Living with Luke 29
These are strange days indeed. The thing about Tiddles is that you know exactly where you are with him because he is so unpredictable.
Take the other night for instance.
When he got back from his session at his group, he absolutely did not want anything to do with me, everything I said, he would say the opposite. He didn’t want a cuddle, didn’t want me near him and having not seen him all day, it was a difficult thing to accept that your son apparently hates the fact that you’re in his space, his town, his country, continent, or even in the universe at all with him. He avoided me as if his life depended on it.
When I got back from rehearsals however, it was a different story. I went upstairs to see him, and he was watching a film as usual.
“Ok?” I asked. Nodding of the head in reply. That’s as good as it gets sometimes, so I took that microsecond of contact and went downstairs. I’d taken a few steps when I heard Tiddles walking out of the bedroom. I stopped on the stairs and looked round as Tiddles popped his head around the corner looking, well, not quite AT me, but certainly around the space where I currently occupied.
“What do you want?”
“Ok, I’m going downstairs now.”
No reply. It wasn’t really a surprise that he didn’t reply, because I knew that he only would ever say something if a) prompted, b) he couldn’t make it clear with a pointed finger, or c) there was cake. There was none of the above and so I carried on downstairs and went to the kitchen.
A few seconds later, he appeared in the kitchen. He’d followed me obviously. I know special needs children have a particular talent unique to them, but teleportation is beyond even them, no matter how many episodes of ‘Star Trek’ they watch. So anyway, he came into the kitchen, took me by the arm and led me back to his bedroom, where he threw me, ‘Hong Kong Phooey’ style, onto his book and train covered bed and proceeded to pull the duvet over me, and then jumped on me.
Now this particular form of apparent torture was mine and Tiddles connection. Since he had been a very small boy he loved piling cushions on top of me and then leaping onto them/me. As he has gotten bigger, the leaps and jumps became more, how shall we say, dangerous. Many is the time when he has jumped two footed onto the base of my spine, with painful results. Once the previous sofa had been consigned to the great charity shop in the sky, however, the cushion jumping adventures had stopped. But this was one of the few times in recent years that he had done anything similar to those brief moments that we, meaning me, enjoyed despite the potential damage.
“I don’t want your love.”
try not to turn away,
A broken man almost died of a broken heart…