Life with Logan...
Jan. 26th, 2002 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningLooking back over yesterday's entry and comments, I think I ought to clarify a little. See, there's so much I didn't say, not enough room or time in the world to explain it all... I'm proud of my son. In some respects, I've always felt solely responsible for him; I fought hard even to have him exist. I've always felt like a single parent in regards to him, even when Richard was there, long before there was any indication that he was anything more than a precocious, loving baby.
The story really starts, I guess, with Richard. He was a friend of a friend, someone I'd known slightly for quite awhile, always on the edges of my group. That continued till a dinner party I helped host one night, shortly after the end of another relationship. During a lull in the celebration, I sat in the living room, holding a stuffed animal. Richard was across the room, and made a careless comment, saying he wished he could take the teddy bear's place. I was reckless enough and, I suppose, lonely enough, to let that begin a relationship that lasted three years. It wasn't all roses and sunshine... looking back, I'm inclined to believe that Richard himself was autistic. He was childlike in a lot of ways... he sought me out to fill his needs, and then withdrew. He needed more than anyone I've ever known, and for me, then, that was enough to ensure that I'd never leave him, even though he was brutally honest about a lot of things. His childhood was hellish, he had been a "difficult" child and his stepmother hadn't been able to handle him. She wound up treating him like an animal, except that most people treat animals better.
He told me often, "Don't expect love from me. I don't know how to love, I can't handle love." To me, all of eighteen, that was a challenge, a cause. And nothing could dissuade me... not watching him put his fist through walls, not the arguments that blew up every time we went out together, not his promises, delivered with tears and warnings that I should leave, that one day it would be me he hurt. I watched for progress, for signs that my care and love would make a difference. And sometimes it seemed that they did. Before me, his longest-running relationship had lasted six months. During the course of our relationship, I watched him gain weight, to flesh out from the gaunt, haunted-looking man I'd met to someone who was unexpectedly beautiful. He even asked me to help him study for his GED, and we spent a lot of time trying to teach him basic math and English skills. The second year of our relationship, he would often come to me in tears, asking me to promise I'd never leave him, that I'd always love him, that I wouldn't give up on him. Heady stuff, for me... proof that love could conquer all. We might have gone on that way indefinitely, really, except for Logan.
I was, of course, using contraceptives. Specifically, Depo-Provera, which should have ensured that pregnancy wouldn't be an issue. I wanted children, but not that early... but I've since discovered that Depo-Provera does not work for me. Because I would get pregnant on it not once, but twice. Richard hit the roof when we discovered that I was pregnant. He demanded that I have an abortion, and only when I threatened to move out and leave him rather than do that, did he capitulate. After that, he swung in the exact opposite direction, saying that he was going to take care of us, and he insisted I leave my job and stay home. I did that, for the sake of peace, and against my better judgement. As it turned out, I was right to doubt, because when I was a bit over five months pregnant, Richard came home one day and told me he couldn't deal with the idea of being a father, he'd tried but he couldn't, and he wanted me to leave. By that point, I was ready to do that; it hadn't been sunshine and roses for that period of time, either, with me becoming more focussed on the pregnancy and him more and more unhappy that I wasn't focussed on him. So I left, and Richard didn't re-enter the picture until Logan was almost due.
Life went on without him, and I got very used to the idea that I'd be taking care of Logan alone. I married Richard when Logan was three months old, and he moved in with us three months later, but that seems like an interlude, really, a break from reality. Logan has been the center of my world since the first time I realised I was pregnant; I love my other children just as much, but in a different way. They're sturdy, bright, wonderfully normal children, and they have their father's love as well as mine. In a lot of ways, Logan has only me, and probably will only ever have me.
He was a beautiful baby, and is a beautiful child. I've since learned that that's a genetic marker of autism... the uncommon prettiness, the large eyes and delicate features. Richard had them, also, so it raised no flags, just a lot of pride in the child who inevitably gets the reaction of, "Oh, how beautiful!" from everyone who sees him. Sometimes I think that it's compensation, of some sort, for the drawbacks of autism... along with the other gifts. He has perfect pitch, and a lovely voice. He has that amazing memory, can reproduce anything he's heard perfectly whenever he wants to. He is almost frighteningly intelligent. I once thought that he'd be a musician, perhaps a pianist, when he grows up; he's the child who is so sensitive to music that he conditioned himself to immediately stop whatever he was doing and listen whenever I sang to him, which I've done from the day I found out I was pregnant with him.
