My Epiphany

Eighteen years ago today, 18!, you arrived in the same fashion as my third blessing – due on my dad’s birthday, April 8,^th but arriving 3 weeks early.

You were a completion to our family. You were the book-end.

You arrived happy and curious. You talked and walked early.

You loved your brothers and followed their every movement.

Your brothers loved you, for the most part, and some even called you Jerry.

Then …

You became sick … ear infections, upper respiratory infections, breathing treatments.

Then …

You stopped talking. 18 months old and silent.

Diagnosis:  Kawasaki Disease.

Fear!

Prayer! Prayer! Prayer!

Finally, after many antibiotic treatments, my healthy, happy son returned.

However, your talking did not! It had stopped.

Doctors were baffled.

Four different doctors offered the following medical opinions.

Doctor #1: “Older brothers do all the talking for him. He doesn’t need to talk for himself.

Just be patient, he will eventually talk for himself.”

Doctor #2:  “He needs tubes in his ears.”

Tubes were inserted surgically.

Doctor stated tubes were not necessary, after all.

How were we to know?

Doctor #3: “He needs the flap on his esophagus surgically adjusted.”

I said NO! The last surgery was not even necessary.

Doctor #4: “Autism. He is now in his own world.”

My heart disagreed.

Hoping the medical professionals would assist us in helping you was proving futile! They had no answers – just guesses.

I became your advocate.

We decided to try Riley Hospital for Children.

We met with a young, energetic Speech Pathologist/Therapist.

After a session lasting approximately 20 minutes, diagnosis: Apraxia of Speech – a disconnect.

I had researched this on my own, but would not say it aloud.

I did not want to give the doctors any more ideas. I wanted them to help us.

My heart knew this was because of the influx of multiple antibiotics. Chemical overload.

No doctor agreed with me – of course!

I changed jobs. I needed to be available to help you.

I worked from home under a grant from Eli Lilly.

I trained communities in Work-Life Balance. The irony!

While I traveled 16 counties each month, my mom was once again our nanny. She took care of your older brothers, your dad, you, and me.

Your cognitive skills grew. You could communicate in your own way if you wanted to do so, if it was important enough – through your own sign language. If not, you simply walked away.

Spiderman! He was your favorite interest. You communicated often about this superhero.

Speech Therapy was recommended.

No speech therapist could be found who could work with such a young child.

I became beyond protective for fear you would be in danger because you couldn’t communicate.

A special friend – a teacher of students with special needs - explained to me I was stifling your growth. I was putting my fears on to you. I was becoming your disability.

I did not want you to be away from me because I feared you would get hurt or you would need something and not be able to communicate.

My friend gave me a set of pictures you could point to in order to communicate. She encouraged me to let you take swim lessons with her. She taught swim at the YMCA.  She laminated those pictures so you could use them in the water.

I became your speech therapist. I encouraged every member of our immediate family to participate in the process. We simply talked to you – continually – saying words deliberately and making eye contact.

At the grocery, I would say – “We need green beans. Do you see them?” You would smile and point to them. I would thank you and ask you to put the green beans into the grocery cart. You would happily complete the task.

This process took place all day, every day, in every situation for over a year!

Finally, at the age of three, you walked into my home office and said, “Mom!”

I was frozen.

It was like slow motion. I began to breathe heavily. My eyes filled with tears. I began to tremble. I said, “Say it again!”

You simply walked out of my office and said, “NO!”

I grabbed you up in my arms and kissed you. You giggled.

I knew in my heart we were going to be just fine.

At the age of three, you were once again talking but you were not saying all sounds correctly. Like your three older brothers, we knew you would also need speech therapy to help with the enunciation of sounds.

Our insurance covered this therapy. We found a beautiful therapist at our hospital. She helped you grow in your speech skills through what you thought was fun and games. You loved every session and continued to make great strides in your speech. We all continued to purposely and intently communicate with you about everything. Your vocabulary kept growing but your enunciation of sounds still needed work.

You continued speech therapy. You enjoyed those sessions. We focused on articulation at home.

When the time came for kindergarten, my fears once again arose. I feared other children might tease you if you could not pronounce a word correctly. I feared the teasing would cause you to have a setback in your speech patterns or worse – stop talking altogether again!

I chose to keep you home for one more year. I wanted to help you continue to improve your enunciation before you started school. I became your preschool teacher.

During that year at home, your connection with the spiritual realm began to reveal itself. At first, it was disconcerting to me but as time passed, it became obvious this was just your nature.

You would talk to me about what Heaven was like with “Pap” – my dad – before you were sent to live with us. You told me everything in Heaven was white, beautiful and peaceful. Sometimes, I would try to change the subject or try to make you “play” with your toys like a “regular” child.

Our older sons called you our Indigo Child. I would find them holding you up to the sunlight trying to detect – see – “your blue aura ring” around your head. They knew you had one.

One day, we planted red petunias in the flowerbed. As the flowers bloomed, we noticed one was white. I thought this was strange. However, you immediately stated it really wasn’t strange at all. You pointed to the rock my dad had given me. (This rock traveled with me and always found a place in my flowerbeds.) You said, “The white flower is from Pap. It’s by his rock. He is saying hello.” It warmed my heart and reminded me my dad was still watching from above.

The extra year I was able to spend with you before you entered school taught us both so much.

As much as I thought I already knew about being a mom of boys, I actually learned so much more: about you, our lives, and God working in our lives. It is a time I will always treasure.

Your cognitive and speech skills grew. You entered kindergarten the next fall, confidently. You have never slowed down nor faltered.

You are a sensitive, spiritual, gifted young man who has taught me more than I thought possible. Your speech interruption did not delay you at all. It allowed us the opportunity to see the world in a whole new way.

You taught me many things but mostly you taught me to never give up.

You reminded me of the power of a mother’s love!

You also taught me I still had plenty to learn.

You truly completed our family. You are a brilliant young man who is a leader in his world of friends and family.

Your sensitive nature, your compassion, your generous spirit, your humor, your intelligence, and your love for your community and for God are exhibited in everything you do.

You are my epiphany – an enlightened realization of understanding situations from a deeper perspective.

Happy Birthday, Jacksen Malone!

Love,

Mom 💓