I had been wondering what to write for my monthly blog until this morning when I heard myself saying the above words to Micah and listening to myself, I wondered how in the world this reality had become our normal? Living with a family member with Autism is truly an ongoing adventure and mystery. At times things just disappear that should be right where they were left, but poof they are gone. The reality is that often the missing object was in a place that was out of place for Micah, so he moved it to what he believed was a better place….but as he is nonverbal and does not respond to requests to locate what he has hidden, the search begins. Sometimes it is easier to figure out the typical hiding spot, for example, clothing he prefers not to wear that I have set out for him will often end up in the hamper or stuffed somewhere in his closet or drawers. Other items, like his sister’s special ring that she got on a trip to Israel and set on the windowsill over the sink when she did the dishes, was missing for well over a year before I located it under the sink when I was organizing the cleaning supplies there. Other items, some sadly, are never seen again.
Each year I enjoy growing dahlias from bulbs originally given to me from a lovely woman from my church. Our soil is not the best, so my garden is never very productive, however, the dahlias have thrived and are so pretty that I submit some to the flower show at the Deerfield Fair each fall as they are proven blue ribbon winners.
We had an early spring this year so I have been picking dahlia blooms for a few weeks now, gracing various rooms of our home with their beautiful faces. A couple week ago I noticed that the flowers were disappearing from the vase placed next to the bathroom sink. At first I thought Micah might be throwing them out, perhaps thinking they did not belong there, however I could not locate where he threw them. This past week I went into the bathroom and saw just the stalks, with no blossoms left in the vase and no blossoms in any waste paper baskets either. It slowly dawned on me, that maybe, just maybe Micah had decided to partake. When I asked him if he ate my flowers his response was decisive; he looked at me and said “bad”. I think my eyes popped out when he admitted his crime so quickly then he repeated the word “bad” and slapped his own hand, a behavior I had not seen in years. It then occurred to me that the blossoms might be poisonous so I quickly googled “can you eat dahlia blossoms”, and found, much to my surprise they are edible. Now the greater mystery is how did Micah know that? Does he have some ancient knowledge in his gene pool that triggered a desire to munch on my flowers? Maybe, but I knew for sure, this was a behavior that has to stop.
I marched out to the garden and picked several beautiful blossoms, placed them in the vase in the bathroom and sternly told Micah they were not to be eaten. And that is why I found myself thanking him this morning because so far (24 hours and counting) those flowers are sitting happily in the vase, sharing their beauty oblivious of the chance that they might just turn into a tasty snack for a young man who has the insight to know that they are a delicacy for some.
Postscript: they did not make the 48 hour survival mark. Plan B needed.
Jan Lessard Peightell July 25, 2021