Dear Omar,
I remember the day you were born. My first grandchild. What a novelty! You were beautiful and cuddly. At age one, you were a happy child. At two, you were witty, expressive and as loving as a two-year-old could be. At three, you changed. The doctor said it was autism. You stopped speaking and no longer made eye contact. They called it ‘non-verbal’ and ‘delayed social skills.’ I left my career to immerse myself in the world of autism, and it opened up a new universe for me.
I am grateful that you don’t get seizures;
I am grateful you don’t bang you head against the wall like so many others on the spectrum when the pain in their belly gets unbearable;
I am grateful that you are not a picky eater;
I am grateful that you are not violent.
Yes, you are not ‘typical.’ But so what!
Yes, you may not be able to function independently;
Yes, you may never hold a job;
Yes, you may never give me a spontaneous hug;
Yes, you may never be able to make a conversation as in: ‘So, what are we planning to do today?’ But you will never hurt anyone with your words.
Yes, you may not recover.
The time may come when your parents will pass on.
I pray that Allah surrounds you with people you love, and who love you, dearly;
I pray that Allah protects you from harm;
Shields you from being hurt, physically and emotionally;
Gives you peace in whichever way you find peace;
Brings you joy in whatever makes you happy (these days it is food);
And rewards your innocence by giving you the highest place in heaven.
Ameen.
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