Those Painful Mirror Moments

It’s always hard to look into the mirror and be honest with yourself.  Yes, that is a wrinkle.  No, you don’t look the same as you did in high school.  But the hardest mirror to look at is when someone is behaving the way you do (or did).  Maybe you see another mother yelling at her kids the way you do or a wife nagging her husband sounds just like you.  It’s a little hard to swallow those “mirror” moments.  Well, my oldest son is having those moments a lot now. 

The fact that my sons are 8 years apart makes things very interesting.  TJ has learned to cope with a lot of his autistic traits, to a point that they are barely noticeable to an untrained eye.  When he needs stimulation (or sensing, as we call it) he will ask for a time to roll on the ground or spin.  These have become less and less frequent.  When he gets the urge to line things up, he organizes papers or books. 

My younger son, TL, is not so aware of his needs and will spin or line up when the feeling strikes, much like most toddler urges.  TJ watches TL and gets very concerned and worried.  He will ask me why he spins or why he doesn’t like to be touched on the shoulder.  He will ask why TL doesn’t like songs or will throw things when no one understands what he is communicating.  Those are tough questions for any child to ask and the answers are not always clear cut. 

The mirror moments come when TJ learns (or is reminded) that he did something similar.  First, I see a look of relief that his brother is not some alien born out of a pod.  Then, he gets a look of realization as he processes the fact that he too at one time would scream at certain songs.  TJ has to watch autism from the outside and I can tell he is struggling with it. 

But, just like I can’t take his autism away, I can’t take away what he sees his brother do.  TJ still has autism, but he also has a brother with autism that looks up to him.  They will have a bond that neither I nor their father could ever share with them.  I look at as part of his journey—a journey to accept himself (and his brother).