A Rose is a Rose

Today's post is from Kimbery Lavoie. Kimberly blots at The Simple Life and is also a contributor to 5 Minutes for Special Needs.  Kimberly is a mom to 3 year old twins and a 7 year old daughter with Autism. Her story today reminds me of a saying my own mother used to always share with me "Don't hurry. Don't worry. And don't forget to smell the flowers."

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There’s a rose bush that I walk by every day several times a day as I take my kids to and from school. You’ve heard of stopping and smelling the roses and you’ve probably seen lots of rose bushes, so you already have a mental image of a rose bush in your mind. You can see the color, smell the aroma, and perhaps visualize a lovely trellis for it to grow on. If you guessed white roses, you are correct. I can’t say that I’ve ever smelled them (they are several yards beyond my path on private property and surrounded by a swath of prickly, sticky weeds) but I’m guessing you’d be right about that, too. There’s even a trellis, of sorts…I have never seen a rose bush quite like this one, and I’m guessing you never have either.

This rose bush was planted (or sprouted) some distance away from a large oak tree. Left untended and unpruned for years, the rose bush has crept and crawled its way over to the tree, and has become entwined in the branches, climbing the full height of the tree. Roses were never meant to climb so high, nor to grace the branches of an oak tree, but the effect is stunning. If you’ve ever read “The Secret Garden” it’s the same kind of idea, except this is one rose bush, and one oak tree. It is stunning to see in full bloom as it is now.

One of the children I walk to school, my oldest daughter, has autism. You’ve heard of kids with autism (especially during this month of awareness) and you may have even met a few, so you already have a mental image of my daughter in your mind. You may know that she cringes every time a bus drives by, covering her ears and freezing in her tracks. You may even understand that when other kids learn the rules of sitting in a circle and listening to a story by osmosis and pretty effortlessly my kid needed specific instruction and months of intense practice. You understand the idea of supporting a child to meet their educational goals, and the wonderful processes of specialized education. Still, you have an idea of the scope and limitations of the life of a child with autism.

The reason I love my rose bush is that it breaks up all of our preconceptions and makes us see roses in a new, impressive light. I have a feeling that my daughter will break down preconceptions, too. She already has – my own.  Among other things, I used to think that children with autism preferred to be alone and that their tendency to perseverate with one particular activity was by definition limiting. My daughter is actually an extrovert, much like her father. She is at her best when she gets to be around people every day. She truly enjoys being with other people. That doesn’t mean she understands all of the unspoken rules and nuances that most of us pick up with ease. She has learned enough social scripts to now follow basic rules of simple games, but when her peers automatically take things into a more subtle, complex realm she is left trying to make it fit her simple script. Her pattern of special interests is unexpected, too. Currently she has progressed through three levels of gymnastics in part because she falls in love with each new skill and practices it until she has it mastered. The child who couldn’t stand on one foot (forget hopping) at age 5, because her sense of gravity is off, can now walk back and forth on a balance beam, and dismount with a round off. Cartwheels, pullovers, and bridges; she has learned them all by practicing them endlessly. Not because I ask her to or hound her into practicing, but because she loves doing them. She is currently lobbying her father to install a bar in the backyard so she can practice her back hip circles.

I’ve decided that I can’t really foresee my daughter’s future. Just like no one pictures a fifty-foot high rose bush when they think of a rose bush, there’s no imagining where my daughter might go or how high she might climb. Our role as her parents is to provide support so that she can reach her full potential, whatever that might be. It’s important that in the process we not put any of our own imaginary limitations in her way. We are the oak tree, letting her climb to the sky and bloom.