The most difficult part of life with Logan isn't his behaviour. It's the same thing that made me cry over Richard, who was also highly intelligent... it's that I'm very aware of how much potential they possess, and will never fulfill. Any other very intelligent child with Logan's sensitivity to music and his talent for reproducing it would be almost assured a wonderful future, complete with success and a lifetime of doing something he loves. Logan's life, more than his siblings', is full of question marks. How much should I push him? How much of that potential can he achieve?
Richard had no ambition, no urge to be more than he was. He wanted and needed his routine to stay the same. That infuriated me at times. Now I wonder if that's going to be the case with Logan. Would it be most fair to him to set him up a structure within which he can be comfortable, with which he can cope easily? Or would I be best advised to press him to go as far as he can, as high as he can, and hope he'll pick up that restlessness and that wanting from me? And still... every small success is a triumph. Logan said I! He behaved perfectly during a trip... a dinner... he was noticeably kind to his sister, overtly protective of the baby. He answered a question. He played with another child, instead of just alongside. Things that I can take for granted with Ari and Connor, send me flying when they're performed by Logan.
And, selfish as it is... in some ways, Logan's going to be the child who doesn't grow away from me. I have to monitor myself, sometimes, make sure I'm really trying to let him or help him be everything he can be, rather than simply taking care of everything for him. He can pick his toys up. He can throw his trash away, put his plates in the sink, get the book he wants me to read for himself. It's a temptation I have to fight, to do those things for him rather than face a tantrum or simply to save time. Somewhere inside me, I'm satisfied by the thought that he'll always need me. Every little sign that he's growing away from me reminds me of how fast childhood really does end. His growing up is going to last longer than the others', but it's not going to last forever. It's cruel to have it drag on, I sometimes think, to have it happen in slow, noticeable bits and pieces, rather than a steady and almost imperceptibly normal progression. But the balancing act continues anyway, and if there's a bit of pain, then there's also pride. Pride in him, for achieving a new goal, and pride in myself, for letting go and letting him, for doing the right thing for him even though it hurts. His achievements are my achievements, too. In the end, I think, that's going to be enough.
The story really starts, I guess, with Richard. He was a friend of a friend, someone I'd known slightly for quite awhile, always on the edges of my group. That continued till a dinner party I helped host one night, shortly after the end of another relationship. During a lull in the celebration, I sat in the living room, holding a stuffed animal. Richard was across the room, and made a careless comment, saying he wished he could take the teddy bear's place. I was reckless enough and, I suppose, lonely enough, to let that begin a relationship that lasted three years. It wasn't all roses and sunshine... looking back, I'm inclined to believe that Richard himself was autistic. He was childlike in a lot of ways... he sought me out to fill his needs, and then withdrew. He needed more than anyone I've ever known, and for me, then, that was enough to ensure that I'd never leave him, even though he was brutally honest about a lot of things. His childhood was hellish, he had been a "difficult" child and his stepmother hadn't been able to handle him. She wound up treating him like an animal, except that most people treat animals better.
He told me often, "Don't expect love from me. I don't know how to love, I can't handle love." To me, all of eighteen, that was a challenge, a cause. And nothing could dissuade me... not watching him put his fist through walls, not the arguments that blew up every time we went out together, not his promises, delivered with tears and warnings that I should leave, that one day it would be me he hurt. I watched for progress, for signs that my care and love would make a difference. And sometimes it seemed that they did. Before me, his longest-running relationship had lasted six months. During the course of our relationship, I watched him gain weight, to flesh out from the gaunt, haunted-looking man I'd met to someone who was unexpectedly beautiful. He even asked me to help him study for his GED, and we spent a lot of time trying to teach him basic math and English skills. The second year of our relationship, he would often come to me in tears, asking me to promise I'd never leave him, that I'd always love him, that I wouldn't give up on him. Heady stuff, for me... proof that love could conquer all. We might have gone on that way indefinitely, really, except for Logan.
