The Photograph

I needed a picture of the chumba cat. Beh's kindergarten class is studying animals right now, and the teacher asked for us to send in pictures of our family pets.

I figured Noah's photo album was the best place to look for pictures of the cat, so I went into his room, pulled his album off his bookshelf, and opened it.

A scattering of pictures that he'd never put into the album were stuck in the front. The picture on top was of Beh.

The second I saw it I started to cry.

The picture dated back to the B.A. (Before Autism) era. There Beh was, about eleven months old in an adorable blue and red striped baseball outfit, standing in the kitchen. He looked right into the camera, smile beaming.

He was looking at the camera, smiling.

He doesn't do that anymore.

Now I chase him around for half an hour, snapping picture after picture, hoping to get one where he happens to be looking up. Such a picture is rare.

I'd forgotten that there was a life before autism, a Beh before autism, until that picture reminded me.

For a year a had Beh. All of him. Unclouded by autism. For a year I did.

I'm so thankful for that year, but I wish then that I'd known it was going to be the only one we'd have before autism came in with its ice storms. I would have spent less time striving for perfection in my graduate courses; actually, I would have dropped out of school completely. I would have spent more time sitting on the floor with Beh, playing with stuffed animals. I would have spent more time playing peek-a-boo. I would have spent more time staring into Beh's eyes if I'd know we'd spend the next five years trying to re-teach him to make eye contact. I would have told Beh a million times a day when he could hear me, I mean really hear me, that I love him.

I miss him. I accept him for everything that he is without waiver, but I miss the boy who didn't have to struggle every day to climb over the wall of autism.