pretty much understand whats going on with her. But trying to understand what Freddie sees isn’t as simple.
This morning for example, i went up to Freddie at 8am as he still hadn’t made any noise to tell me he was awake, when i went into him he was just laying in his own vomit. What must have gone through his mind as he was sick? Why did he not cry to tell me something bad had happened?
In the garden when he was looking around what was he seeing? Does he see the trees & leafs as i do? Does he look at his sister playing & feel any desire to want to play? Does he hear me & his dad talking to him?
When he wakes in the middle of the night & lays in the darkness what does he think? Does he know it’s bedtime? Does he get lonely? Or miss his family?
When he plays with toys does he see a toy as i see a toy? Does he understand what he should be doing? Does he see all the bright colours on the toy?
When he sees me & his dad & sister does he see people he loves? and that love him back? Does he know i’m his mummy?
So many questions but with a child like Freddie you get little answers. I found a nice little to poem that related to this a bit –
I Am The Child
I am the child who cannot talk. You often pity me, I see it in your eyes. You wonder how much I am aware of — I see that as well. I am aware of much — whether you are happy or sad or fearful, patient or impatient, full of love and desire, or if you are just doing your duty by me. I marvel at your frustration, knowing mine to be far greater, for I cannot express myself or my needs as you do.
You cannot conceive my isolation, so complete it is at times. I do not gift you with clever conversation, cute remarks to be laughed over and repeated. I do not give you answers to your everyday questions, responses over my well-being, sharing my needs, or comments about the world about me. I do not give you rewards as defined by the world’s standards — great strides in development that you can credit yourself; I do not give you understanding as you know it.
What I give you is so much more valuable — I give you instead opportunities. Opportunities to discover the depth of your character, not mine; the depth of your love, your commitment, your patience, your abilities; the opportunity to explore your spirit more deeply than you imagined possible. I drive you further than you would ever go on your own, working harder, seeking answers to your many questions with no answers. I am the child who cannot talk.
I am the child who cannot walk. The world seems to pass me by. You see the longing in my eyes to get out of this chair, to run and play like other children. There is much you take for granted. I want the toys on the shelf, I need to go to the bathroom, oh I’ve dropped my fork again. I am dependant on you in these ways. My gift to you is to make you more aware of your great fortune, your healthy back and legs, your ability to do for yourself. Sometimes people appear not to notice me; I always notice them. I feel not so much envy as desire, desire to stand upright, to put one foot in front of the other, to be independent. I give you awareness. I am the child who cannot walk.
I am the child who is mentally impaired. I don’t learn easily, if you judge me by the world’s measuring stick, what I do know is infinite joy in simple things. I am not burdened as you are with the strifes and conflicts of a more complicated life. My gift to you is to grant you the freedom to enjoy things as a child, to teach you how much your arms around me mean, to give you love. I give you the gift of simplicity. I am the child who is mentally impaired.
I am the disabled child. I am your teacher. If you allow me, I will teach you what is really important in life. I will give you and teach you unconditional love. I gift you with my innocent trust, my dependency upon you. I teach you about how precious this life is and about not taking things for granted. I teach you about forgetting your own needs and desires and dreams. I teach you giving. Most of all I teach you hope and faith. I am the disabled child.