I was, of course, using contraceptives. Specifically, Depo-Provera, which should have ensured that pregnancy wouldn't be an issue. I wanted children, but not that early... but I've since discovered that Depo-Provera does not work for me. Because I would get pregnant on it not once, but twice. Richard hit the roof when we discovered that I was pregnant. He demanded that I have an abortion, and only when I threatened to move out and leave him rather than do that, did he capitulate. After that, he swung in the exact opposite direction, saying that he was going to take care of us, and he insisted I leave my job and stay home. I did that, for the sake of peace, and against my better judgement. As it turned out, I was right to doubt, because when I was a bit over five months pregnant, Richard came home one day and told me he couldn't deal with the idea of being a father, he'd tried but he couldn't, and he wanted me to leave. By that point, I was ready to do that; it hadn't been sunshine and roses for that period of time, either, with me becoming more focussed on the pregnancy and him more and more unhappy that I wasn't focussed on him. So I left, and Richard didn't re-enter the picture until Logan was almost due.
Life went on without him, and I got very used to the idea that I'd be taking care of Logan alone. I married Richard when Logan was three months old, and he moved in with us three months later, but that seems like an interlude, really, a break from reality. Logan has been the center of my world since the first time I realised I was pregnant; I love my other children just as much, but in a different way. They're sturdy, bright, wonderfully normal children, and they have their father's love as well as mine. In a lot of ways, Logan has only me, and probably will only ever have me.
He was a beautiful baby, and is a beautiful child. I've since learned that that's a genetic marker of autism... the uncommon prettiness, the large eyes and delicate features. Richard had them, also, so it raised no flags, just a lot of pride in the child who inevitably gets the reaction of, "Oh, how beautiful!" from everyone who sees him. Sometimes I think that it's compensation, of some sort, for the drawbacks of autism... along with the other gifts. He has perfect pitch, and a lovely voice. He has that amazing memory, can reproduce anything he's heard perfectly whenever he wants to. He is almost frighteningly intelligent. I once thought that he'd be a musician, perhaps a pianist, when he grows up; he's the child who is so sensitive to music that he conditioned himself to immediately stop whatever he was doing and listen whenever I sang to him, which I've done from the day I found out I was pregnant with him.
The most difficult part of life with Logan isn't his behaviour. It's the same thing that made me cry over Richard, who was also highly intelligent... it's that I'm very aware of how much potential they possess, and will never fulfill. Any other very intelligent child with Logan's sensitivity to music and his talent for reproducing it would be almost assured a wonderful future, complete with success and a lifetime of doing something he loves. Logan's life, more than his siblings', is full of question marks. How much should I push him? How much of that potential can he achieve?
Richard had no ambition, no urge to be more than he was. He wanted and needed his routine to stay the same. That infuriated me at times. Now I wonder if that's going to be the case with Logan. Would it be most fair to him to set him up a structure within which he can be comfortable, with which he can cope easily? Or would I be best advised to press him to go as far as he can, as high as he can, and hope he'll pick up that restlessness and that wanting from me? And still... every small success is a triumph. Logan said I! He behaved perfectly during a trip... a dinner... he was noticeably kind to his sister, overtly protective of the baby. He answered a question. He played with another child, instead of just alongside. Things that I can take for granted with Ari and Connor, send me flying when they're performed by Logan.
And, selfish as it is... in some ways, Logan's going to be the child who doesn't grow away from me. I have to monitor myself, sometimes, make sure I'm really trying to let him or help him be everything he can be, rather than simply taking care of everything for him. He can pick his toys up. He can throw his trash away, put his plates in the sink, get the book he wants me to read for himself. It's a temptation I have to fight, to do those things for him rather than face a tantrum or simply to save time. Somewhere inside me, I'm satisfied by the thought that he'll always need me. Every little sign that he's growing away from me reminds me of how fast childhood really does end. His growing up is going to last longer than the others', but it's not going to last forever. It's cruel to have it drag on, I sometimes think, to have it happen in slow, noticeable bits and pieces, rather than a steady and almost imperceptibly normal progression. But the balancing act continues anyway, and if there's a bit of pain, then there's also pride. Pride in him, for achieving a new goal, and pride in myself, for letting go and letting him, for doing the right thing for him even though it hurts. His achievements are my achievements, too. In the end, I think, that's going to be enough.
