She, her Beloved, and the Offspring were in the interminable line for check-in at the airport on Sunday. The line moved slowly but consistently, and the travelers were generally in relatively good humor despite the crowds. There were many small children scuttling about, shepherded between the line and other areas by attentive relatives attempting to keep them entertained during the wait.
It was the unique timbre of the noise that immediately drew Herself's attention. It was a primal shout of anger and frustration; an overwhelmed and overtired sobbing. She looked, and what she saw verified her suspicions: a barefoot child, much older than one would expect for such a wordless anguished cry, writhing in tantrum upon the floor as his parents attempted to soothe him.
She knew. Autism.
She recalled the days when Offspring the Third was small and not yet diagnosed with Aspergers, and he would melt down in such a manner. The distress of publicly attempting to calm such an enraged and overwhelmed child was enormous; the virulent glances from passers-by silently issued criticism of Herself for not being able to control her child. She learned quickly to ignore others and focus on Offspring the Third's needs. She hardened her soul to outsiders who would judge without understanding. At the same time, that visceral desire to protect Offspring the Third allowed her to maintain a tender spot in her heart for those who similarly suffered.
The patient and fatigued parents eventually pacified the overwrought child, and joined the line behind Herself. Herself smiled at them and quietly told the parents, "I have one who used to melt down the same way." They muttered, "He has autism." Herself acknowledged: "Ours has Aspergers." A tenuous bond of understanding was born. They made a bit more small talk. Herself did her very best to look them kindly in the eye and to convey as much compassion as she could in the few words they exchanged. As they parted to their respective check-in spots, Herself wished them the best of luck on their trip and told them that if they needed anything while in the airport, they shouldn't hesitate to ask her.
She hopes she helped them, even if just a tiny bit.
She hopes, too, that their path becomes easier. Perhaps someday, they will be standing peacefully in line at a different airport, marveling at how far their child has come, just as Herself does now when she looks at Offspring the Third. "Remember when?" they will say to one another, and they will breathe a quiet sigh of relief and gratitude and love.
I hope so.
*Picture copyright Mediocria Firma, used with gratitude.
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