Autism Vox

I’ll Be There With You

by Kristina Chew, PhD on May 27th, 2008

Charlie’s been off from school since Friday for the long Memorial Day weekend. Here in Jersey, Memorial Day signals the start of summer, as swimming pools open up and lifeguards return to their stations. We’d stayed mostly close to home (except for a kayak ride on the Hudson) and noted lines of cars heading down the shore via the Garden State Parkway.

Charlie, as I’ve often noted, loves the ocean. It’s the place where he is in his natural element. He’s a tremendous swimmer in the waves and the easy beach life—where all you have to do is wear swim suits and t-shirts, eat lots of seafood and fries (swimming takes up a lot of energy, you know), get in the water and walk on the sand—more than suits him. This strong love for the ocean and the beach is matched, though, by an equally fierce onslaught of feeling and even panic when we (as we have to; our jobs and Charlie’s school are not near the shore) have to leave and say “we’ll be back“—”back” can equal “eternity” and so “never” to Charlie.

In the past two years, Charlie has been learning to handle these transitions (we have, too). Charlie still has all of his anxiety and sometimes this gets expressed in physical ways—the back arching he’s done since he before he was born. Language does not come easy to Charlie in general and when he’s in distress, too often, it just does not come.

We’ve all been sleeping in over the long weekend and, around 2pm and a long bike ride with Charlie telling Jim “this way!” and directing them to a park, we decided we had to go to the beach. So south down the Parkway we went. Traffic was minimal and, as we turned off the highway and headed to Sandy Hook, Charlie started saying the name of his favorite aide over and over, with a real urgency. (This aide is still in the school district, but now working with high school students.) Jim and I—using as few words as possible, in quiet voices—told Charlie that yes, he’d be back in school tomorrow, and his face looked a bit less drawn (a bit). We also rolled up the windows and turned on the air-conditioning, having observed that Charlie was holding his hands over the ears and had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled tightly over his head.

We made it down to Sandy Hook and Charlie got out of the car, a bit hesitantly. He kept his shoes and sweatshirt on as we walked down to the waves: The wind was blowing strongly and sheets of grit flew at our legs; Jim arched up his shoulders. Charlie kept his hands over his ears and then pulled off his socks and shoes and sweatshirt and headed into the water.

The ocean was in the 50s and only one man ran in (and quickly out), calling to his wife in a Slavic language. Charlie ran into the waves and swirled his feet in patterns on the sand. He was smiling (and still holding his hands over his ears—the wind and the water were loud). Jim and I drifted behind him, me with two pairs of black shoes and Jim pulling Charlie’s sweatshirt over his own head. A couple of times, Charlie grinned at us and started to run for the water, and then turned around when we called him (no lifeguards—it was around 5pm—means no ocean swimming, for sure). Charlie worked his way down and then up the beach and held each foot under the shower to wash off the sand (much of which still got in the car).

We stopped at Baja Fresh for Mexican food and then onto home. We’re on the second floor and I opened every window; Charlie showered and paced and lay down on his bed, and was completely fretful. We shut the windows and turned on the AC and Charlie ran to lie in our bed and then cried and moaned and said “bye bye” over and over, over and over. I sat with him; I brought him ice as he requested and then did not want; I brought him his blankets and backpack; I rubbed his back. Jim went to sit and croon the old songs (like this one) and I heard Charlie saying snatches of this and that and then, “I’ll be there with you.”

Sometime I’m very, very glad to know.

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POSTED IN: Adolescence, Charlisms, Family, Holidays, New Jersey, Parenting, Water