Don't want to miss a thing

After earning a B.S. in Biology, I was offered a slot in the Ph.D. Program in Neurobiology and Anatomy (with full tuition and stipend) at Wake Forest University, Bowman Gray School of Medicine, in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It was an exciting time for me, and I wanted this more than anyone knew. The problem was that we lived in the mountains of Virginia – 2 ½ hours from the school. We couldn’t move. My husband had a job, the kids were immersed in their schools, Matt was receiving services he needed, so I was willing to drive up to 5 hours a day to get my Ph.D., but I soon learned that “willingness” and “reality” were at odds with each other.

My mind was always filled with school; lectures, projects, reading assignments, exams – the list could go on and on. When I was home my mind was still on school. This limited focus soon showed itself to be my burden. I missed my husband, my kids, - a normal life.

To not waste a minute of my day, I taped the lectures, and even taped my notes, so I could listen to them on my long commute to and from campus. Tom had bought me the tape recorder as a birthday gift and I used it daily.

The year was 1998 and Matt was 12 years old. He’s our youngest, which means we were dealing with the onslaught of the teenage years, making my absence from their lives even more difficult. This was also the year that the movie, Armageddon came out (Aerosmith did the sound track). It is also the year in which Matt first began to sing.

Matt loved catastrophe movies and documentaries. He memorized every disaster our country had ever experienced. He read the books, he watch the History Channel daily and he was always anxious to see the newest movie with the latest special effects depicting disastrous circumstances. Armageddon was the newest one he just had to see.

When it came out on video he bought it and watched it repeatedly day after day, sometimes 3-4 times each day. He memorized every line and every emotion tied to each voice. This was not unusual for him. We were use to hearing repeated requests for disaster movies, the re-running of each movie multiple times, and the memorization of lines. What we were not prepared for was his voice in song.

If my memory serves me right, it was Tom who heard it first, the sweet soft melody of “I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing” emanating from Matt’s room.

“I could stay awake, just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping…while you are far away and dreaming.”

Tom came to the bedroom where my nose was stuck in a book. “Come, you have to hear this . . .” he said smiling. I followed him down the hallway – actually, we crept, not wanting Matt to know we were listening.

“Don’t wanna close my eyes; don’t wanna fall asleep…
‘Cause I miss you babe, and I don’t want to miss a thing…
‘Cause even when I dream of you,
The sweetest dream will never do, I’ll still miss you babe,
And I don’t want to miss a thing.”

Matt sang with emotion, trying to copy the singer’s voice as close as possible. I was riveted, I couldn’t move. I looked at Tom – we had tears in our eyes and smiles on our faces - we were both transfixed. “I need this taped”, I whispered. Tom quickly went down the hall and grabbed up the tape recorder. He put in a new tape and returned, ready to capture the voice of our son singing.

Matt was on the second chorus, his eyes closed, his head back. Was he playing the movie in his mind, was he feeling the emotion in the words? I like to think he was doing both.

“And I don’t wanna miss one smile…
I don’t wanna miss one kiss…
I just wanna be right here with you, just like this…
I just wanna hold you close…
Feel your heart so close too mine.
And just wanna stay in this moment, for all the rest of time”..

Tears filled my eyes. His voice cracked, the notes were flat, but the emotion was undeniable. I could barely keep from running to him, hugging him. The recorder kept taping, capturing it all.

Everyday after that beautiful serenade I played the tape. I would put a lecture in during my daily commute and listen awhile, but within a few moments I would eject the lecture tape and put in Matt’s voice. I was gone so much. I was missing so much. If Tom hadn’t heard it, how long before I would have known Matt was singing? It pulled on my heartstrings daily.

Singing! Most children do this simple form of expression and communication early in life. When Matt was young, there were few books on autism and a lot of misinformation. Back then it was thought that autistic children lacked emotion, or the ability to express themselves in song. Many parents now know this just wasn’t true. But back then, it was unheard of. When Matt started singing it was as if another door had opened and a part of the real Matt shined through.

It was easy to see he found comfort in singing - and joy. His love of music took off quickly and his voice became a welcome sound heard around the house often. Still too shy to sing when he thought others would see him, he reserved his talents for the safety of his room. A new pair of ear plugs gave him the illusion that we could not hear him if he could not hear us, and soon he was singing in the car also. Anyone traveling in the car with us, would look at Matt, head back, eyes closed and singing, then look at us and smile.

I soon came to the realization that my dream of a Ph.D. was not my only dream. More than anything else I wanted to be with my family, watch my kids grow, be there when they needed me. Matt was only 12 and still needed me. More importantly, I needed him. The next year I declined my position at Wake and sought a M.S. in Education instead. The schedule of a teacher after all is the same as a student’s, giving me the much needed time to be a mom. I don’t regret the move one bit. Being with my family, helping to mold them, watching them grow, was the most important experience I would ever have.

To this day I can not hear that first song without tears, without remembering the look of heartfelt emotion on Matt’s face.

" The sweetest dream will never do . . . And I don't want to miss a thing."