Some of my besties. If we are lucky, we all have a few close friends, a few besties that we can count on for the good times, the hard times, and the times when life just takes a big, giant dump on you. Each one of those friends plays a different role.
There is the grab a bottle of wine friend who helps you connect with Denial when you want to shut it all out and drown your problems with wine, cheese, chocolate and idle chit chat. There is the friend who takes that bottle of wine and beats you over the head with it and tells you to "suck it up" and helps you put your big girl pants on while silmutaneously dragging you kicking and screaming into your wine free reality. There is the friend who makes things happen and gets things done when you don't, when you can't, when you won't. Then there is the friend who just knows, who gets it, who gets you. The friend whose soul is so similar to your own that you are convinced you most assuredly were friends, if not sisters, in another lifetime. The friend you share a quiet connection with, a deep rooted bond based on hearts and minds that are so alike. The friend who hears what you don't say.
All of these friends matter. All of these friends are needed. All of these friends hear you. All of these friends play a vital role in who and what you are, but, the friend who understands from just a look, a gesture, or what you don't say, sometimes hears your silence the loudest.
There is the grab a bottle of wine friend who helps you connect with Denial when you want to shut it all out and drown your problems with wine, cheese, chocolate and idle chit chat. There is the friend who takes that bottle of wine and beats you over the head with it and tells you to "suck it up" and helps you put your big girl pants on while silmutaneously dragging you kicking and screaming into your wine free reality. There is the friend who makes things happen and gets things done when you don't, when you can't, when you won't. Then there is the friend who just knows, who gets it, who gets you. The friend whose soul is so similar to your own that you are convinced you most assuredly were friends, if not sisters, in another lifetime. The friend you share a quiet connection with, a deep rooted bond based on hearts and minds that are so alike. The friend who hears what you don't say.
All of these friends matter. All of these friends are needed. All of these friends hear you. All of these friends play a vital role in who and what you are, but, the friend who understands from just a look, a gesture, or what you don't say, sometimes hears your silence the loudest.
I am one of the lucky ones. I have all of these friends. The friend who knocks on my door with wine, the friend who makes me suck it up and pulls up my big girl pants, the friend who just shows up and "does", and the friend who hears what I don't say. I love each one of these friends in a very different, very unique, couldn't live without them, kind of way. Sometimes their roles change, sometimes they overlap, but, they are always there, waiting. Each of them bring something to my life that without, I wouldn't be me.
It is the unspoken friend who knows my thought, my move, my response, and my reaction sometimes before I do. This friend, who knows my brain and my heart almost as well as her own, bought me this sign for my birthday that reads, "Best friends hear what you don't say...". I love it because it's true and because it's us. This friend and I have heard one another without ever saying a word. We have provided support without a cry for help. We have shown up without so much as a sigh. We have checked in when we were checked out. We have known the answer without a question being asked. Then when the words "How did you know?" finally come, no response is needed.
As I stared at my sign, that hangs on my most favorite place in the world, my beloved back porch, where I spend many summer days and nights, I couldn't help but compare this unique, wordless bond I share with my friend to the quiet bond I share with Ryan. Of course Ryan would never call me his "friend" let alone his "best friend" because, well, I'm just Mom, but, my connection with Ryan is equally unique, and just like my friend and I, sometimes I can hear Ryan without him saying a word.
As I stared at my sign, that hangs on my most favorite place in the world, my beloved back porch, where I spend many summer days and nights, I couldn't help but compare this unique, wordless bond I share with my friend to the quiet bond I share with Ryan. Of course Ryan would never call me his "friend" let alone his "best friend" because, well, I'm just Mom, but, my connection with Ryan is equally unique, and just like my friend and I, sometimes I can hear Ryan without him saying a word.
Although Ryan is completely verbal, he does not say much. There are no sit downs where he shares his feelings with me. I get very little information on how his day went, what is happening in his life, and how he feels about it. I understand that this is typical behavior for many teens, and I understand that hormones make Ryan's silence seem even louder, but, most teenagers have a bestie that they can confide in. A friend that they can text, tweet, or snapchat. A friend who shows up, a friend who helps them forget, a friend who gets it, a friend who hears what they don't say. Ryan does not. Autism makes finding that connection, that bond, that friend difficult. And even if he finds it, knowing what to do with it is even more difficult.
With Ryan, there also is no, "Hey Mom, how are you? How was your day?" coming from his mouth. That is not to say he doesn't care about me or my day, but, autism makes that social back and forth exchange difficult for him, so it's easier not to ask. Not asking, does not equal not caring.
As I sat swaying back and forth on my porch swing, recognizing the parallels between my friendship with my girlfriend and my relationship with my son, I couldn't help but smile. In that moment I realized that most of the time, even through the silence, I hear what Ryan doesn't say.
With Ryan, there also is no, "Hey Mom, how are you? How was your day?" coming from his mouth. That is not to say he doesn't care about me or my day, but, autism makes that social back and forth exchange difficult for him, so it's easier not to ask. Not asking, does not equal not caring.
As I sat swaying back and forth on my porch swing, recognizing the parallels between my friendship with my girlfriend and my relationship with my son, I couldn't help but smile. In that moment I realized that most of the time, even through the silence, I hear what Ryan doesn't say.
