The Empathy Factor

I've walked many miles trailing behind my refuse-loving son, following his favorite garbage trucks and watching can after can get dumped of its contents. I was mentally up for it today, but my sciatic nerve and my feet were not.  At the 90-minute mark, I told him again, "I don't want to walk much longer.  I'm in pain."

Daniel isn't wired to feel empathetic about this.  "My back hurts" is merely information to him.  It may explain why Mom is limping along behind him, but it doesn't make him care. Does that sound harsh?  It is.  Because it's true. Autism short-circuited my boy's brain in the empathy area. For my fellow trivia buffs out there,  that is the supramarginal gyrus within the cerebral cortex.  Yes, autistic brains are different. 

And so what do I do with this?  What does a mother do with this? We are, by nature, empathetic towards our children, and we want and need some of it, even a little, reciprocated after pouring out every ounce of ourselves for our special child day in and day out.  Even if we didn't, we human beings want to feel like someone cares.

What do I do with this, this realization that,  "Guess what, Mama? It ain't comin'. Not from this child, not this day."

I forgive him. I forgive my child.  I am finally understanding this.  It wasn't always so.  And it is hard work.  Heart work is always hard work.  Forgiveness is one of the hardest for us.  I do it all the time, but it usually happens after my mother's heart has been offended.  After the swirling thoughts of "Why doesn't he care?" and "Doesn't he see I'm in pain?!"  

It's supposed to come before.  Forgiveness is supposed to come before.  I know he's going to say or do something today that will hurt or offend me.  I am purposing in my heart to forgive him now and then.  I'm working on this.  It is hard work.  Did I already say that?  It's hard work, but it's a game-changer.  It has the ability to free us from the chains of resentment and anger and frustration and--fill in the blank.

Tonight as he's drifting off to sleep to dream of trash pickups in far-away lands (he does, I'm sure), there's a good chance that he'll say something like this, because he's done it before:

"Mommy?"
And I'll say, "What?"
And he'll say, "I wanna tell you a question."
"You mean you want to tell me something?  Or you have a question?"
"I want to tell you something.  Stop arguing with me, Mommy!"

Exasperated just getting through that, I'll say, "Okay.  What?"
And I'll probably look slightly impatient and have "end of the day" attitude.  

And that's when he does it.  He catches me off guard.  Again.

"Thank you for taking me on a trash walk today, Mommy.  Thanks for taking me on Grandview.  I really like Grandview."  

Oh, I'm glad I chose to forgive, because that would have done me in.  Add guilt to unforgiveness.  What a winning combination!  Friend, being on the receiving end of thankfulness trumps empathy any day. I wanted empathy, but I got thankfulness. 

I'll take it, thank you.