He has been pondering death in his own little way. First of all, he's 8, so death is not something easily grasped. Second of all, he has autism, so the idea of us not being 100% sure what happens when we die until we get there is not comforting. We discuss what we believe, and he seems to "get it" as much as he can. But then he perseverates on it and gets himself upset all over again. At the moment, he has a schedule of what life is. Third grade comes after second. Fourth after third. This goes on through high school. And then you go to college (from his lips to God's ears). Then you work. Then you retire. (if you are lucky...but I can't add that, because that is like bombing the apple cart) Then you die. Then...um...well, heaven, which is something I cannot really explain sufficiently for his little mind. He gets that there was "existence" before he was born. Although he is not pleased that anything existed before him, he gets that we lived in another house without him. He's finally not jealous of that. However, just saying, "That was before you were born," does not cut it.
Well, where was he before he was born? I mean, if Mommy was little, then where was he? My favorite answer to that is "watching from heaven." That sort of works out as acceptable.
Such a linear path his little brain has. He is fascinating to listen to. And challenging to answer. But it's all good challenge. I have to discern what I believe, and then translate it into what makes sense to him. And we all need to be careful of offhand comments, because he listens to EVERYTHING and chews on it. For years. No exaggeration.
Another example, that I call: A Fishy Metaphor. The first day we had our fish at home, he decided he wanted to give one of them a kiss. This ended with one of them being MIA, and the others swimming in terror when they saw him. After the obligatory anger response (despite the fact that I did not want fish...but oh, he'll be fine...yadda yadda) from his dad, Scott tried a "what if..."
"What if you were in your bedroom and a big hand came in and snatched you up?"
Pause and reflect, won't you?
No, he did not understand this parable. Yes, he is now terrified a giant hand will come in and snatch him. Yes, this comment did take us two (thousand) steps back in getting the kid to sleep in his own bed.
Each day since then, my husband tries his hardest to get Max to "understand" what this meant. As I sit and watch. And sigh. And thank God for this man who is trying his very best to co-parent in this weird desert of sand dunes called autism.
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