The only time that bubbles become a problem is when it gets windy. Jack hates wind. Like seriously hates wind. Wind makes bubbles blow away faster than he can run. Wind makes bubbles move in unpredictable ways. Wind carries bubbles up in the air where he cannot reach. He hates when the bubbles go up high. He squeals when they get away. It makes him so angry - so frustrated - and the only way he has to get it out is by screaming and crying.
We've tried to say something - anything - to try to help him understand that sometimes bubbles get away. It just happens, you know? If I could only control the wind...
I don't know why - maybe because it's what I believe or maybe because it's what I want to believe - I've been telling Jack that those bubbles that get away go up to Heaven for his baby sister.
Now, I should say that we are a Catholic family. I don't talk about faith too much on here, but it is a part of our lives. I wouldn't say that we are the most devout people on Earth, but we go to Mass, Jack attends a special religious education program with an aide, and I serve as a Catechist (Sunday School teacher to you non-Catholics out there). In the wake of learning that we lost Maggie, I was mad at God, but I still needed to cling to the belief that she was in a better place. It made me feel better to know she is in Heaven waiting for us.
So, when the bubbles get away, I've said to Jack, "Is it okay if we let those bubbles go to Heaven? For baby Maggie? Can we share with baby Maggie?" Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. In my own error in thinking, I just assumed that Jack really didn't understand any of what I was saying, so the whole schpiel was probably more for my own benefit.
That was my mistake. Always assume competence.
Yesterday, we were in our front yard blowing bubbles. Brian was at a reception for a retiring colleague at his firm, so I was trying to keep Jack occupied in the moments before bedtime.
I blew a couple of bubbles that got picked up in an updraft. Again, I said, "Can baby Maggie have those bubbles?" He just stared, but didn't get upset.
I blew a few more, and more were carried up into the wind. This time, it was Jack that spoke with his arm reaching skyward...
"Heaven. Baby Maggie."
His arm seemed to be guiding those bubbles upward, as if to say, here you go, baby Maggie. Enjoy!
And I lost it.
There was so much in that gesture and those three little words that Jack could go without speaking for a lifetime and yet have told us so much. He was telling me that he hears everything and sees everything, so while he may not imitate it consistently, he is indeed learning from my example.
He also showed me that perhaps he understands more than we think he does. I don't mean the words or the language, necessarily, but perhaps he understood that simple gesture of sharing those bubbles with someone else. This is a skill he's never demonstrated with a living person.
Maybe he understands more than we can. Maybe he is perceptive enough to feel that there is more out there than just what lies before us. Maybe he feels it in a way that we cannot. I don't know. Maybe that is part of what makes the world so much more beautiful to him. If he hears and sees and perceives things differently than the rest of us, perhaps he senses the innate gentleness and spirituality in the world as well.
And maybe his sister is by his side.
In that brief moment, he stood there - an autistic 4.5 year old with limited verbal abilities - sharing some bubbles with a sister that he never got to meet except through pictures and hands on Mommy's belly. And in that brief moment, Jack was closer to touching Heaven - closer to getting life right - than any of us.