My Non-Verbal Son’s Silence Isn’t Permission To Do Less

Nearly six years ago, my life changed. With it came new horizons, new housing, and new bedding.

After my divorce, both of my kids got new beds for the house. In all those years, my daughter’s setup is still going strong.

Lucas, my non-verbal Tasmanian Devil of the overnight slumber, on the other hand, has a bed that’s two shakes shy of disaster. For years, I’ve watched him slowly dismantle it.

First was the frame. Rocked and rolled to oblivion, the whole thing now acts mostly for show. Wedged into place, it serves its purpose and keeps him from careening out the window.

The box spring suffered far more. The iron bars meant to hold up his mattress had literally cracked in half from his jumping and whatnot. My bouncing baby boy stopped being a baby but continued bouncing long enough for me to need a new box spring. So we got that.

And then came the mattress.

This long piece of memory foam had all but lost its original shape. No longer a rectangle, it had become some oblong oval with subtle corners. Like a grilled cheese sandwich being squashed by a spatula in a pan, I watched his resting spot flatten until he was practically lying on the bars.

So, this week, Lucas got a new mattress.

Tell a friend that story and they will usually have two responses.

“Is he excited for his new mattress?”

To which I reply, “No. He doesn’t care.” Because he doesn’t.

Response number two…

“Was he complaining about the old one?”

Good question. Again, no.

From Lucas’s point of view, none of this matters at all.

Don’t get me wrong. He’ll love lying on the new mattress, but he doesn’t need it. If I put two pillows on the floor and covered them with a sheet, he would sleep on that without a single whine. You have no idea how accommodating this kid can be in certain situations.

You may be reading this and thinking, “My kid has autism, and he would absolutely be crying and melting down over a dilapidated mattress.”

And you’re probably right.

Kids across the spectrum are incredibly different. That goes beyond levels of functionality. A child with the exact same support needs as Lucas might struggle with situations that are never a factor for my son. The same would be true in reverse.

When it comes to sensory things like sound, smell, and even comfort, Lucas isn’t picky. He barely cares.

The point of all this is that Lucas didn’t need a new mattress. In fact, Lucas didn’t need a new box spring. Lucas wouldn’t demand a new room. He doesn’t even need a bed. If I laid him on a bean bag and told him this was what we were doing for sleep, he’d almost definitely make that the new normal.

Writing that out kind of hits me because I know that, in another circumstance, a boy like him could end up with a parent who relishes that. They give a kid like him nothing because he asks for nothing. There’s no reason to go to the park or the pool. Hell, he doesn’t even have to leave the house. My son is content doing nothing. Give him an iPad and he’ll happily jump in the corner until he hits middle age.

Yes. Lucas asks for nothing.

That’s why I want to give him everything.

It was me who needed to replace that mattress. Every night when I went in to kiss his forehead and tuck him in, I’d berate myself over the state of his bed. It was my own inability to watch what I perceived to be my boy’s discomfort persist.

He didn’t whine or cry. He didn’t complain. I didn’t buy it because he insisted. I bought it because I love him.

That’s my job.

For many parents in my position, the idea of thankless acts of kindness can sometimes be a little tough. Especially when he was little, it was hard to justify why the family was spending all this time to go somewhere that Lucas “might like” when he didn’t ask for it, was content to stay home, and sometimes ended up hating it when we got there.

I know why I did it. I do it because he deserves it. Just because my little wheel doesn’t squeak doesn’t mean he shouldn’t get any grease. It’s a pretty simple idea.

In many ways, it’s one of the cornerstones of how I’ve gone about raising a non-verbal child in the best way I know how. I put myself in his shoes, and I make the demands that he can’t.

So yes, he has a new mattress.

He never asked for it. He never expected it. He probably couldn’t care less that it’s there.

But every night when I walk into his room, I’ll know it’s there.

And that’s enough.

Because love isn’t measured by how grateful someone is or how loudly they ask. Sometimes it’s measured by noticing the things they never would have said out loud… and doing them anyway.

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