With us, but not with us


Maybe the thought of new year made us brave. Maybe we didn’t want to offend the person who had bestowed a costly gift on us. Maybe the thought of getting out the house after a fortnight of the children being off school was just too enticing. Whatever it was that prompted us to take two six-year olds with autism to a Saturday afternoon pantomime in the middle of the city centre, we certainly must have been a little foolhardy. I packed a survival bag with all the essentials and climbed into the car.

Amazingly it wasn’t a disaster. Admittedly that was party due to iPad’s, doors in the bathrooms, hand dryers and taps in the bathrooms and an automatic front door, far more than it was to do with costumes, scripts and acting abilities. We lasted until part way through the second half. And as I told both my children just how proud I was of them for this major achievement it hit me:

They were both with me, but only one of them was actually ‘with’ me.

Only one of the children was even aware we went to a pantomime. The other had either played on his iPad, been enjoying the sensory excitement of the public bathrooms or exploring the mechanisms of the automatic door. To him it was just another building. He could not tell me (not that he can speak anyway) what the pantomime was about, any parts he liked or even what it was called. I am not sure he was even aware we were supposed to be watching anything.


He just can’t seem to connect with our world at all. At least not in the way we want him to.

As both children prepare to go back to school in a few days time after having a fortnight holidays for Christmas and New Year, he is once again oblivious. We show him visuals and even a photo of his school. He won’t understand until his taxi comes up the driveway on Monday morning.

As usual I will print off some pictures of his time at home to share at news time with his class. But although he was with us throughout Christmas and New Year he wasn’t actually aware of any of it. After all he can’t even understand a day of the week let alone a year change. Christmas was just another day to him. Sometimes I wonder if I am sharing the photos with his school to prove to myself and them that we do things. Isaac would rather show them a video of him watching the lifts at a well-known high street shop. That, to him, was the highlight of his break from school.

Tomorrow I will once again take him to church. Church to him is a place with red seats that flap up and down, a place with fluorescent lights to follow at strange angles with your eyes, a place that you get a cake at the end. He can’t sing (but he does enjoy the music) and he has no idea of any of the Bible stories or concepts. He is in his own world.

He will be with me, but not with me.

He is now two-thirds of my height. Yet he still can’t utter a word. He still can’t use pictures to effectively communicate his wishes. And most of the time he is still trapped in his own little world. Taking him places is like taking someone from another country. He doesn’t understand the language, the culture, the things people do or any of the social nuances. So he copes whatever way he can.

I am getting used to his inability to talk and communicate. I can live with the fact he needs me to look after him like a young baby still. I accept he will need support for many years to come.

But one day it would be nice to get a connection with him.

One day it would be lovely to take him with us and actually have him with us in every sense of the word.

Until then you will find me at the doors in the public bathrooms. I will be with him, even if he isn’t with me.