Chosen Families

A move does interesting things to an autistic. For individuals who are categorized by, among other things, their need for routinization, a change like this can be catastrophic in its proportions. For neurotypicals, the Homes and Rahe stress scale lists a change in residence or living conditions as major contributing factors to the accumulation of overall life stress (and ultimate potential for physical illness. On a related note, Noah’s sister – not coincidentally – has croup). So, one can only imagine what it does to the psyche of children with Asperger’s, for whom a change in routine or predictability can wreak emotional chaos.

Noah is desperate for a sense of contribution to the process of our move. The exercise of control over his circumstances is one way he attempts to limit his own explosions, ticking, and emotional outbursts. On Saturday, during one of our many trips to the new house, Noah positively lost his mind when he dropped a toy on the floor and cracked its exterior. He spent nearly 10 minutes in the bathroom, crying and screaming and wiping his eyes.

When he’d calmed down, he dug into a box of sundries in the living room and began pulling out items he wanted to “decorate” with. I explained that decorating was the last thing we were going to do – that the boxes needed to be emptied and the shelves needed to be cleaned; that we had so much left to move. He didn’t listen. Time after time, he returned to the box, pulling out vases and sculptures, plates and lanterns. He told me to come to the tables he’d decorated, and take a look.

“I need you to say something nice and complementary about what I’ve done,” he admonished.

“Something nice and complementary,” I said. Noah didn’t laugh.

The table was set in a perfectly symmetrical pattern. The same number of coasters, and the same coasters on each side. The large letter in the middle evenly dividing both sets. On the other side of the room, he balanced a wooden plate holder on each of two candlesticks. Between them both were two ceramic birds. Behind them, two matching statues. Then, this morning, he told me of the prior night’s dream. “The king told us to build a castle, and we stacked floors on top of each other, and they were teetering. And there was a soldier on each side, and a light behind each soldier…” He even dreams in symmetry. That mind of his, it’s always building mysteries.

All things same and balanced. The antidote to chaos.

This predilection toward symmetry isn’t unique to our son. In fact, it’s been reported that autistic children recognize symmetry better than do their non-autistic peers. But in our home, and for the present, this represents more than a simple neural function. Instead, I see it as a plea for order. As the boxes pile up in increasingly empty rooms, and we shuttle another load of furniture between homes, I am watching Noah and finding ways that he is stacking and sorting and separating to make sameness and order. I long to protect him from his own anxiety, but at the same time, help him to appropriately deal with it. This isn’t the only time in his life things will get messy.

“No, we declare God’s wisdom, a mystery that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began” (1 Corinthians 2:7).

Noah’s mind is a mystery. The wisdom of God is mysterious. It is a function of my personality to be plagued by the frustration of ignorance, always asking why. But there are some things the finite, simple mind cannot possibly know. So for now, I must be content in the not knowing of things, and in the trusting that what I don’t understand is for good in the end.

-Sarah