The word tomorrow for me stands for hope. Because hope is about the future and for every day I have lived there has always been a tomorrow.
For a couple of weeks I hoped for a better tomorrow for Jack. And day by day, my prayers were answered. While he doesn't think his days are perfect, he is more at ease, less disturbed by others, and generally happy again.
While I'll never know what really made the difference, I had three main strategies to help Jack.
First, we changed his routine. The idea was to give him more energy and reduce his stress levels. We started going to bed earlier. About an hour earlier - which was a little hard since we're working parents, but we're all getting used to it. We are making sure he eats protein in the morning for breakfast. He loves yogurt so that was easy. And we canceled any non-essential activities. We kept soccer, of course, a sport for Jack is essential... and so is speech and his tutor. The rest, gone.
Second, at the right moment, I told Jack I wanted to help him. That I didn't know how to help him, but I wanted to help him. I was 100% sincere and he knew it. We decided we would figure it out together, day by day. I told him that same day, if there is one person he can tell anything to - it was me.
That night, out of the blue, Jack blurted out that when he goes to bed, he gets scared because of the movies.
Movies?! We haven't been talking about movies?!
I went with it... and he went on, While I get headaches too, I also sees the movies at night. They become real and that's why I don't like night time.
Ah ha!
Ah ha #1: No wonder why he doesn't like to sleep alone and when he does he stays awake as long as he can.
Dave was in ear shot and said, but we haven't watch a movie in a long time. Jack replied, I remember all of them for six years. Oh my, I thought, the poor child has been having nightmares and never said anything.
Ah ha #2: He believed me. He can tell me anything. It was working!
Little by little he shared with me more of what his life was like through his eyes. How he felt when certain things happened - at home, at school. Mostly I just listened, understood, and let him know he wasn't alone.
Third, full disclosure.
No more softening of the truth. No more sugar coating. No more empty promises. Just the facts, Jack.
I began full disclosure by showing him a book I was reading about Auditory Processing Disorder, called When the Brain Can't Hear: Unraveling the Mystery of Auditory Processing Disorder. It was a highly recommended book, a little bit of doctor talk, but understandable. We talked about his diagnosis and how his brain can't hear right, even though his ears hear perfectly. We talked about how when you put food in a mixer it gets all mixed, and that's kind of what happens to sound between his ears and his brain.
He said he needed to learn more.
I began reading the book to him.
The book starts with some examples, so I read about a boy named Jeff who was in 10th grade. Jeff was a football player. Jeff struggled throughout his school career and finally in 10th grade, he was diagnosed with APD. The the first time, Jeff understood what was wrong. He had a name for what he was experiencing. And he finally knew he was going to get help. Jeff cried.
We read about Jeff three times. Each time as I read how Jeff would come home from school exhausted because he had to work harder than all the other kids to listen at school, Jack exclaimed, Just like me!
Jack was no longer alone.
After Jeff, we began reading about the the diagnosis and treatments for ADP. Jack always listening intently. Asking questions. Making sure he understood what I was reading. At one point, I was a bit tired so I stopped reading ahead and filtering. I read (paraphrased), Some children catch up after rehabilitation and no longer show signs of APD. Other have less success and continue to have problems with listening, learning, and communicating through their lives.
My heart dropped inside. I shouldn't have read that.
I looked over at Jack who was staring at me with a serious face. I said, Did you understand that? He said, I may not get better.
I didn't know what to say. I watched as he thought about it, and then we kept reading.
Maybe this was the peace that Jack needed - to know this is who he is and he is not alone.
