He’s the Center of this Home

When it’s just Cooper and his dad and I, the house is pretty quiet.

No brothers fighting for attention. No talk of monster trucks in mud or hockey practice. No little sisters babbling and cooing.

Well, I mean, Blue Mountain Mystery is usually singing from an iPad and I’m constantly saying, ‘turn it down Cooper.’ But besides that, it’s pretty quiet.

You will hear an occasional laugh and giggle. A gasp. A question from me. But chatter back and forth…nope.

Cooper is eleven years old. On paper his diagnosis is Autism Spectrum Disorder, level three severe, with a language disorder. Which feels pretty formal. Much more formal than the little blonde haired boy who loves trains and going to Target.

He isn’t autistic Cooper to us. He isn’t the boy with autism. He is just…Cooper. Exactly himself. Who he was born to be.

The not talking part though. That part though has been an evolution of understanding and feelings. A bit more complicated.

See, he has never coo’d. He never babbled. When he was younger he made a lot of sounds. Shrieks and wails and grunts. He screamed a lot. Because he couldn’t communicate. And it was really hard for him.

As he’s gotten older, his language has gotten more selective. When he has something to say…we listen.

On paper he is still nonverbal. He couldn’t tell someone his name or his age or even ask for help.

But with me he has 30 or so words.

His favorite word is mom. He says it a hundred times a day. Although he says it very uniquely. It’s long and drawn out. Each letter comes out with purpose and is held for a beat. As if he is plucking his each one from a bubble above his head.

As his mom I know how hard it is for him to speak. I still melt whenever he says it because I know the years of therapy and practice it took to get his mouth to move to articulate the word.

‘M- O- M’

I just looked up from cleaning the pantry to see Cooper sitting in the living room. He was watching me. As he usually is.

He is the most observant person I know. But most people don’t know that about him. They assume because he can’t talk he is withdrawn.

He’s not. He knows where I am in the house at all times. He knows what I am doing.

We made eye contact and he held it. With most children, words would be spoken. Maybe a hi mom or can I have a snack?

Not my boy.

He smiled. And waved. Like he always does to me. A huge over dramatic wave.

He waves at me a dozen times throughout the day. When I do laundry. While I cook dinner. When I pull into the driveway. Before he goes to bed.

When he wakes up.

His waves are everything.

He knock on doors too. The cabinets before he opens them. The fridge too. It’s really charming.

He may be quiet but he’s the center of this home. And he knows it.

He forces me to slow down and listen with more then just my ears.

Maybe someday he will be able to say hi. I don’t know I guess. I do hope that he never loses that wave. It’s the most endearing thing I’ve ever known honestly.

Because it’s deliberate. And it’s real.

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. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, and join our supporter page, Coop’s Troops, for an amazing community full of support and understanding.