The other day Benjamin, who is as tall as me, looked at my hair. The way it was brushed, or perhaps more accurately not brushed, the white strands stood out like the tuft of a deer's tail. Benjamin is not prone to making personal remarks about appearance but on this occasion he did.
"Why is it white?" he asked, touching
my forehead.
"I am getting old," I laughed.
"But I don't want to lose you."
Before I choked up I pushed him a little.
"Is that because you love me?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"A lot." I folded him in a hug.
While I might have said yes on an interview asking if Ben loves
me, there was a surge of emotion in having him articulate it. Kids with autism don't generally throw around declarations of affection, at least not at humans. He is generous in his adoration of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. But for one moment on an ordinary day, he did.
John knows I love him. I have told him several times. But how does it make him feel when I speak it, out of the blue? He could rightly assume that I don't want to lose him, either. But how much effort
would it take to say it?
