When Will The "Why?" Come?

We must presume competence, our children are more cognizant than we think.

I came across a post today, while searching #presumecompetence, that talked about a six year old boy asking his father why it was hard for him (the boy) to be good. I tried to link the post, but couldn't get it to work, so here is a snapshot.

I wonder when C will ask this very same question and have tried to formulate a response. It is my opinion that he should know his diagnosis and I want to be honest, and yet sensitive to what it will mean to him. I wish I knew what was taking place in that beautiful mind, but he does not have the words to effectively let me in. 

I feel like I am always a walking contradiction. I know that he understands so much more than he is able to communicate, but it leaves me, much like everyone else, wondering how much he understands. I long for a conversation that is more than a playback from a scene from Toy Story. I try to read into scripts, thinking maybe there is an underlying meaning to the words he repeats over and over. 

I can sometimes see in his eyes the disappointment in my not understanding the simplest of requests and sometimes feel that he has given up on me. Rather than continue to try to make me understand, it must be easier to just walk away. 

I can't deny the progress we have made. C has speech therapy 3 x's a week between school based services and outside therapy. The additional therapy has made all the difference in his ability to slow down and enunciate his syllables. And yet, I still long for a conversation. I want to hear how his day at school was, from his perspective. We rely on the interpretation of his day, from the eyes of his teachers and aides. We anticipate the multi-paragraph email giving us just a snapshot of his 7 hours away from home. Does he have friends, that are meaningful to him? Did he enjoy the lunch I packed? What was his favorite part of the day? 

One day, I know he will be able to answer these questions. I remember the frustration we both felt when he would stand in front of the refrigerator, grunting - with no words to tell us whether he wanted juice or milk. The progress feels slow, but it is progress none the less. We will continue to support him in his quest for more language, and know how lucky we are to have the communication we do. I can bide my time, and remind myself to be patient. He will tell us, in his words, how he feels. He will ask us, when he is ready, why he has so many supports, why he feels different. Until then I will pray for the strength to continue to presume competence, and will remind myself daily that he is in his own right, brilliant.