Kittens are his favorite and always have been. The energy of a kitten at play, the acrobats in mid-air, the sweet little “meow” and the “purr”, all make them irresistible. They say that people are either a cat person or a dog person. Matt is definitely a cat person. His first word ever was “kitty”. After autism took hold, loving kitties remained. Matt’s first kitten was named Sweet pea. He loved that cat. He would hold it, pet it, and play with it. Dragging a sting along the floor would always lead to a pounce, and Matt loved this rapid, fast as lighting movement. He laughed – a sound that was so deep and heartfelt that anyone hearing him would laugh also, even if they didn’t know why. His beloved Sweet pea even went to school for show and tell, something Matt had never taken part in before.
I wish I could just limit this story to a boy and his cat and keep the joy bursting from the page. But alas, cute little Sweet pea met a tragic end. Matt was at school when we found the cat. After much debate we decided to bury the cat and break the news to him later. We had no idea what was to come from that decision.
We placed Sweet pea in a bag, wrapped her in a blanket and buried her in the yard. We were all attached to Sweet pea, and we cried while we took care of the animal. Matt returned home from school and went about the business of playing in his room. Toward evening, he went looking for his cat. It was time to tell him.
Explaining even simple things to an autistic child can be a challenge. You have to use multiple strategies - tactile, visual and auditory cues - to give them a full range of examples. After all, when they are young, you’re never quite sure as to which example will provide the “light-bulb”, or “aha!” moment. We forgot this in our haste to bury the cat. We actually thought we could explain death.
Matt clearly didn’t understand. Worse yet, he focused on the “buried in the ground” part. He looked at us and accused us putting his beloved cat, his Sweet pea, under the ground where it was dark and cold. Were we monsters, torturing an innocent animal? Sadness was mixed with hate, his sobs emanating from somewhere deep in his soul. We had no other choice but to use all the strategies of teaching; visual, tactile, and auditory. Auditory alone would just not cut it. We walked to the grave. Matt needed his beloved pet to be rescued from the cold ground. Tom started to dig. Matt’s anger lessened, tears still streaming down his face, he watched from a safe distance as each shovel-full of dirt was removed. The bag and blanket was retrieved from the hole and was carried to the deck where Matt waited anxiously, hands flapping.
We opened the bag to reveal his Sweet pea with eyes closed. We explained that Sweet pea was not sleeping, but Matt would have none of it. He reached out to pet her. It took only a split-second touch for Matt to realize there was something terribly wrong. He pulled his hand back quickly and rubbed the fingers with his other hand. You could see the “light-bulb” go on. His face at first showed shock and surprise, but it was quickly replaced with disgust and sadness. He ran back into the house, back to the safety of his room. Tom re-buried the cat as I followed Matt.
Matt needed to work through his grief and he did this by talking to himself out-loud. He would allow me to comfort him only in small doses. I had to leave his room. I listened from the hallway as he began working through it. He kept telling himself the story of his Sweet pea, from beginning to her tragic end, and each time he reached the end he would cry.
Replaying an event in the mind over and over is a natural reaction to a traumatic event. When the mind gets “stuck” on the re-play we call it post traumatic stress. We allowed only a week or so to go by before we finally arrived at the conclusion that he needed another kitten to help him move forward. When Matt saw a new baby Sweet pea, with the same markings as the first, his joy was overwhelming. Of course, he named the new kitten Sweet pea 2, eventually dropping the “2”. He still spoke on occasion of his first cat, telling himself the story of her life, but he eventually stopped - his new Sweet pea helped him to do that.
Sweet pea is now 15 years old. She still plays with Matt, still purrs and has the sweetest “meow”. She’s pretty old for a cat and she sleeps much more than she use to, but Matt is much busier than he use to be and he really hasn’t noticed - at least I don’t think he has.
Other beloved pets have passed away over the years and Matt talked himself through the grief each time. He knows what death is and that all things die eventually. He has been to funerals, he understands the concept. Explaining death to any child is hard enough. Trying to explain it to an autistic child was even worse. Death is the eventual end to life and Matt has learned to deal with the sadness and loss.
Telling himself the story of the life of an individual, be it a human life or an animal life, allows him to somehow make sense of it all. Isn't that what all of us try to do?
1 comment:
This is very intense. A difficult subject, but you captured it well.
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