Triumph!

Ah, today was awesome!  Today my son was running around in the back yard.  Running for Jimmie is a stimming activity.  He is in his own world.  He loves it!  It's a happy stim, but it is a stim none-the-less.  I have seen him grabbed up by his father and whirled around while running and seen a response, laughter, giggles, but as soon as he is put down, he runs again.  I don't mind it.  It just is what it is.  But today, well, today, he was running, and he looked at me from across the yard.  He made firm eye contact.  He smiled.  He ran at me.  He ran to me.  He flung open his arms and threw himself into my waiting arms.  And I saw it coming.  I saw it from the moment his eyes locked mine and that smile spread across his face.  It was brief.  A short hug and back to running.  But my God, it was an awesome moment.

What do we live for but moments like these?  And I appreciate them so much more than the Mom next door.  She gets them all the time.  She cherishes them to be sure.  I don't doubt her motherly love.  But I don't get them all the time.  Well, not from Jimmie.  Charlie makes a game of it.  But Jimmie has never done that.  Ever.

I have never before seen such clarity in his eyes, certainly not combined with purpose and love and joy.  These are things that rarely register on his beautiful face.  I see purpose when he goes after a straw, but I also see that he sees absolutely nothing but that straw.  I am invisible.  Even the drink the straw is in is invisible.  He sees only the straw.  I have seen joy.  He is often happy.  I have seen love, when he happens to find himself looking into my eyes.  But today, all these things combined.

And I swear for that brief moment it took him to cross the yard and hug me, he was a normal 5 year old boy.  No sleepiness in his eyes.  No overly medicated droopiness.  No cognitive disconnect with the world.  He saw me.  He had a purpose to hug me, but he was not blind to the rest of the yard or to his running or to the wind blowing in his face.  He was happy.     He was present.  He was 5.  It was amazing and wonderful.

It makes me want to get him weaned off some of these medications.  I want to see more of that little boy.  I want the seizures to stay at bay.  I want so much...  But I'll take the moments as I get them.  And I will rejoice in them.  And I will cherish them.  And I pray I always remember that moment.