back. That one day he might sing and laugh and hold hands with a friend again.
Tracy had seen enough. She stood quietly and went to her bedroom. Holden was at a strange place on the autism spectrum, because other than an occasional grunt or cry or humming sound, he was completely non-communicative. Usually kids —even kids on the severe end of the spectrum —developed some language by now. Not Holden… not ever. He had the PECS cards, and that was it. Even so, the day Tracy stopped talking to him would be the day she gave up. And that wasn’t going to happen.
The cool morning had given way to a hot, humid afternoon, so she slipped into a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. As she did, she caught a look at herself in the mirror. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face looked thin and drawn. Back before Holden’s diagnosis, people used to say she looked like Courtney Cox. But not anymore. She looked tired and sad and old. Older than her thirty-nine years, anyway.
Come on, Tracy … where’s your smile?
She lifted the corners of her mouth, but the action didn’t reach her eyes. She returned to the kitchen, walking softly so she didn’t pull Holden or Kate from the movie, and she sat again at the kitchen table. Holden’s therapy was four-thirty to six today, same as always. Kate would bring her book, and they’d read together. Otherwise, everything about her days with Holden were built around a routine. Even during summer—when all-day therapy replaced his school hours. The walk back to the apartment, the snack, the movie, the late-afternoon session.
All of it the same.
The schedule was exhausting. She looked out the kitchen window. Never mind that her view was taken up almost entirely by the apartment next door. If she looked up she could see a slice of blue, like God reminding her,
I’m still here, daughter. Still watching over you.
But, God … I’m so tired. I don’t see progress, Father. Sometimes I don’t know how to get through the days
.
My child, you don’t have to fight this battle … Stand firm and see the deliverance I will give you. The battle is mine, not yours
.
Tracy closed her eyes and lifted her chin. The response washed over her like an autumn breeze and she inhaled slowly, deeply. The battle belonged to the Lord. The verse was from 2 Chronicles, something Tracy had read last week in her Bible. She loved when God responded to her this way. She sat a little straighter and a new sense of strength filled her soul.
From the other room, she could hear Holden’s three-year-old voice singing his favorite song back then. “Yes, Jesus loves me … yes, Jesus loves me … yes, Jesus loves me … the Bible tells me so.”
Holden loved to sing back then. It was why she indulged him in this daily routine, why she was glad he wanted to watch the home movie so often. The movie fed the music inside him the music she believed was inside him.
Then she heard something else. Little Kate was singing along, her voice high and clear, the voice of an angel. She stood and returned to the living room. What she saw brought fresh tears to her eyes. Not only was Kate singing, but she’d looped her arm around Holden’s elbow. She was singing along, swaying to the music. And something else—something that took Tracy’s breath.
Holden wasn’t look at her or singing or smiling. But he was swaying. Holden was swaying with Kate.
He was allowing physical contact, and he was sharing in her enjoyment of the song. This was something she’d never seen before. Tracy brought her hand to her mouth.
God, is this Your plan? That precious Kate would will help crack the door to Holden’s private world?
The possibility was something Tracy had never considered. But what she was witnessing was extraordinary.
She sat down quietly, not wanting to interrupt the moment. As she did, she felt a renewed peace work its way through her bones. No matter how many times they watched the movie or how many hours
Tracy had seen enough. She stood quietly and went to her bedroom. Holden was at a strange place on the autism spectrum, because other than an occasional grunt or cry or humming sound, he was completely non-communicative. Usually kids —even kids on the severe end of the spectrum —developed some language by now. Not Holden… not ever. He had the PECS cards, and that was it. Even so, the day Tracy stopped talking to him would be the day she gave up. And that wasn’t going to happen.
The cool morning had given way to a hot, humid afternoon, so she slipped into a T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. As she did, she caught a look at herself in the mirror. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her face looked thin and drawn. Back before Holden’s diagnosis, people used to say she looked like Courtney Cox. But not anymore. She looked tired and sad and old. Older than her thirty-nine years, anyway.
Come on, Tracy … where’s your smile?
She lifted the corners of her mouth, but the action didn’t reach her eyes. She returned to the kitchen, walking softly so she didn’t pull Holden or Kate from the movie, and she sat again at the kitchen table. Holden’s therapy was four-thirty to six today, same as always. Kate would bring her book, and they’d read together. Otherwise, everything about her days with Holden were built around a routine. Even during summer—when all-day therapy replaced his school hours. The walk back to the apartment, the snack, the movie, the late-afternoon session.
All of it the same.
The schedule was exhausting. She looked out the kitchen window. Never mind that her view was taken up almost entirely by the apartment next door. If she looked up she could see a slice of blue, like God reminding her,
I’m still here, daughter. Still watching over you.
But, God … I’m so tired. I don’t see progress, Father. Sometimes I don’t know how to get through the days
.
My child, you don’t have to fight this battle … Stand firm and see the deliverance I will give you. The battle is mine, not yours
.
Tracy closed her eyes and lifted her chin. The response washed over her like an autumn breeze and she inhaled slowly, deeply. The battle belonged to the Lord. The verse was from 2 Chronicles, something Tracy had read last week in her Bible. She loved when God responded to her this way. She sat a little straighter and a new sense of strength filled her soul.
From the other room, she could hear Holden’s three-year-old voice singing his favorite song back then. “Yes, Jesus loves me … yes, Jesus loves me … yes, Jesus loves me … the Bible tells me so.”
Holden loved to sing back then. It was why she indulged him in this daily routine, why she was glad he wanted to watch the home movie so often. The movie fed the music inside him the music she believed was inside him.
Then she heard something else. Little Kate was singing along, her voice high and clear, the voice of an angel. She stood and returned to the living room. What she saw brought fresh tears to her eyes. Not only was Kate singing, but she’d looped her arm around Holden’s elbow. She was singing along, swaying to the music. And something else—something that took Tracy’s breath.
Holden wasn’t look at her or singing or smiling. But he was swaying. Holden was swaying with Kate.
He was allowing physical contact, and he was sharing in her enjoyment of the song. This was something she’d never seen before. Tracy brought her hand to her mouth.
God, is this Your plan? That precious Kate would will help crack the door to Holden’s private world?
The possibility was something Tracy had never considered. But what she was witnessing was extraordinary.
She sat down quietly, not wanting to interrupt the moment. As she did, she felt a renewed peace work its way through her bones. No matter how many times they watched the movie or how many hours
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