I Often Wonder if My Son Is Lonely

Good morning! We are having a much needed snow day in Minnesota. It’s nice to slow down once in a while.

I haven’t had a relaxing morning with Cooper in months. It has been pretty busy around here lately.

We are the early risers while Sawyer and dad sleep. We sit together. I watch the news and drink coffee. Cooper gathers his favorite things and a blanket.

This mornings favorites include a picture of Dad, a coaster, Thomas DVD case, Thomas picture, a yellow magnetic block (so good for visually stimming through), and Peppa Pig DVD. He watches his Kindle, sometimes two of them at a time. While I know that removing and limiting technology is important, the mornings are our happy time. It’s just the two of us. We snuggle. He flaps and squeals. He shows me his things.

It’s our time.

This is also the time where I get to observe him. Changes, improvements and regressions in Cooper are often incredibly subtle at first. I need to really pay attention to see them. And like I said…it hasn’t happened in months.

As I study Cooper I can’t believe how big he has gotten. He looks like a boy now. And not a little boy. He looks old.

Sometimes, even after seven years, I will forget that he has autism. It will last for a second or two. Sometimes, less often now, I will think he is going to speak to me. He will be acting so typical. Like every other boy. It will look like the words are right on his lips.

And then, I’ll snap out of it. He will do something bizarre like eat a piece of paper, flap, or hit his head on the wall. And just like that reality is back.

I want you to know that 99% of the time I don’t think about autism. I don’t think about it because it is who Cooper is. He is my son and that is that. The word autism only creeps in when it gets hard. Or loud. Or odd.

This morning he has been exceptionally cheerful. Maybe he understands it’s a snow day.

As I study him, so happy, so loud, so blissfully unaware of the world around him, the same questions are in constant repeat through my mind. Is he happy? Is he lonely? Is he sad? Does he know how loved he truly is?

Every few minutes Cooper will will gently grab my cheek to turn my face and see his train. As I smile and tell him it’s my favorite, I notice that only one of his two Kindles is playing. Which is rare for him.

My kid likes as much sound as he can possibly have. The louder the better. He is a visual and auditory stimmer. If we would let him, he would play five Kindles, televisions, radios, etc. That would be his heaven.

I see one is blaring Thomas and the other one is paused. As I look closer I can see it was paused on a picture of Dora the Explore. He points to her and squeals. He picks up the Kindle and does a quick dance and spin before setting it down next to him in his chair. Every few minutes he points to her and chats. He shows her his trains on the other Kindle and his favorite things. He checks on her often. She is sitting right next to him.

My stomach immediately drops and a wave of sadness rushes over me.

Dora is his friend. His first friend. His only friend.

And then with a weird roller coaster effect I feel a second of happiness. He knows what a friend is. He likes her. He is proud of her. He is sharing his life with her.

And then I am reminded that she isn’t real. None of this is real.

Sadness rushes over me again. I can’t imagine how lonely he has to be. He spends his time in his own head. No games. No conversations. No playing.

My son is seven years old and his only friends are Dora, Thomas, Elmo and the Conductor from the Polar Express. His whole world is wrapped up in technology and his programs.

I know he doesn’t care. I know he’s not missing out. That’s what I am supposed to say.

But, what if he is lonely?

I’ve been scolded enough to know that I am supposed to say that it’s fine if my son doesn’t have friends. It’s fine if he doesn’t have relationships. If he doesn’t care then I shouldn’t care either.

It’s all about what makes him happy.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But what if he IS lonely. What if I just don’t know.

That is so much worse.

I am sad that my son doesn’t have friends. I am sad that he doesn’t have relationships with anyone besides mom, dad and his grandparents. I’m sad for him, for me, for his dad, for everyone in his life that wants more.

I know I can’t change it. I can’t fix it.

It is what it is I guess. It’s just hard to look at my absolutely beautiful little boy and know what he’s missing.

My son made a friend. There is the positive. I am trying to focus on that.

Interested in writing for Finding Cooper’s Voice? LEARN MORE

Finding Cooper’s Voice is a safe, humorous, caring and honest place where you can celebrate the unique challenges of parenting a special needs child. Because you’re never alone in the struggles you face. And once you find your people, your allies, your village….all the challenges and struggles will seem just a little bit easier. Welcome to our journey. You can also follow us on Facebook and subscribe to our newsletter.