When Ryan comes up and presses his forehead against my own he is saying, "Mom, I have something good to tell you, so please ask.". When he walks in the front door after school and goes straight to his room without putting his backpack in the foyer closet, taking off his shoes and coming to give me a hug, he is saying, "There was a glitch in my day". When Ryan pulls at his eyes and grabs at his face in an attempt to hold back his tears he is saying, "Mom, I'm hurting, I'm sad and I don't know how to tell you". When he sniffs 50 times in 30 seconds he is saying, "I need some type of deep pressure, squeezy tight hug because my sensory system is overloaded". When Ryan's hand flicks back and forth and back and forth until it is just a blur of skin, he is saying, "I'm anxious" or "I'm excited". When he fights back a smile and contorts his face in an anti-smile grimace, Ryan is saying, "I'm proud, happy, excited, but, I'm not sure how to react or share my joy". Yes, if I "listen" closely, I hear what he doesn't say.
And although Ryan may not directly ask me about my day, when he catches me silently crying, he will snuggle close and even though he does not utter a word, I can feel his "I'm sorry you're sad mom" in his knock me down hug. I can see Ryan's compassion and his sympathy for my sorrow when a tear or two falls to match my own. I can hear his joy when he laughs with me even if he has no idea what I am laughing about. Yes, Ryan hears what I don't say too.
So, just like with my bestie, I have that quiet, unspoken connection with Ryan too. And I know he has that quiet connection with me. Ryan shares his life, his joy, his accomplishments, and his heartache with me. I just have to see it, I have to feel it, and I have to hear it, even when he says nothing at all.
And although Ryan may not directly ask me about my day, when he catches me silently crying, he will snuggle close and even though he does not utter a word, I can feel his "I'm sorry you're sad mom" in his knock me down hug. I can see Ryan's compassion and his sympathy for my sorrow when a tear or two falls to match my own. I can hear his joy when he laughs with me even if he has no idea what I am laughing about. Yes, Ryan hears what I don't say too.
So, just like with my bestie, I have that quiet, unspoken connection with Ryan too. And I know he has that quiet connection with me. Ryan shares his life, his joy, his accomplishments, and his heartache with me. I just have to see it, I have to feel it, and I have to hear it, even when he says nothing at all.
Who knew that when my girlfriend stopped her bike at an Outer Banks beach shop to pick up this sign for my birthday, that the sign would not only remind me of our special, quiet bond every time I look at it, but, that it would also remind me of the quiet connection I share with Ryan too, which makes me love this gift even more.
As I relax on my back porch swing, wine in hand listening to the crickets and the sound of Ryan scripting the latest Minecraft Youtuber coming from his bathroom window, I look at the sign and smile. "Best friends hear what you don't say..." helps me to remember that although Ryan will never refer to me as his "best friend", I will always hear him. Even as my little boy slowly morphs into a full fledged, silent, brooding teenager, in those moments where I worry he is slipping away from me, if I listen closely, I can still hear what he doesn't say.
Autism sometimes makes it hard to hear Ryan. His silence can be offputting or confusing. This silence makes finding a connection with a friend hard. Ryan may not have a friend who will stop by with a 2 liter bottle of soda and some idle chit chat (chances are he wouldn't even let them in the house if he knew "chit chat" was on the agenda), Ryan may not have a friend who tells him to "suck it up and put on his big girl pants" (Suck what up? And why would I wear girls clothing?) and face what lies ahead, but, if Ryan finds one friend who sees him, who feels him and who hears him when he doesn't say a word, I believe they will both be happy, secure and comfortable in their silence.
In a world that is busy, loud and full of noise, sometimes a best friend (or a mom) really can hear you without any words spoken, without any connection from your mouth to their ears. All anyone needs is a connection to your heart and they will always be able to hear what you don't say.
As I relax on my back porch swing, wine in hand listening to the crickets and the sound of Ryan scripting the latest Minecraft Youtuber coming from his bathroom window, I look at the sign and smile. "Best friends hear what you don't say..." helps me to remember that although Ryan will never refer to me as his "best friend", I will always hear him. Even as my little boy slowly morphs into a full fledged, silent, brooding teenager, in those moments where I worry he is slipping away from me, if I listen closely, I can still hear what he doesn't say.
Autism sometimes makes it hard to hear Ryan. His silence can be offputting or confusing. This silence makes finding a connection with a friend hard. Ryan may not have a friend who will stop by with a 2 liter bottle of soda and some idle chit chat (chances are he wouldn't even let them in the house if he knew "chit chat" was on the agenda), Ryan may not have a friend who tells him to "suck it up and put on his big girl pants" (Suck what up? And why would I wear girls clothing?) and face what lies ahead, but, if Ryan finds one friend who sees him, who feels him and who hears him when he doesn't say a word, I believe they will both be happy, secure and comfortable in their silence.
In a world that is busy, loud and full of noise, sometimes a best friend (or a mom) really can hear you without any words spoken, without any connection from your mouth to their ears. All anyone needs is a connection to your heart and they will always be able to hear what you don't say.
It's not just a coincidence that she hears what Ryan doesn't say too.
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