Good Grief?!?

Having the opportunity to watch my oldest son’s theatre talents usually leaves me in awe…and tears. This weekend was no different. The Boys Next Door is a play about 4 adult men who have differing mental disabilities, and their caretaker who, in 7 months, is pretty burnt out by the daily struggle to teach, “raise”, and keep safe little boys in man sized bodies. It addresses some interesting issues.

Micah’s character, Norman, was a 30 year old man with Autism. Having used his younger brother for his research study, Micah was incredibly convincible in the role. From the character’s obsession with keys to his repetitive tics, from his social awkwardness to his obsession with donuts, and from his giant heart for people to his crush on a girl, Micah nailed the role. He asked me to laugh loudly during the performance because my laughter in a theatre is infectious, but I found it very difficult to laugh through the overwhelming understanding and camaraderie I found in another character – Jack, the burnt-out caregiver who tries every day to direct his charges, to keep them safe, and to help them conform more to the world around them, because the world around them will not bend to their needs, or their unique disabilities. Each day ends with his frustration of things continuing to be the same, no matter what “Jack” does. I found myself drowning in grief, in guilt, and in anguish as I watched my son and this other actor playing out the relationship I struggle to have with my middle son who desperately wants to be seen as “normal” – not special, not unique, not Autistic.

There were times in the play when I wanted to bolt from my seat and hold one of the characters while they cried, while they struggled with their fragmented understanding of the bully-world around them, while they struggled to understand the trials with which they were dealing, or while they fought to understand the feelings they were having about people in their lives. My heart broke when “Jack” took a new job because he could no longer deal with his mistakes and frustrations caused by working with the disabled population. I wanted to scream, “Don’t quit! You have no idea just how much you really are accomplishing! You have no idea!”

I can’t say that God was telling me I was doing something wrong; that I needed to change how I approached my son; or that I’ve completely made a mess of things since Amy’s death; but I can tell you that it was sobering to look at my possible future when my son doubles his current age; to see my son’s future struggles with girls, and roomates, and weight; and to hear my own words echoing around in my head. “Don’t quit! You have no idea just how much you really are accomplishing! You have no idea!”

Amy – after Jesus – was the center of Gabriel’s universe. Everything he did needed to be somehow connected to her wants, desires, or permission. It wasn’t always like that. From birth to three and a half, my little Gus wanted no one but me if I was in the room. There was a day Gus’s choices radically changed; I can see it in my head, and have replayed it over and over in my head. It wasn’t because of anything I did, honestly. It was a turf war among siblings. From that moment on, Gabriel no longer wanted much to do with me, many times saying, “Why is Dad still here. I don’t need him.”

Two years before Amy died, she consciously began distancing herself from our son, suggesting, nudging, and finally forcing him to talk with me, to problem solve things with me, to ask for my opinion or permission. Not that I hadn’t tried to build that relationship, but because, by the time Gabriel was ten, I was a complete irritation, an annoyance, a distraction to his mother. He didn’t even want to share her with his brothers. It was a difficult two years, for which I am eternally appreciative of God’s leading Amy and I both through that frustrating exercise, day in and day out…often without change. When Amy died, there was a sobering question to which I had to have an answer. “Can I do this alone?!>” There are a few more questions related to that overwhelming black hole: “Can I reach through this barrier? Will Gabriel let me parent him? Will I be able to do this without sending him to live in a facility?” But as is often God’s design, I’ve had to wait quite a while for an inkling of an answer while He was changing Gus and me, not our situation.

This morning I woke to a text message from my little Gus: “I miss you and love you.” Has he said that before? Many times. But this time, in light of the play I experienced yesterday, I found a whole deeper meaning in his words. Yes, my little Gus still misses him mommy – the topic comes up at least every week or more. Yes, he still wishes she were next to him, to guide him, to hold him, and to love on him. And yes, my little angel is connected to his daddy, no matter how flawed I am.

For me, The Boys Next Door to me, in my house, have taught me much. Maybe change isn’t an impossibility, even in the face of Autism; it just sometimes takes the unexpected to remind me what God’s been doing in me and in my boys. I may feel like “Jack” from time to time – worn out by the adnauseum and exhaustion inducing Autism – but I’m not giving up! It’s not in my make-up to quit…any of my kids.

If you ever get the opportunity to see this play (there’s still another weeked of performances here at Biola in Theatre 21) go! The team here at Biola is phenomenal! You won’t be let down. You will be challenged regarding how you interact with people whom God has created “differently” than those of us who are neuro-typical, but you won’t be disappointed. Nor will you think you wasted money to experience such a moving and life changing play.